He turned him round, and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beachagain; He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to thecleaving tide; The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with allhis might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still,To cross his path and work him ill.—The Culprit Fay.
The first step in the conjuration of the bee-hunter was, to produce an impression on the minds of his untutored observers, by resorting to a proper amount of mummery and mystical action. This he was enabled to do with some effect, in consequence of having practised as a lad in similar mimicry, by way of pastime. The Germans, and the descendants of Germans in America, are not of a very high class, as respects education, taken as a body, and they retain many of the most inveterate of the superstitions of their Teutonic ancestors. Although the bee-hunter himself was of purely English descent, he came from a State that was in part peopled by these Germans and their descendants; and, by intercourse with them, he had acquired a certain knowledge of their notions on the subject of necromancy, that he now found was of use. So far as gravity of mien, solemn grimaces, and unintelligible mutterings were concerned, le Bourdon played his part to admiration; and by the time he had led the party half the distance he intended to go, our necromancer, or “medicine-man,” had complete possession of the imaginations of all the savages, the two or three chiefs already mentioned alone excepted. At this stage of the proceedings occurred a little incident, which goes to prove the disposition of the common mind to contribute in deceiving itself, and which was of considerable assistance to le Bourdon, in maintaining his assumed character.
It will be remembered that the place where the Indians had found their strongest scent was on the hill-side, or the spot where the half-filled barrel had let out most of its contents. Near this spot their new fire was still brightly blazing, and there Wolfseye remained, regaling one of his senses, at least, with an odor that he found so agreeable. But the bee-hunter knew that he should greatly increase the wonder of the savages by leading them to a NEW scent-spot, one to which there was no visible clew, and where the odor was probably much stronger than on the hill-side. Accordingly he did not approach the fire, but kept around the base of the hill, just enough within the influence of the light to pick his way readily, and yet so distant from it as to render his countenance indistinct and mysterious. No sooner, however, had he got abreast of the scent-spot known to the savages, than the crowd endeavored to lead him toward it, by gestures and hints, and, finally, by direct intimations that he was going astray. All this our “medicine-man” disregarded; he held his way steadily and solemnly toward that place at the foot of the hill where he knew that the filled barrel had let out its contents, and where he, reasonably enough, expected to find sufficient traces of the whiskey to answer his purposes. At first, this pertinacity provoked the crowd, which believed he was going wrong; but a few words from Crowsfeather, the principal chief, caused the commotion to cease. In a few more minutes le Bourdon stopped, near the place of his destination. As a fresh scent of whiskey was very perceptible here, a murmur of admiration, not unmixed with delight, passed among the attendants.
“Now, let the young men build a fire for ME” said the bee-hunter, solemnly—“not such a fire as that which is burning on the hill, but a medicine-fire. I SMELL the whiskey spring, and want a medicine-light to SEE it.”
A dozen young men began to collect the brush; in a minute a pile of some size had been accumulated on a flat rock, within twenty feet of the spot where le Bourdon knew that the cask had been dashed to pieces. When he thought the pile sufficiently large, he told Crowsfeather that it might be lighted by bringing a brand from the other fire.
“This will not be a medicine-light, for that can come only from 'medicine-matches,'” he added; “but I want a fire to see the shape of the ground. Put in the brand, brothers; let us have a flame.”
The desire of the bee-hunter was gratified, and the whole of the base of the hill around the spot where the filled cask had broken, was illuminated.
“Now, let all the Pottawattamies stand back,” added le Bourdon, earnestly. “It might cost a warrior his life to come forward too soon—or, if not his life, it might give a rheumatism that can never be cured, which is worse. When it is time for my red brothers to advance, they will be called.”
As the bee-hunter accompanied this announcement by suitable gestures, he succeeded in ranging all of the silent, but excited savages on three sides of his fire, leaving that next his mysterious spring to himself, alone. When all was arranged, le Bourdon moved slowly, but unaccompanied, to the precise spot where the cask had broken. Here he found the odor of the whiskey so strong, as to convince him that some of the liquor must yet remain. On examining more closely, he ascertained that several shallow cavities of the flat rock, on which the cask had been dashed, still contained a good deal of the liquor; enough to prove of great assistance to his medicine character.
All this while the bee-hunter kept one portion of his faculties on the alert, in order to effect his escape. That he might deceive for a time, aided as he was by so many favorable circumstances, he did not doubt; but he dreaded the morning and the results of a night of reflection and rest. Crowsfeather, in particular, troubled him; and he foresaw that his fate would be terrible, did the savages once get an inkling of the deception he was practising. As he stood there, bending over the little pools of whiskey, he glanced his eyes toward the gloom which pervaded the northern side of the hill, and calculated the chances of escape by trusting to his speed. All of the Pottawattamies were on the opposite side, and there was a thicket favorably placed for a cover, so near that the rifle would scarce have time to perform its fatal office, ere he might hope to bury himself within its leaves. So tempting did the occasion appear, that, for a single instant, le Bourdon forgot his caution, and his mummeries, and had actually advanced a step or two in the direction toward which he contemplated flight, when, on glancing an uneasy look behind him, he perceived Crowsfeather and his two intimate counsellors stealthily preparing their rifles, as if they distrusted his intentions. This at once induced a change of plan, and brought the bee-hunter back to a sense of his critical position, and of the indispensable necessity of caution to a man in his situation.
Le Bourdon now seemingly gave all his attention to the rocks where he stood, and out of which the much-coveted liquor was expected to flow; though his thoughts were still busily employed in considering the means of escape, the whole time. While stooping over the different pools, and laying his plans for continuing his medicine-charms, the bee-hunter saw how near he had been to committing a great mistake. It was almost as indispensable to carry off the canoe, as it was to carry off himself; since, with the canoe, not only would all his own property, but pretty Margery, and Gershom and his wife, be at the mercy of the Pottawattamies; whereas, by securing the boat, the wide Kalamazoo would serve as a nearly impassable barrier, until time was given to the whites to escape. His whole plan was changed by this suggestion, and he no longer thought of the thicket and of flight inland. At the same time that the bee hunter was laying up in his mind ideas so important to his future movements, he did not neglect the necessary examination of the means that might be required to extend and prolong his influence over the minds of the superstitious children of the forest on whom he was required to practise his arts. His thoughts reverted to the canoe, and he concocted a plan by which he believed it possible to get possession of his little craft again. Once on board it, by one vigorous shove he fancied he might push it within the cover of the rice-plants, where he would be in reasonable safety against the bullets of the savages. Could he only get the canoe on the outer side of the narrow belt of the plant, he should deem himself safe!
Having arranged his course in his own mind, le Bourdon now beckoned to Crowsfeather to draw near, at the same time inviting the whole party to approach within a few feet of the spot where he himself stood. The bee-hunter had brought with him from the boat a fragment of the larger end of a cane fishing-rod, which he used as a sort of wand. Its size was respectable, and its length about eight feet. With this wand he pointed out the different objects he named, and it answered the very important purpose of enabling him to make certain small changes in the formation of the ground, that were of the greatest service to him, without permitting curious eyes to come so near as to detect his artifices.
“Now open your ears, Crowsfeather; and you, Cloud; and all of you, young braves,” commenced the bee-hunter, solemnly, and with a steadiness that was admirable; “yes, open wide your ears. The Great Spirit has given the red man a nose that he might smell—does the Cloud smell more than common?”
“Sartain—smell whiskey—this Whiskey Centre dey say—nat'ral dat such smell be here.”
“Do all the chiefs and warriors of the Pottawattamies who are present, also smell the same?”
“S'pose so—why he don't, eh? Got nose—can smell whiskey good way, tell you.”
“It is right they should smell the liquor here, for out of this rock a whiskey spring will soon begin to run. It will begin with a very small stream, but soon will there be enough to satisfy everybody. The Great Manitou knows that his red children are dry; he has sent a 'medicine-man' of the pale-faces to find a spring for them. Now, look at this piece of rock—it is dry—not even the dew has yet moistened it. See—it is made like a wooden bowl, that it may hold the liquor of the spring. Let Crowsfeather smell it—smell it, Cloud—let all my young men smell it, too, that they may be certain that there is nothing there.”
On this invitation, accompanied as it was by divers flourishes of the wand, and uttered in a deep, solemn tone of voice, the whole party of the Indians gathered around the small hollow basin-like cavity pointed out by the bee-hunter, in order both to see and to smell. Most knelt, and each and all applied their noses to the rock, as near the bowl as they could thrust them. Even the dignified and distrustful Crowsfeather could not refrain from bending in the crowd. This was the moment for which le Bourdon wished, and he instantly prepared to carry out his design.
Previously, however, to completing the project originally conceived, a momentary impulse prevailed which urged him to adopt a new mode of effecting his escape. Now, that most of the savages were on their hands and knees, struggling to get their noses as near as possible to the bowl, and all were intent on the same object, it occurred to the bee-hunter, who was almost as active as the panther of the American forest, that he might dash on toward the canoe, and make his escape without further mummery. Had it been only a question of human speed perhaps such would have been the wisest thing he could do; but a moment's reflection told him how much swifter than any foot of man was the bullet of a rifle. The distance exceeded a hundred yards, and it was altogether in bright light, by means of the two fires, Wolfseye continuing to pile brush on that near which he still maintained his post, as if afraid the precious liquor would start out of the scent-spot, and be wasted should he abandon his ward. Happily, therefore, le Bourdon relinquished his dangerous project almost as soon as it was entertained, turning his attention immediately to the completion of the plan originally laid.
It has been said that the bee-hunter made sundry flourishes with his wand. While the savages were most eager in endeavoring to smell the rock, he lightly touched the earth that confined the whiskey in the largest pool, and opened a passage by which the liquor could trickle down the side of the rock, selecting a path for itself, until it actually came into the bowl, by a sinuous but certain channel.
Here was a wonder! Liquor could not only be smelled, but it could be actually seen! As for Cloud, not satisfied with gratifying the two senses connected with the discoveries named, he began to lap with his tongue, like a dog, to try the effect of taste.
“The Manitou does not hide his face from the Pottawattamie!” exclaimed this savage, rising to his feet in astonishment; “this is the fire-water, and such as the pale-faces bring us for skins!”
Others imitated his example, and the exclamations of wonder and delight flew from mouth to mouth, in a torrent of vehement assertions and ejaculations. So great a “medicine” charm had never before been witnessed in that tribe, or in that region, and a hundred more might succeed, before another should equal this in its welcome character. There was whiskey, of a certainty, not much in quantity, to be sure, but of excellent quality, as several affirmed, and coming in a current that was slowly increasing! This last sign was owing to the circumstance that le Bourdon had deepened the outlet of the pool, permitting a larger quantity to flow down the little channel.
The moment had now come for a decisive step. The bee-hunter knew that his precious rivulet would soon cease to run, and that he must carry out his design under the first impressions of his charm, or that he probably would not be permitted to carry it out, at all. At this moment even Crowsfeather appeared to be awed by what he had seen; but a chief so sagacious might detect the truth, and disappointment would then be certain to increase the penalties he would incur.
Making many sweeps of his wand, and touching various points of the rock, both to occupy the attention of the savages, and to divert it from his pool, the bee-hunter next felt in his pocket and drew out a small piece of resin that he knew was there; the remains of a store with which he resined the bow of his fiddle; for our hero had a violin among his effects, and often used it in his solitary abodes in the openings. Breaking this resin on a coal, he made it flash and blaze; but the quantity was too small to produce the “medicine-fire” he wanted.
“I have more in my canoe,” he said, addressing himself to the interpreter; “while I go for it, the red men must not stir, lest they destroy a pale-face's doings. Least of all they must go near the spring. It would be better for the chiefs to lead away their young men, and make them stand under the oak, where nothing can be done to hurt the 'medicine-charm.'”
The bee-hunter pointed to a tree that stood in the direction of the canoe, in order to prevent distrust, though he had taken care to select a spot whence the little craft could not be seen, on account of an intervening swell in the land, Crowsfeather led his warriors to the indicated place, where they took their stations, in silent and grave attention.
In the mean while, le Bourdon continued his incantations aloud; walking toward his canoe, waving his hand, and uttering a great deal of gibberish as he slowly proceeded. In passing the tree, our hero, though he did not turn his head, was sensible that he was followed by the chiefs, a movement against which he did not dare to remonstrate, though it sadly disappointed him. Neither hastening nor retarding his steps, however, in consequence of this unpleasant circumstance, the young man continued on; once or twice sweeping the wand behind him, in order to ascertain if he could reach his followers. But Crowsfeather and his companions stopped when they reached the swell of land which concealed the canoe, suffering the “medicine-man” to move on alone. Of this fact le Bourdon became aware, by turning three times in a circle, and pointing upward at the heavens with his wand, as he did so.
It was a nervous moment when the bee-hunter reached the canoe. He did not like to look behind him again, lest the chiefs should suspect his motive, and, in shoving off from the shore, he might do so within a few yards of the muzzle of a hostile rifle. There was no time to lose, however, for any protracted delay on his part would certainly cause the savages to approach, through curiosity, if not through distrust of his motives. He stepped into his light craft, therefore, without any delay, still flourishing his wand, and muttering his incantations. The first thing was to walk to the stern of the canoe, that his weight might raise the bow from the shore, and also that he might have an excuse for turning round, and thus get another look at the Indians. So critical was his situation, and so nervous did it make our young hero, that he took no heed of the state of matters in the canoe, until the last moment. When he had turned, however, he ascertained that the two principal chiefs had drawn so near as to be within twenty yards of him, though neither held his rifle at “ready,” but each leaned on it in a careless manner, as if in no anticipation of any necessity to make a speedy use of the weapon. This state of things could not last, and le Bourdon braced his nerves for the final trial. On looking for his paddle, however, he found that of three which the canoe had contained when he left it, not even one was to be seen! These wily savages had, out of all question, taken their opportunity to remove and secrete these simple, but almost indispensable, means of motion.
At the instant when first apprised of the loss just mentioned, the bee-hunter's heart sunk within him, and he fell into the seat in the stern of the canoe, nearly with the weight of so much lead. Then a species of desperation came over him, and putting an end of his cane wand upon the bottom, with a vigorous shove he forced the canoe swiftly astern and to windward. Sudden as was this attempt, and rapid as was the movement, the jealous eyes and ready hands of the chiefs seemed to anticipate it. Two shots were fired within a few seconds after the canoe had quitted the shore. The reports of the rifles were a declaration of hostilities, and a general yell, accompanied by a common rush toward the river, announced that the whole band now understood that some deception had been practised at their expense.
Although the two chiefs in advance had been so very prompt, they were not quick enough for the rapid movement of the canoe. The distance between the stern of the boat and the rice-plants was so small, that the single desperate shove given by the bee-hunter sufficed to bury his person in the cover, before the leaden messengers reached him. Anticipating this very attempt, and knowing that the savages might get their range from the part of the canoe that was still in sight, le Bourdon bent his body far over the gunwale, grasping the rice-plants at the same time, and hauling his little craft through them, in the way that sailors call “hand over hand.” This expedient most probably saved his life. While bending over the gunwale, he heard the crack of the rifles, and the whizzing of two bullets that appeared to pass just behind him. By this time the whole of the canoe was within the cover.
In a moment like that we are describing, incidents pass so rapidly as almost to defy description. It was not twenty seconds from the instant when le Bourdon first put his wand down to push the canoe from the land, ere he found his person emerging from the cover, on its weather side. Here he was effectually concealed from his enemies, not only on account of the cover made by the rice-plants, but by reason of the darkness; the light not extending far enough from the fire to illumine objects on the river. Nevertheless, new difficulties presented themselves. When clear of the rice, the wind, which still blew strong, pressed upon his canoe to such a degree as not only to stop its further movement from the shore, but so as to turn it broadside to, to its power. Trying with his wand, the bee-hunter ascertained that it would no longer reach the bottom. Then he attempted to use the cane as a paddle, but soon found it had not sufficient hold of the water to answer for such an implement. The most he could effect with it, in that way, was to keep the canoe for a short distance along the outer edge of the rice, until it reached a spot where the plant extended a considerable distance farther toward the middle of the river. Once within this little forest of the wild rice, he was enabled to drag the canoe farther and farther from the north shore, though his progress was both slow and laborious, on account of the resistance met.
All this time, the savages were not idle. Until the canoe got within its new cover, it was at no instant fifty yards from the beach, and the yells, and orders, and whoopings sounded as if uttered directly in le Bourdon's ear. A splashing in the water soon announced that our fugitive was pursued by swimmers. As the savages knew that the beehunter was without a paddle, and that the wind blew fresh, the expectation of overtaking their late captive, in this manner, was by no means chimerical. Half a dozen active young men would prove very formidable to one in such a situation, more especially while entangled in the mazes of the rice-plant. The bee-hunter was so well convinced of this circumstance, that no sooner did he hear the splashes of the swimmers, than he redoubled his exertions to pull his canoe farther from the spot. But his progress was slow, and he was soon convinced that his impunity was more owing to the fact that his pursuers did not know where to find him, than to the rapidity of his flight.
Notwithstanding his exertions, and the start obtained, le Bourdon soon felt assured that the swimmers were within a hundred feet of him, their voices coming from the outer margin of the cover in which he now lay, stationary. He had ceased dragging the canoe ahead, from an apprehension of being heard, though the rushing of the wind and the rustling of the rice might have assured him that the slight noises made by his own movements would not be very likely to rise above those sounds. The splashing of the swimmers, and their voices, gradually drew nearer, until the bee-hunter took up his rifle, determined to sacrifice the first savage who approached; hoping, thereby, to intimidate the others. For the first time, it now occurred to him that the breech of his rifle might be used as a paddle, and he was resolved to apply it to that service, could he once succeed in extricating himself from the enemies by whom he was nearly environed, and from the rice.
Just as le Bourdon fancied that the crisis had arrived, and that he should soon be called on to kill his man, a shout was given by a savage at some distance in the river, and presently calls passed from mouth to mouth, among the swimmers. Our hero now listened to a degree that kept his faculty of hearing at a point of painful attention. The voices and plashes on the water receded, and what was startling, a sound was heard resembling that which as produced by a paddle when struck incautiously against the side of a canoe. Was it then possible that the Chippewa was out, or had the Pottawattamies one boat that had escaped his attention? The last was not very probable, as he had several times counted their little fleet, and was pretty sure of having taken it all to the other side of the river. The sound of the paddle was repeated, however; then it occurred to the bee-hunter, that Pigeonswing might be on the scent for another scalp.
Although the conjecture just mentioned was exceedingly unpleasant to le Bourdon, the chase of the strange canoe gave him an opportunity to drag his own light craft ahead, penetrating deeper and deeper among the wild rice, which now spread itself to a considerable distance from the shore, and grew so thick as to make it impossible to get through the waving mass. At length, wearied with his exertions, and a little uncertain as to his actual position, our hero paused, listening intently, in order to catch any sounds that might direct his future movements.
By this time the savages ceased to call to each other; most probably conscious of the advantage it gave the fugitive. The bee-hunter perfectly understood that his pursuers must be aware of its being entirely out of his power to get to windward, and that they would keep along the shore of the river, as he did himself, expecting to see his canoe sooner or later driven by the wind on the beach. This had made him anxious to drag his boat as much toward the outer edge of the rice as he could get it, and by the puffs of wind that he occasionally felt, he hoped he had, in a great measure, effected his purpose. Still he had his apprehensions of the savages; as some would be very apt to swim quite out into the stream, not only to look for him, but to avoid being entangled among the plants. It was only in the natural channels of the rice, of which there were a good many, that a swimmer could very readily make his way, or be in much safety. By waiting long enough, moreover, the bee-hunter was sure he should tire out his pursuers, and thus get rid of them.
Just as le Bourdon began to think this last-mentioned purpose had been accomplished, he heard low voices directly to windward, and the splashing of water, as if more than one man was coming down upon him, forcing the stalks of the plants aside. He grasped the rifle, and let the canoe drift, which it did slowly, under the power of the wind, notwithstanding the protection of the cover. The swimmers forced their way through the stalks; but it was evident, just then, that they were more occupied by their present pursuit than in looking for him. Presently a canoe came brushing through the rice, forced by the wind, and dragged by two savages, one of whom swam on each bow. The last did not see the bee-hunter, or his canoe, the one nearest having his face turned in the opposite direction; but they were distinctly seen by the former. Surprised that a seizure should be made with so little fracas, le Bourdon bent forward to look the better, and, as the stern of the strange canoe came almost under his eyes, he saw the form of Margery lying in its bottom. His blood curdled at this sight; for his first impression was, that the charming young creature had been killed and scalped; but there being no time to lose, he sprang lightly from one canoe to the other, carrying the rifle in his hand. As he struck in the bottom of the boat of Gershom, he heard his name uttered in a sweet female voice, and knew that Margery was living. Without stopping, however, to inquire more, he moved to the head of the canoe, and, with a sharp blow on the fingers, made each of the savages release his grasp. Then, seizing the rice-plants, he dragged the little craft swiftly to windward again. All this was done, as it might be, in an instant; the savages and the canoe being separated some twenty feet, in much less time than is required to relate the occurrence.
“Bourdon, are you injured?” asked Margery, her voice trembling with anxiety.
“Not in the least, dear Margery—and you, my excellent girl?”
“They caught my canoe, and I almost died of fright; but they have only dragged it toward the shore.”
“God be praised! Is there any paddle in the canoe?”
“There are several—one is at your feet, Bourdon—and here, I have another.”
“Then, let us search for my canoe, and get out of the rice. If we can but find my canoe, we shall be safe enough, for the savages have nothing in which to cross the river. Keep your eyes about you, Margery, and look among the rice for the other boat.”
The search was not long, but it was intently anxious. At length Margery saw the lost canoe just as it was drifting past them, and it was secured immediately. In a few minutes, le Bourdon succeeded in forcing the two craft into open water, when it was easy for him to paddle both to windward. The reader can readily imagine that our hero did not permit many minutes to elapse, ere he questioned his companion on the subject of her adventures. Nor was Margery reluctant to tell them. She had become alarmed at le Bourdon's protracted absence, and taking advantage of Pigeonswing lying down, she unloaded her brother's canoe, and went out into the river to look for the absent one. As a matter of course—though so feminine and far removed from all appearance of coarseness, a true American girl in this respect—Margery knew perfectly well how to manage a bark canoe. The habits of her life for the last few years, made her acquainted with this simple art; and strength being much less needed than skill, she had no difficulty in going whither she wished. The fires served as beacons, and Margery had been a distant witness of the bee-hunter's necromancy as well as of his escape. The instant the latter was effected, she endeavored to join him; and it was while incautiously paddling along the outer edge of the rice, with this intention, that her canoe was seized by two of the swimmers. As soon as these last ascertained that they had captured a “squaw,” they did not give themselves the trouble to get into the canoe—a very difficult operation with one made of bark, and which is not loaded—but they set about towing the captured craft to the shore, swimming each with a single hand and holding on by the other.
“I shall not soon forget this kindness of yours, Margery,” said le Bourdon, with warmth, when the girl had ended her simple tale, which had been related in the most artless and ingenuous manner. “No man could forget so generous a risk on the part of a young woman in his behalf.”
“I hope you do not think it wrong, Bourdon—I should be sorry to have you think ill of me!”
“Wrong, dear Margery!—but no matter. Let us get ourselves out of present difficulties, and into a place of safety; then I will tell you honestly what I think of it, and of you, too. Was your brother awake, dear Margery, when you left the family?”
“I believe not—he sleeps long and heavily after drinking. But he can now drink no more, until he reaches the settlements.”
“Not unless he finds the whiskey spring,” returned the bee-hunter, laughing.
The young man then related to his wondering companion the history of the mummery and incantations of which she had been a distant spectator. Le Bourdon's heart was light, after his hazards and escape, and his spirits rose as his narrative proceeded. Nor was pretty Margery in a mood to balk his humor. As the bee-hunter recounted his contrivances to elude the savages, and most especially when he gave the particulars of the manner in which he managed to draw whiskey out of the living rock, the girl joined in his merriment, and filled the boat with that melody of the laugh of her years and sex, which is so beautifully described by Halleck.
The things that once she loved are still the same;Yet now there needs another nameTo give the feeling which they claim,While she the feeling gives;She cannot call it gladness or delight;And yet there seems to be a richer, lovelier lightOn e'en the humblest thing that lives.—WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
The history given by le Bourdon lasted until the canoes reached the south shore. Glad enough was Dorothy to see them both safe back, for neither of her companions had yet awoke. It was then midnight, and all now retired to seek the rest which might be so needful to prepare them for the exertions of the next day. The bee-hunter slept in his canoe, while Margery shared the buffalo-skin of her sister.
As perfect security, for the moment at least, was felt by the sleepers, their slumbers were sound, and reached into the morning. Then le Bourdon arose, and withdrawing to a proper distance, he threw off his clothes and plunged into the stream, in conformity with a daily practice of his at that genial season of the year. After bathing, the young man ascended a hill, whence he might get a good view of the opposite shore, and possibly obtain some notion of what the Pottawattamies were about. In all his movements, however, the bee-hunter had an eye to the concealment of his person, it being of the last importance that the savages should not learn his position. With the intention of concealment, the fire had been suffered to go down, a smoke being a sign that no Indian would be likely to overlook. As for the canoe and the bivouac of the party, the wild rice and an intermediate hill formed a perfect cover, so long as nothing was shown above them.
From the height to which he ascended, the bee-hunter, aided by his glass, got a very clear view of Whiskey Centre and the parts adjacent. The savages were already stirring, and were busy in the various avocations of the red man on a war-path. One party was disposing of the body of their dead companion. Several were cooking, or cleaning the wild-fowl shot in the bay, while a group was collected near the spot of the wished-for spring, reluctant to abandon the hopes to which it had given birth, at the very moment they were plotting to obtain the scalp of the “medicine-man.” The beloved “fire-water,” that seduces so many to their destruction, who have enjoyed the advantages of moral teaching, and which has been a withering curse on the red man of this continent, still had its influence; and the craving appetites of several of the drunkards of the party brought them to the spot, as soon as their eyes opened on the new day. The bee-hunter could see some of this cluster kneeling on the rocks, lapping like hounds at the scattered little pools of the liquor, while others scented around, in the hope of yet discovering the bird that laid the golden egg. Le Bourdon had now little expectation that his assumed character could be maintained among these savages any longer, did accident again throw him in their way. The chiefs, he saw, had distrusted him all along, but had given him an opportunity to prove what he could do, in order to satisfy the more vulgar curiosity of their young men. He wisely determined, therefore, to keep out of the hands of his enemies.
Although le Bourdon could hold a conversation in the tongue of the Ojebways, he was not fond of so doing. He comprehended without difficulty nearly all of what was said by them, and had observed the previous night that the warriors made many allusions to a chief whom they styled Onoah, but who he himself knew was usually called Scalping Peter among the whites of that frontier. This savage had a fearful reputation at all the garrisons, though he never showed himself in them; and he was now spoken of by the Pottawattamies present, as if they expected to meet him soon, and to be governed by his commands or his advice. The bee-hunter had paid great attention whenever this dreaded name was mentioned, for he was fully aware of the importance of keeping clear of an enemy who bore so bad a reputation that it was not considered prudent for a white man to remain long in his company even in a time of peace. His English sobriquet had been obtained from the circumstances of its being reputed that this chief, who seemed to belong to no tribe in particular, while he had great influence with all, had on divers occasions murdered the palefaces who fell in his way, and then scalped them. It was added, that he had already forty notches on his pole, to note that number of scalps taken from the hated whites. In short, this Indian, a sort of chief by birth, though of what tribe no one exactly knew, appeared to live only to revenge the wrongs done his color by the intruders, who had come from toward the rising sun to drive his people into the great salt lake on the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Of course there was a good deal that was questionable in these reports; a rumor in the “openings” and on the prairies, having this general resemblance to those that circulate in town, and in drawing-rooms, and at feasts, that no one of them all can be relied on as rigidly exact. But le Bourdon was still young, and had yet to learn how little of that which we all hear is true, and how very much is false. Nevertheless, as an Indian tradition is usually more accurate than a white man's written history, so is a rumor of the forest generally entitled to more respect than the ceaseless gossipings of the beings who would be affronted were they not accounted civilized.
The bee-hunter was still on the elevated bit of ground, making his observations, when he was joined by Margery. The girl appeared fresh and handsome, after a night of sleep, and coming from her dressing-room in a thicket, and over a stream of sweet running water; but she was sad and thoughtful. No sooner had le Bourdon shaken her hand, and repeated his thanks for the succor of the past night, than the full heart of Margery poured out its feelings, as the swollen stream overflows its banks, and began to weep.
“Brother is awake,” she said, as soon as her sobs were quieted by a powerful effect; “but, as is usual with him after hard drinking, so stupid, that Dolly cannot make him understand our danger. He tells her he has seen too many Injins to be afraid of these, and that they will never harm a family that has brought so much liquor into their country.”
“His senses must be at a low ebb, truly, if he counts on Injin friendship because he has sold fire-water to the young men!” answered le Bourdon, with a nice understanding of not only Indian nature, but of human nature. “We may like the sin, Margery, while we detest the tempter. I have never yet met with the man, pale-face or red-skin, who did not curse, in his sober moments, the hand that fed his appetite while intoxicated.”
“I dare say that may be very true,” returned the girl, in a low voice; “but one has need of his reason to understand it. What will become of us now, it is hard to say.”
“Why, now, Margery, more than yesterday, or the day before?”
“Yesterday there were no savages near us, and Gershorn had all along told us he intended to start for the garrison at the head of the lake, as soon as he got back from his visit to the openings. He is back; but not in a state to protect his wife and sister from the red man, who will be looking for us as soon as they can build a canoe, or anything that will do to cross the river with.”
“Had they even a canoe,” returned le Bourdon, coolly, “they would not know where to look for us. Thank Heaven! that will be a job that would take some time; nor is a bark canoe built in a minute. But, Margery, if your brother be a little dull and heavy, after his debauch,Iam sober, and as much awake as ever I was in my life.”
“Oh! you have no weakness like that of poor brother's, to make you otherwise; but, Bourdon, you will naturally wish to take care of yourself and your property, and will quit us the first good opportunity. I'm sure that we have no right to expect you will stay a minute longer than it is your interest to do so, and I do not know that I wish it.”
“Not wish it, Margery!” exclaimed the bee-hunter, in the manner of a disappointed man. “I had supposed you would have wished my company. But, now I know the contrary, I shall not much care how soon I go, or into whose hands I fall.”
It is strange how apt are those who ought to understand one another so readily, to misinterpret each other's thoughts. Margery had never seen the bee-hunter twenty-four hours before, though she had often heard of him, and of his success in his art; for the fame of a man of good reputation and active qualities spreads far on a frontier. The very individual whose existence would be nearly overlooked in a crowded region, shall be spoken of, and known by his qualities, a hundred leagues from his place of residence, when settlements are few and far apart. In this way, Margery had heard of Boden, or of “Bourdon,” as she called him, in common with hundreds who, confounding his real name with his sobriquet, made the mistake of using the last under the impression that it was the true appellation. Margery had no other knowledge of French than the few words gleaned in her slow progress among a frontier on which, it is true, more of that language than of any other was heard, but heard under circumstances that were not particularly favorable to the acquisition of a foreign tongue. Had she understood the real meaning of “Bourdon,” she would have bitten off her tongue before she would have once called Boden by such an appellation; though the bee-hunter himself was so accustomed to his Canadian nickname as to care nothing at all about it. But Margery did not like to give pain to any one; and, least of all, would she desire to inflict it on the bee-hunter, though he were only an acquaintance of a day. Still, Margery could not muster sufficient courage to tell her new friend how much he was mistaken, and that of all the youths she had ever met she would most prefer to keep him near her brother and sister in their distress; while the young man, inspired by a pure and infant passion, was just in the frame of mind to believe the worst of himself, and of his claims to the attention of her who had begun to occupy so many of his thoughts.
No explanation occurring, our young people descended from the hill, misconceiving each other's meaning and wishes, and unhappy under the influence of an ideal source of misery, when actual circumstances created so many that were substantial and real. Gershom was found awake, but, as his sister had described him, stupid and lethargic. The bee-hunter at once saw that, in his present condition, Whiskey Centre would still be an incumbrance rather than of any service, in the event of an occasion for extraordinary exertion. Margery had hinted that it usually took twenty-four hours to bring her brother entirely round, after one of his serious debauches; and within that time it was more than probable that the fate of the family would be decided.
Le Bourdon thought intently, during breakfast, of the condition of his party, and of the best mode of proceeding, while the pallid and anxious young creature at his side believed he was deliberating solely on the best means of extricating himself and his store of honey, from the savages on the other shore. Had the acquaintance between these young people been of longer date than it actually was, Margery could not have entertained a notion so injurious to the bee-hunter, for a single moment; but there was nothing either violent, or depreciating, in supposing that one so near being a total stranger would think first of himself and his own interests, in the situation in which this young man was now placed.
Little was said during the meal. Dorothy was habitually silent; the result of grief and care. As for her husband, he was too stupid to talk, though usually somewhat garrulous; while the Indian seldom did two things at the same time. This was the hour for acting; when that for talking should arrive, he would be found equal to its duties. Pigeonswing could either abstain from food, or could indulge in it without measure, just as occasion offered. He had often gone for days without tasting a mouthful, with the exception of a few berries, perhaps; and he had lain about the camp-fire, a week at a time, gorging himself with venison, like an anaconda. It is perhaps fortunate for the American Indian, that this particular quality of food is so very easy of digestion, since his excesses on it are notorious, and so common to his habits as almost to belong to his nature. Death might otherwise often be the consequence.
When the breakfast was ended, it was time to consult about the future course. As yet, the Pottawattamies had made no new discovery; but the sagacity of the red man was ever to be feared, when it came to be merely a question of finding his foe in a forest.
“We have obtained one advantage over the enemy,” said le Bourdon, “by crossing the river. Water leaves no trail; even had Crowsfeather a canoe, he might not know where to go in it, in order to find us.”
“Dat not so,” put in the Chippewa, a little dogmatically; “know we hab canoe—know cross river in him.”
“Why should they know this, Pigeonswing? We may have gone out upon the lake, or we may have gone up in the oak openings again, for anything the Pottawattamies can know to the contrary.”
“Tell you, not so. Know don't go on lake, cause wind blow. Know don't go up river, cause dat hard work; know come here, cause dat easy. Injin like to do what easy, and pale-face do just what Injin do. Crowsfeather make raft, pretty soon; den he come look arter scalp.”
“Yes,” said Margery, gently; “you had better load your canoe at once, and go on the lake, while the savages cannot reach you. The wind is fair for them that are to go north; and I have heard you say that you are bound to Mackinaw.”
“I shall load my canoe, and I shall load yours, too, Margery; but I shall not go away from this family, so long as any in it stand in need of my services.”
“Brother will be able to help us by afternoon. He manages a canoe well, when himself; so go, Bourdon, while you can. I dare say you have a mother at home; or a sister perhaps a wife—”
“Neither,” interrupted the bee-hunter, with emphasis. “No one expects me; no one has a right to expect me.”
The color stole into pretty Margery's cheeks as she heard these words, and a ray of comfort gleamed on an imagination that, for the last hour, had been portraying the worst. Still, her generous temper did not like the idea of the bee-hunter's sacrificing himself for those who had so few claims on him, and she could not but again admonish him of the necessity of losing no time.
“You will think better of this, Bourdon,” the girl resumed. “We are going south, and cannot quit the river with this wind, but you could not have a better time to go north, unless the wind blows harder than I think it does.”
“The lake is a bad water for a canoe, when there is much wind,” put in Gershom, yawning after he had spoken, as if the effort fatigued him, “I wonder what we're all doing over on this side of the river! Whiskey Centre is a good enough country for me; I'm going back to look arter my casks, now I've breakfasted. Come, Doll; let's load up, and be off.”
“You are not yourself yet, Gershom,” returned the sorrowful wife, “or you would not talk in this way. You had better listen to the advice of Bourdon, who has done so much for us already, and who will tell you the way to keep out of Injin clutches. We owe our lives to Bourdon, Gershom, and you should thank him for it.”
Whiskey Centre muttered a few half intelligible words of thanks, and relapsed into his state of drowsy indifference. The bee-hunter saw, however, that the effects of the brandy were leaving him, and he managed to get him on one side, where he persuaded the fellow to strip and go into the water. The bath did wonders for the poor creature, who soon got to be so far himself again, as to be of use, instead of being an incumbrance. When sober, and more especially when sober for several consecutive days, Gershom was a man of sufficient energy, possessing originally great personal strength and activity, which had been essentially lessened, however, by his excesses in liquor. It has already been stated what a different being he became, in a moral point of view, after having been sober for any length of time.
On his return from the bathing, le Bourdon again joined the females. Margery had been weeping; but she smiled in a friendly way, on meeting his eye, and appeared less anxious for his departure than she had been an hour before. As the day advanced, and no signs of the savages were seen, a sense of greater security began to steal over the females, and Margery saw less necessity for the departure of their new friend. It was true, he was losing a wind; but the lake was rough, and after all it might be better to wait. In short, now that no immediate danger was apparent, Margery began to reason in conformity with her wishes, as is so apt to be the case with the young and inexperienced. The bee-hunter perceived this change in the deportment of his fair friend, and was well enough disposed to hope it would admit of a favorable construction.
All this time, the Chippewa had taken little visible interest in the state of the party to which he had now attached himself. The previous evening had been fertile in excitement and in gratification, and he had since slept and ate to his entire content. He was ready to meet events as they might arise, and began to plot the means of obtaining more Pottawattamie scalps. Let not the refined reader feel disdisgust at this exhibition of the propensities of an American savage. Civilized life has had, and still has, very many customs, little less excusable than that of scalping. Without dragging into the account the thousand and one sins that disgrace and deform society, it will be sufficient to look into the single interest of civilized warfare, in order to make out our case. In the first place, the noblest strategy of the art is, to put the greatest possible force on the least of the enemy, and to slay the weaker party by the mere power of numbers. Then, every engine that ingenuity can invent, is drawn into the conflict; and rockets, revolvers, shells, and all other infernal devices, are resorted to, in order to get the better of an enemy who is not provided with such available means of destruction. And after the battle is over, each side commonly claims the victory; sometimes, because a partial success has been obtained in a small portion of the field; sometimes, because half a dozen horses have run away with a gun, carrying it into the hostile ranks; and, again, because a bit of rag has fallen from the hands of a dead man, and been picked up by one of the opposing side. How often has it happened that a belligerent, well practised in his art, has kept his own colors out of the affair, and then boasted that they were not lost! Now, an Indian practises no such shameless expedients. His point of honor is not a bit of rag, but a bit of his skin. He shaves his head because the hair encumbers him; but he chivalrously leaves a scalp-lock, by the aid of which his conquerors can the more easily carry away the coveted trophy. The thought of cheating in such a matter never occurs to his unsophisticated mind; and as for leaving his “colors” in barracks, while he goes in the field himself, he would disdain it—nay, cannot practise it; for the obvious reason that his head would have to be left with them.
Thus it was with Pigeonswing. He had made his toilet for the war-path, and was fierce in his paint, but honest and fair-dealing in other particulars. If he could terrify his enemies by looking like a skeleton, or a demon, it was well; his enemy would terrify him, if possible, by similar means. But neither would dream, or did dream, of curtailing, by a single hair, that which might be termed the flag-staff of his scalp. If the enemy could seize it, he was welcome to the prize; but if he could seize that of the enemy, no scruples on the score of refinement, or delicacy, would be apt to interfere with his movements. It was in this spirit, then, that Pigeonswing came to the canoe, where le Bourdon was holding a little private discourse with Margery, and gave utterance to what was passing in his mind.
“Good time, now, get more scalps, Bourdon,” said the Chippewa, in his clipping, sententious English.
“It is a good time, too, to keep our own, Chippewa,” was the answer. “Your scalp-lock is too long, to be put before Pottawattamie eyes without good looking after it.”
“Nebber mind him—if go, go; if stay, stay. Always good for warrior to bring home scalp.”
“Yes; I know your customs in this respect, Pigeonswing, but ours are different. We are satisfied if we can keep out of harm's way, when we have our squaws and pappooses with us.”
“No pappooses here,” returned the Indian, looking around him—“dat your squaw, eh?”
The reader can readily imagine that this abrupt question brought blushes into the cheeks of pretty Margery, making her appear ten times more handsome than before; while even le Bourdon did not take the interrogatory wholly undisturbed. Still, the latter answered manfully, as became his sex.
“I am not so fortunate as to have a squaw, and least of all to have this” said le Bourdon.
“Why no hab her—she good squaw,” returned the literal-minded Indian—“han'some 'nough for chief. You ask; she hab—now squaw well—always like warrior to ask him fuss; den say, yes.”
“Aye, that may do with your red-skin squaws,” le Bourdon hastily replied; for he saw that Margery was not only distressed, but a little displeased—“but not with the young women of the pale-faces. I never saw Margery before last evening; and it takes time for a pale-face girl to know a youth.”
“Just so wid red-skin—sometime don't know, till too late! See plenty dat, in wigwam.”
“Then it is very much in the wigwams as it is in the houses. I have heard this before.”
“Why not same?—skin make no difference—pale-face spile squaw, too—make too much of her.”
“That can never be!” exclaimed le Bourdon, earnestly. “When a pretty, modest, warm-hearted young woman accepts a youth for a husband, he can never make enough of her!”
On hearing sentiments so agreeable to a woman's ears, Margery looked down, but she looked pleased. Pigeonswing viewed the matter very differently; and being somewhat of a partisan in matters relating to domestic economy, he had no thought of leaving a point of so much importance in so bad a way. Accordingly, it is not surprising that, in pursuing the subject, he expressed opinions in several essentials diametrically the reverse of those of the bee-hunter.
'“Easy 'nough spile squaw,” rejoined the Chippewa. “What she good for, don't make her work? Can't go on the warpath—can't take scalp—can't shoot deer—can't hunt—can't kill warrior—so muss work. Dat what squaw good for.”
“That may do among red men, but we pale-faces find squaws good for something else—we love them and take care of them—keep them from the cold in winter, and from the heat in summer; and try to make them as comfortable and happy as we can.”
“Dat good talk for young squaw's ears,” returned the Chippewa, a little contemptuously as to manner; though his real respect for the bee-hunter, of whose prowess he had so lately been a witness, kept him a little within bounds “but it bess not take nobody in. What Injin say to squaw, he do—what pale-face say, he no do.”
“Is that true, Bourdon?” demanded Margery, laughing at the Indian's earnestness.
“I shall be honest, and own that there may be some truth in it—for the Injin promises nothing, or next to nothing, and it is easy to square accounts, in such cases. That white men undertake more than they always perform, is quite likely to be the fact The Injin gets his advantage in this matter, by not even thinking of treating his wife as a woman should be treated.”
“How should treat woman?” put in Pigeonswing with warmth. “When warrior eat venison, gib her rest, eh? Dat no good—what you call good, den? If good hunter husband, she get 'nough—if an't good hunter, she don't get 'nough. Just so wid Injin—sometime hungry, sometime full. Dat way to live!”
“Aye, that may be your red man's ways, but it is not the manner in which we wish to treat our wives. Ask pretty Margery, here, if she would be satisfied to wait until her husband had eaten his dinner, and then come in for the scraps. No-no-Pigeonswing; we feed our women and children first and come in last, ourselves.”
“Dat good for pappoose—he little; want venison—squaw tough; use to wait. Do her good.”
Margery now laughed outright, at these specimens of Indian gallantry, which only too well embody the code of the red man's habits. Doubtless the heart has its influence among even the most savage people, for nature has not put into our breasts feelings and passions to be discarded by one's own expedients, or wants. But no advocate of the American Indian has ever yet been able to maintain that woman fills her proper place in his estimate of claims. As for Margery, though so long subject to the whims, passions and waywardness of a drunkard, she had reaped many of the advantages of having been born in that woman's paradise, New England. We are no great admirers of the legacy left by the Puritan to his descendants, taken as an inheritance in morals, manners, and customs, and as a whole; though there are parts, in the way of codicils, that there is no portion of the Christian world which might not desire to emulate. In particular, do we allude to the estimate put upon, and the treatment received by their women. Our allusion is not to the refinements and gracefulness of polished intercourse; for of THEM, the Blarney Rock of Plymouth has transmitted but a meagre account in the inventory, and perhaps the less that is said about this portion of the family property the better; but, dropping a few degrees in the social scale, and coming down to the level where we are accustomed to regard people merely as men and women, we greatly question if any other portion of the world can furnish a parallel to the manly, considerate, rational, and wisely discriminating care, that the New England husband, as the rule, bestows on his wife; the father on his daughter; or the brother on his sister. Gershom was a living, and, all things considered, a remarkable instance of these creditable traits. When sober, he was uniformly kind to Dorothy; and for Margery he would at any time risk his life. The latter, indeed, had more power over him than his own wife possessed, and it was her will and her remonstrances that most frequently led him back from the verge of that precipice over which he was so often disposed to cast himself. By some secret link she bound him closest to the family dwelling, and served most to recall the days of youth and comparative innocence, when they dwelt together beneath the paternal roof, and were equally the objects of the affection and solicitude of the same kind mother. His attachment to Dorothy was sincere, and, for one so often brutalized by drink, steady; but Dorothy could not carry him as far back, in recollections, as the one only sister who had passed the morning of life with him, in the same homely but comfortable abode.
We have no disposition to exaggerate the character of those whom it is the fashion to term the American yeomen, though why such an appellation should be applied to any in a state of society to which legal distinctions are unknown, is what we could never understand. There are no more of esquires and yeomen in this country than there are of knights and nobles, though the quiet manner in which the transition from the old to the new state of things has been made, has not rendered the public mind very sensible to the changes. But, recurring to the class, which is a positive thing and consequently ought to have a name of some sort or other, we do not belong to those that can sound its praises without some large reservations on the score of both principles and manners. Least of all, are we disposed to set up these yeomen as a privileged class, like certain of the titular statesmen of the country, and fall down and worship a calf—not a golden one by the way—of our own setting up. We can see citizens in these yeomen, but not princes, who are to be especially favored by laws made to take from others to bestow on them. But making allowances for human infirmities, the American freeholder belongs to a class that may justly hold up its head among the tillers of the earth. He improves daily, under the influence of beneficent laws, and if he don't get spoiled, of which there is some danger, in the eagerness of factions to secure his favor, and through that favor his VOTE—if he escape this danger, he will ere long make a reasonably near approach to that being, which the tongue of the flatterer would long since have persuaded him he had already more than got to be.
To one accustomed to be treated kindly, as was the case with Margery, the Chippewa's theory for the management of squaws contained much to excite her mirth, as well as her resentment, as she now made apparent by her remarks.
“You do not deserve to HAVE a wife, Pigeonswing,” she cried, half-laughing, yet evidently alive to the feelings of her sex—“can have no gratitude for a wife's tenderness and care. I wonder that a Chippewa girl can be found to have you?”
“Don't want him,” coolly returned the Indian, making his preparations to light his pipe—“got Winnebagoe squaw, already; good 'nough for me. Shoot her t'other husband and take his scalp—den she come into my wigwam.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Margery.
But this was a word the savage did not understand, and he continued to puff at the newly lighted tobacco, with all of a smoker's zeal. When the fire was secured, he found time to continue the subject.
“Yes, dat good war-path—got rifle; got wife; got TWO scalp! Don't do so well, ebbery day.”
“And that woman hoes your corn, and cooks your venison?” demanded the bee-hunter.
“Sartain—capital good to hoe—no good to cook—make deer meat too dry. Want to be made to mind business. Bye'm by teach him. No l'arn all at once, like pale-face pappoose in school.”
“Pigeonswing, have you never observed the manner in which the white man treats his squaw?”
“Sartain—see him make much of her—put her in warm corner—wrap blanket round her—give her venison 'fore he eat himself—see all dat, often—what den? DAT don't make it right.”
“I give you up, Chippewa, and agree with Margery in thinking you ought not to have a squaw, at all.”
“T'ink alike, den—why no get marry?” asked the Indian, without circumlocution.
Margery's face became red as fire; then her cheeks settled into the color of roses, and she looked down, embarrassed. The bee-hunter's admiration was very apparent to the Indian, though the girl did not dare to raise her eyes from the ground, and so did not take heed of it. But this gossiping was suddenly brought to an end by a most unexpected cause of interruption; the manner and form of which it shall be our office to relate, in the succeeding chapter.