Chapter Twenty-Second.
Return to the family of Mr. Duncan. Lewis and his father succeed in getting back to camp. The effect the capture of the children produced on the health of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. Cole and the chief reach the camp of the Arapahoes. Their surprise. They continue their course to Mr. Duncan's camp. Joy at the news they bring. They start again for the west. Thirty Arapahoes accompany them. They arrive at the Sierra Nevada.
Having followed our wanderers through many exceedingly trying and difficult scenes, since they became separated from the rest of the family and were lost in the deep and dreary desert, to the hospitable fireside of the curate beyond the Sierra Nevada where they again met with the comforts of civilized life, we will leave them for the present and return to the family of Mr. Duncan. The last we saw of Mr. Duncan and Lewis was in the battle with the Crows; but they succeeded in making their escape, and finally returned to their camp, only, however, to convey the sorrowful intelligence of the sad fate of all who had gone out to the rescue except himself and Lewis. This sad event confined him to a bed of sickness from which he arose after many weeks of suffering, with feeble and tottering steps, and locks whitened by suffering. Grief had done what time had not—it had made him old and grey.
Mrs. Duncan submitted meekly to the terrible blow; but the elasticity of her step was gone, the light from her eye, and the usual glad smile from her lips had disappeared. Had her children sickened and died, she could have laid them away in the grave, with the consoling thought, that all must lay there at last. But the harassing idea of the torture they would be subjected to, and the terrible death they must at last suffer, if indeed they still lived, was a constant source of agony to her.
"If I only knew that they were dead and at rest, I would be content; but, alas! I fear they still live!" she often said to herself, and then the throbbings of her heart would not be still. Poor mother! her thoughts made her life a torture of the deepest intensity.
Lewis would not believe they were dead, and had devoted the whole time of their absence in wandering from tribe to tribe, in his endeavors to gain some information of them. Once he heard there were some white persons captive in a distant Indian village, but he could not learn the name of the tribe, or in what part of the vast western wilds they were located. Twice he had been through to Oregon in hopes of obtaining a clue to their whereabouts, but heartsick had returned only to sink the already drooping spirits of his parents still lower. Mr. Duncan had removed his family farther east, where he would be less liable to be annoyed by hostile Indians, and there taking up his abode determined to await until he could learn the fate of his children.
Cole and the chief travelled with great rapidity. They were inured to hardship from infancy, and with nothing to impede their progress, sometimes riding, and sometimes walking, the fourth week out they came to the Arapahoe village in the evening just as the shades of night were drawing to the lodges, the men, women, and children who had scattered themselves during the day through the forest. The chieftain's eye kindled as the old familiar faces passed before him, and his breast heaved with pride us he read in their cheerful steps and careless ways the security and prosperity of his tribe. Cole and the chief were standing in the shadow of a large chesnut tree, which protected them from observation, but from which they saw all that was passing in the village without being seen. Gradually the Arapahoes seated themselves on the bank of a small stream in little groups, and then the chief saw who it was that had succeeded him in command—it was his best friend—the brave and good Eagle.
"Stay here, till I return," whispered the chief to Cole, and then folding his arms over his brawny chest, he walked with a proud step into their midst. Every tongue seemed to be paralyzed, every limb nerveless, as they, with horror depicted on their swarthy faces, saw him approaching.
At last one old man slowly arose and stretching his long bony hand toward him, said—"Does not our chief rest well in the spirit land, that he comes back to his people again? or does he come to warn us of danger?"
"The Arapahoes have forgotten their chief," said Whirlwind, bitterly.
"No, no: not forgotten him!" cried a young girl—his sister—bounding into the circle, and throwing herself, into his arms.
"The Singing-Bird does not forget," said the chief, holding her tightly in his embrace.
"We did not forget, but thought you dead!" they all cried, after fairly recovering from their panic. The Eagle was one of the first to give him a hearty welcome back, and as he did so, he laid his plume on the returned chieftain's head—thus resigning his title and authority.
"No, keep it yet for awhile," returned Whirlwind, "I must leave you for a time." He then explained the disasters that had befallen them, and, finally, his self-imposed duty in uniting the severed family.
The Indians never do a generous act by piecemeal. They are either warm friends or bitter enemies, knowing no medium between the two. They will lay down their lives to serve a friend, and murder a friend's enemy for the same reason, although they have never seen him before, and personally have no animosity towards him. The Arapahoes applauded the noble design of their chief, and furnished fresh horses to him and Cole, with which to accomplish the distance to the frontier, where Mr. Duncan and his companions were.
Mr. Duncan and family were seating themselves at their evening meal, as the two horseman halted at the door. A glance was sufficient to tell them one was a stranger, and the other—could it be?—was the Arapahoe chief, who was taken captive with his lost ones! They all with one impulse started for the door, but Mrs. Duncan, too overcome with anxiety, stood trembling, pale and speechless, leaning on a chair, from which she had just arisen. Mr. Duncan reached the door, but the words he would have spoken died on his lips, as Lewis bounded past him, and grasping the chiefs arm convulsively, cried—"Dotheylive!—speak, if you would not seethemdie!" pointing to his father and mother—"do they live?"
"All live!" said the chief; and as the words fell from his lips, a cry of joy and gladness resounded from the chastened hearts of the family. The certainty that the lost ones still lived, though they yet knew not where nor under what circumstances, roused their enervated energies, nerved their limbs and called back the healthful flush to the cheek, and the light of joy to their eyes.
"To be sure they are well," said Cole to their inquiries, "and we have come all the way from the Sierra Nevada mountains to bring you the news, and take you to them."
"Yes, yes; we will go. To-morrow we will be on the road to see them," said Mrs. Duncan.
"Not so fast as that," returned Cole; "I lost all my traps by the red-skins, and must collect some more. Besides, you need more preparation than could be made in that time, or you will fall into savage hands the second time."
"Let it be a week, then; we can be ready in that time," said Mr. Duncan. Their wanderings were recounted by Whirlwind, and when he had concluded, Mrs. Duncan's joy was nearly turned to sorrow, for fear they had not escaped the dangers of the Sierra. Accordingly, their arrangements were made to set out after a week's preparation. Mr. Duncan's equipments being nearly the same as those with which he had started two years before, when his journey was so unfortunately interrupted. Their destination now was somewhat different than what it was then; their only object being to recover their lost children. Cole had given such glowing descriptions of the country west of the Sierra that they thought it probable they should settle there; still, this was a minor consideration with them.
They reached the Arapahoe village in safety, where they found thirty of their warriors ready to accompany them as a guard. Their love and devotion to their chief prompted them to this disinterested act. They were all well mounted on half-tamed prairie horses,—their swarthy forms fantastically painted, and their heads and tunics adorned with shells, beads, and feathers, which gave them a wild, grotesque, but not unbecoming appearance. This was their gala costume, prepared after the most approved Indian style, and France never looked upon her sovereign with more pride when decked in his costliest regal vestments, than this tribe of savages did upon these thirty warriors, that the whole village had been laid under contribution to decorate in befitting pomp for this occasion. It is unnecessary to follow them minutely as they progressed in their journey. Suffice it that their guard protected them from the depredations of other Indians, and at the same time kept them supplied with meat and fish in abundance, cleared the path when obstructed, and daily rendered invaluable service to the emigrants. On reaching the Sierra, they were shown another pass by some Indians they met with, which was less dangerous, although farther over, and quite as toilsome in crossing.
Chapter Twenty-Third.
The Curate has become much attached to the Wanderers. Arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan's family, accompanied by a number of Arapahoes. Whirlwind demands Jane in marriage. Duncan's feeling in the matter. Jane refuses and the Indians take their departure. The curate gives an account of the discoveries he made of a singular road, city, pyramid. The marriage of Jane and Sidney. Prosperous condition of Mr. Duncan's family. The lapse of twelve years. Change of their condition. Age whitens their locks. Conclusion.
We will go back again to the Pacific valley. The good curate had formed a strong attachment to our wanderers who had been so unceremoniously thrown upon his hospitality, and he held out such strong inducements for them to settle permanently there that Howe had taken some land, and by the aid of Indians whom the curate had partially civilized and taught to labor, cleared a few acres and built thereon a neat and convenient house for the reception of Mr. Duncan, whose arrival he was expecting daily.
Not long after this was completed, as they were all assembled on the porch, a troop of wild looking horsemen emerged from the forest, and galloped towards the house.
"It is a party out on a hunt," said the curate, "we have nothing to fear from them. They will no doubt give us a call, and then hasten away to the forest again."
Howe had been looking intently towards them from the first moment they came in sight, as if in doubts as to who and what they were. The approaching Indian's vision was keener than Howe's, for recognizing the trapper, Whirlwind's joyous shout rang in the air in a prolonged "tu tu-la-la-lah!"
"The chief! it is the chief!" cried Howe, recognizing the sound, "he has come to bring us joyful tidings."
"May it be so for your sakes," returned the curate, with apparent joy.
Approaching with their panting horses, the Indians were dismounted the next moment, and shaking hands with the little group; but, when the chief came to Jane, he caught her in his arms and gazed wistfully in her clear blue eyes.
"They are all safe and close at hand," said he speaking rapidly, anticipating her inquiry, "and I have come to claim the antelope. Will she not now go with her chief?"
"I cannot tell you yet; my mother! father! let me see them," cried the bewildered girl.
"They will be here very soon. The hill yonder is all that now hides them from view," replied the chief, releasing her from his embrace.
"We will go to meet them," said Sidney who, in gratitude to the chief for safely conducting his more than father and mother over the dreary wilds, forgot to evince jealousy at the embrace to which the chief had so unceremoniously treated himself.
"Yes, yes; let us go to meet them," responded Jane, eagerly.
"The white mother longs for her children," said the chief; "you shall go to meet her. The antelope can ride,—will you?" he continued, pointing to his horse, and before she had time to speak he caught her in his arms, and with the agility of a chamois, sprang on the horse's back, placing the half terrified girl before him, and then galloped away to the forest in the direction whence he came, with the rest, including the curate, following after them. Turning the curve of the hill, they came suddenly upon the emigrants, who at sight of their children, uttered an exclamation of joy, and ran forward, catching Jane who was the first to come up, from the chief's arms, and who, with a glad cry, sprang to meet a long embrace from her father and mother.
"Mother! father! Jane!" was all they could say, for their hearts were too full to speak.
"I come! father! mother—I come!" cried Edward, rushing into their arms, which were glad to hold him there again.
"Oh, God! I thankThee, thatThouhast restored me these lost ones!" cried the mother fervently, still holding her recovered children in her arms.
"Amen!" responded the curate, gently.
"Joy, for your arrival—joy for our escape and re-union," cried Sidney, returning the warm embrace with which he was greeted.
"These children make children of us," said Howe, shaking Mr. and Mrs. Duncan by the hand, while endeavoring to keep his joy at again seeing them in becoming bounds, for the children's volubility was becoming contagious.
Lewis, Martin, Annie, and Benjamin were not behind the rest in their greeting. Indeed they were extravagant in their joy.
The emigrants were now conducted to the dwelling prepared for them, which gave them a pleasant surprise, for they had not anticipated finding a house awaiting their arrival. The baggage was soon placed in it, and by nightfall they were fairly domiciled in their new home. Tired of being unsettled, Mr. Duncan, on examining the locality around him, determined to make himself a permanent home, much to the gratification of the curate, whose choice of society had been hitherto necessarily limited, as there were but few settlers within twenty miles of his station. Jones and Cole refused to take up their abode there. Visions of gold mines constantly haunted them, and after a week's delay they departed for their hidden treasure.
The chief now became impatient to return, and to the astonishment of all, and great indignation of Sidney, formally demanded of Mr. Duncan that he should give authority for him to marry Jane, in order that he might be on his journey back to his people. This demand was so extraordinary that the father did not know what to do, and sought Howe, to see if he could throw any light on this singular freak of the chief. A shade of sorrow settled on the brow of the trapper when Mr. Duncan told him his errand. "The chief," he remarked, "has been making love in his fashion to Jane ever since we have been away, greatly to the annoyance of Sidney, who looks upon her as if he thought no one had a right to make love to her but himself."
"How is it with Jane?" asked Mr. Duncan, anxiously.
"If I am not greatly deceived, she prefers the chief to Sidney. I am not certain of it, however. She was too guarded in her looks for me to ascertain positively."
"This is strange! What am I to do?"
"Not strange at all, Duncan," returned the trapper. "Do what is right, and all will be well enough."
"The question then is, what is right?"
"Not a hard one, by any means, to answer. If she prefers him, and he will abandon his savage habits, live and be civilized like other people, let her take him by all means. He is a noble, generous fellow, and we are under great obligations to him, and common gratitude demands from us any consistent return."
"But this mixing of the races!—I must acknowledge I can but feel a repugnance to it; but we will see what Jane says, and leave it all to her."
On approaching, they found her in earnest conversation with the chief, and as they came up, they heard her say—"Do not ask me to leave them; I feel as if a separation from all my kindred would be fatal to my happiness. Your people are strangers to me; and though they would undoubtedly, as you say, be kind to me, yet it would not be like my own people. Their ways are not like ours; and though I could not live among them, you could with ours."
"Whirlwind was cradled in the forest, and he is not a child to die in a white man's wigwam," returned the chief. "If the antelope will not go with him to his people, he must leave her;" and though the words were slow and measured as they fell from his lips, his chest heaved convulsively, and his eye was bent with intense light on her, as if he would read the secret workings of her soul.
"Oh, I cannot, cannot go!" she said, extending her clasped hands appealingly, as she raised her eyes towards him.
"Because you do not love as I do," said he, clasping her in a long and close embrace, then releasing her with a single bitterly uttered "Farewell! we may never meet again," bounded away, leaving the poor girl alone to ponder on the strange conduct of the chief.
"She is better alone," said Howe, "let us away," and retreating, they found the Arapahoes in commotion, and before they could rightly comprehended the meaning of what had transpired, they formed into a body, each one holding his horse by the halter, and at a signal from the chief, were firmly mounted on their steeds. Waving their adieu to their host, they were out of sight before Mr. Duncan and Howe were conscious of their design.
"Poor fellow," said the trapper, "he has carried away a sad heart—an inadequate return, indeed, for all he has done for us."
"I would willingly have had it otherwise, but it seems they were both too strongly attached to customs and kindred among which they were born and which have become a part of their being, to give them up for each other."
"Well, well," said Howe, "I have little faith in broken hearts; at least what I have had was never strengthened by observation or experience. It is all for the best, I suppose, but I liked the chief, and feel as though I had parted from a brother."
While assembled together in a group a few evenings after, of which the curate occupied a prominent position, our wanderers had been recounting some of the wonders they had seen, among which Mr. Duncan related to the curate the story of the Old Man of Lake Superior, and Howe gave them a description of the ruins among the mountains. The curate listened silently, but, evidently, with great interest to the recital until its conclusion. He then commenced telling what he had seen:
"Last summer I was in Nacogdoches, an inland village of Texas, and while transacting some business that had called me thither, I incidentally heard a curious road spoken of, and much speculation was entertained as to who could have been the builders. 'It never was built by the Mexicans,' said one, who seemed both learned and gentlemanly, 'for had it been some record would have survived, and I am confident there is none, for I have made the early annals of the country my sole study for years, and must have found a record or something to throw light upon such a costly and stupendous undertaking had it been built by them.' This was enough to arouse my curiosity, for I had already seen works of art still perfect, that were known to be older than any erected by the inhabitants of this continent at the time of the conquest; and, joining the group of gentlemen, learned that the road referred to was a broad paved avenue leading west, and was said to extend many hundred miles: so far indeed into the wilderness that its termination was unknown. Rumor said it terminated at the Pacific Ocean. My resolution was at once taken. I determined to return to the Pacific valley by this route, for if there was such a road it would be conferring an incalculable benefit on travellers to explore it. My business completed, in company with four others, one of them being Don Quavale, an amateur antiquarian, with his servant, Jose, and a man by the name of Campbell, we set out. I had a servant, Diego, the same who you see here every day. It was a small party for such an adventure, but we were not aware of the dangers that lay before us, and we entered the wilderness with light hearts."
"You followed it up, then?" said Howe; "bravo! you priests have nerve as well as kind words, it seems."
"Yes: we followed it up," replied the curate, quietly. "Light hearted and eager to explore the whole extent of this stupendous monument of a lost people, we entered the wilderness, and soon struck the object of our search. We examined it closely and found it about eighty feet wide and paved with granite in slabs twenty feet long and ten wide, and were evidently of great thickness. The whole road was covered with a soil, made up of decayed leaves and branches sometimes, more than a foot in thickness. Still we were enabled to follow the road without the slightest difficulty, as it would not support a large growth of trees, for the blocks of granite were so closely fitted against each other that it precluded the possibility of their taking root between them. Consequently they ran along the surface, and as soon as the branches attained any large size the wind overturned them, leaving a broad avenue through the tall forest trees. We followed this road through the day; sometimes the ground had been raised, as was plainly visible from the low lands on either side; then again it went through hills that had been excavated, as they rose on either side in their original height, giving the road the appearance of a broad defile between them. Towards sunset of the fourth day we came to a cluster of what we at first thought to be rocks overgrown with shrubs and moss, but which, on a closer view, proved to be a large building in ruins. Removing the accumulated soil we found it still perfect in some of its parts. One of its doors in particular had its lintel of granite on which rested a huge mass of fallen stone without displacing it. Passing inside this door we entered a room perfect in all its proportions, being about twenty feet square; but what excited us still more than the discovery of the ruins was some beautiful hieroglyphics carved on one side of the room directly beneath a human figure cut in relief and curiously decorated, holding a sceptre in its hand.
"Observing a curious knob in one side of the room, Don Quavale took hold of it roughly to see if it was a part of the wall, when to our astonishment it clicked heavily, and an unseen door slowly swung open revealing an inner room of the same size as the first, but different in appearance. Having been kept closed and, as near as we could tell, air-tight, it was still in its original appearance. The floor which was entirely destitute of rubbish, was of beautiful white marble, smooth and even as glass, while the sides were covered with paintings drawn on the wall of the size of life, the colors still vivid and beautiful. The characters drawn were men, birds and fishes, and sometimes a nondescript animal—half eagle and half man—a perfect monster in appearance. Overhead was a representation of the sun, the rays emanating from the centre in flashing colors covered the surface and finally died away in the softest possible tints of rose color. A more perfect representation of the sun I never beheld, and as we gazed upon it, it seemed as if we were contemplating some beautiful creation of an artist of our own day rather than the remains of a people of whom we know not even the name."
"What you have seen, exceeds in finish our discoveries," said Howe.
"Yes: we found there stranger things still," continued the curate. "Ranged around three sides of the room, at regular intervals, were knobs like the one on the door by which we entered, and on pressing one with considerable force it slowly opened, and within we discovered a small, low niche in which lay a corpse as perfect as if just deposited there. It was that of a young woman with symmetrical form, dimpled cheeks and flowing hair, decorated in rich habiliments of gorgeous dyes, her waist encircled by a zone of diamonds, and her arms with bracelets of precious stones. Wonder stricken at what we saw we gazed in silence upon her, and while we gazed the body slowly crumbled away and in half an hour it had dissolved in air leaving but a handful of dust and the glittering gems that had decked her a bride of death, to mark the spot where she lay. Turning another knob another door opened like the previous ones, and in a niche before us lay a warrior in the prime of manhood. He was very tall and muscular, a perfect Hercules in proportions, with a broad, massive forehead and prominent features. He was attired in a sort of uniform of curious workmanship. This apparition vanished quicker than the other, owing probably, to the room being better filled with fresh air. We had, without doubt, lighted on a mausoleum of the lost people; and wishing to preserve the rest of the niches for scientific investigation, we did not open any more. With reverence we left the bodies of the builders of these ruins to their repose.
"Proceeding onward we came, in two more days, to a high table land, on which was a place known as Gran Quivira. It is now in ruins, but bears the appearance of once having been a large populous city, regularly laid out in streets at right angles. The city is about three miles long, running from north-east, to north-west, and nearly a mile in breadth. It is built of stone hewn and accurately fitted together. Some of the houses are still standing, though the greater part of them are thrown down. Entering one of these which exhibited signs of original magnificence amidst the crumbling ruins around it, we found ourselves in a capacious hall, the walls of which were covered with paintings of which a faint tinge of distinct coloring was visible, but as the figures had been cut in the wall before being colored they were easily defined, and were similar to those we had found in the mausoleum two days before. This room was so filled with rubbish, among which were the dried bones and decayed carcasses of animals, that we were on the point of quitting the disagreeable vicinity, when Campbell called our attention to a stairway that descended to some place below. Descending the steps with care—for the slabs of granite which composed them were loosened and seemed ready to tumble down—we found ourselves in a room entirely empty about eighteen feet square, the walls of which were covered with figures in bas-relief and colored elaborately, the tints being still vivid and quite fresh.
"We discovered on examination that we were on a level with the street, and that time had accumulated a soil to the depth of many feet, hiding the exterior of what had been, originally, the first floor, from view. This room was also strewn with rubbish, but we saw enough of it to suppose that the structure had been an imposing one when in the possession of its builders. Leaving this structure, we followed some fallen and shapeless masses of ruins until we came to a range of hills, where we found a curious opening in them, which we soon ascertained to be artificial, with the rock hewn away so as to give free egress from within. Providing ourselves with torches, we penetrated this cavern, and discovered it to be an ancient mine, with the implements of the miners scattered around, as if the artisans had been suddenly interrupted in their labors. There were crowbars quite like our own, though not of iron, chisels, hammers, and a kind of axe more wieldy than ours, but not unlike it. These implements of mining were black, and all of the same kind of metal, but what metal it was, we could not determine. We found also here vessels of pottery, beautiful in shape and highly colored.16
"Returning from the hills, we came to a large building, which must have been five or six stories high, of which half of the walls were thrown down. On clambering over the blocks of granite, we found, by what remained that it had been a guard-house, as there were port-holes in the walls which were four feet in thickness. This building, like the others we had seen, was made of hewn stone, smoothly cut and fitted together without any cement. Indeed they needed none, for the thinnest knife-blade could not have been inserted between them. To the north of this guard-house we found a reservoir in the form of an ellipse, its axis one hundred and fifty yards in length, its breadth at least one hundred, and its depth about fifty feet, paved at the bottom, and built up at the sides with hewn stone. At the northern side an aqueduct entered it, and this we followed a long way, but not finding where it terminated, and being too fatigued to pursue it farther, we returned.17The width of this channel is about twelve feet, and ten in depth, finished at the bottom and the sides like the reservoir. Continuing our journey, we followed the road which led us a little north of west. We often saw Indians entirely nude who fled from us, and as we took the precaution of getting out of their vicinity as soon as our horses could carry us, we were not molested by them. We saw nothing further of interest, until we struck the desert through which the road lay, and, for the first time, we found it difficult to follow, as the desert was without vegetation, the dry sand covering the whole extent for miles around, with an arid and even surface. We should, in all probability, have lost ourselves in that trackless waste, had there not been huge shapeless piles of stone at intervals, and we soon found that on digging down near these, we came to the paved road, and that on removing the sand from around one of these piles of stone, we came upon unmistakable evidences that they had once formed a building in all probability to refresh travellers while journeying over this barren waste.
"Keeping in the track as near as possible, we came to the Colorado, and crossing over on a raft we made for the purpose, we saw on the western side, rising from the plain at a considerable distance, a curious shaft, and we soon found that the road ran by it. It must have been six or eight miles from the Colorado, for we rode two hours before coming to it, and when we did our astonishment was overwhelming to find a pyramid rising one hundred and twenty feet from its base. It was level at the top, and about fifty feet square, and afforded an easy ascent on the opposite side from which it leaned. This pyramid projected ten degrees from the perpendicular. I am inclined to think it was not built in that position, but has been thrown out of an erect construction by some convulsion of nature which, at the same time, displaced and threw down the top. This conclusion we arrived at unanimously on examining the structure, and a mass of fallen stone that lay at the base on the side towards which it leaned. These were in a pile, shelving from the pyramid, looking as though but lately fallen from above. If we were right in our conclusion, the structure must have been one hundred and fifty feet high. The sand had accumulated about its base to a great depth, a fact we ascertained by digging it away a few feet. To lay bare the shaft to the base was a greater task than we were able to accomplish, and we left it to be more thoroughly explored by some future antiquarian.18
"It is impossible to describe the sensation we felt in standing before this monument of the past—this proof of a once strong and powerful people, who erected the structure. We knew that no European had ever gazed on it before, and we almost expected to see the builders, indignant at our intrusion, start up from the desert around, and drive us from their shrines. Pursuing our journey, we found the road dotted on either side, at intervals, with evidences of a once civilized people; but nearly every vestige of peculiar interest about them had been destroyed by time, save the bare blocks of granite, cut into various forms to please the mysterious builders, all, all was gone! and desolation had made their pleasant places her abode."
Twelve years have passed since Mr. Duncan and his family settled on the California coast of the Pacific; and, in conclusion, let us look in once more upon them and witness their prosperous condition.
In a neat and tastily arranged cottage sits a woman in the prime of matronly beauty, with love and happiness beaming from her soft blue eyes, as they wander in gratified pride from a fine boy some eight years old, who stands at her side, to a man who sits reading by a window that overlooks the beautiful landscape. This is the home of Sidney and Jane, and they are now enjoying a life of contentment that cannot fail to encircle their lives with a halo of bliss which gold can never buy. They never recrossed the Sierra in search of the riches that still lie buried in the mountains and desert, for the mere mention of them, vividly recalls the recollection of the terrible sufferings they endured in their wanderings through the wilds of the west. The rest of Mr. Duncan's children are also happily settled near them, while the trapper is an inhabitant of each cottage and the forest alternately, as inclination dictates, and is supposed to be the most contented man in the Pacific valley.
We said that twelve years had elapsed since our wanderers reached the Pacific Valley—that is a short period of time, yet it is long enough for events to transpire whose influences shall be felt for centuries to come; long enough to develop the strength and resources of a continent. Great is the change which civilization has made in that portion of the west. The broad and almost interminable forests have yielded to the woodman's axe; the streams and rivers, and even old Ocean itself, have become transformed into channels of commerce and trade, and bear upon their bosoms the auxiliaries of progress and science. The mountains and valleys, where once nothing but the wild shouts of untutored savages and the howls of beasts of prey broke the stillness of the dismal solitude, are now vocal with the voice and bustle of civilization, as in giant strides science and art triumph over the rough barriers, and open avenues for the advancement of moral reform.
The changes have been equally advantageous to the prosperity of Mr. Duncan, whose evening of life is surrounded with ease and wealth, while peace and the love of his children render those years the most blissful of an eventful lifetime. Everywhere throughout the Pacific border of the Sierra Nevada, the indomitable spirit of enterprise and the unchecked perseverance of Americanism are busy at work, and thegolden resultsbid fair, in a few years to convert that auriferous region into a granary of wealth and agricultural prosperity.
THE END.
Footnotes
1A name applied by the Indians to their benefactors.
2Dirca palustris, a very tough shrub, of theThymalaeæspecies, growing in the deep forests.
3This curious phenomena was at that time entirely unknown to the white man, but has since been discovered to exist four hundred miles east of the land of the Amachuba.
4A great delicacy with Indians.
5By filling a tumbler nearly full of water, and pouring a small quantity of ether upon its surface, on application of a torch, it will burn with a very beautiful light.
6A fact which was related to the author by a trader, who was one among some others that saw a similar circumstance.
7A pet name bestowed on Jane by the chief for her agility in travelling.
8A root much used by the Indians as food.
9Physician.
10The Indians imagine that good and evil spirits can cast a spell over any person they desire, and while under it, they have no control over their own actions, but are obliged to follow the inclination of the spirit by which the spell is cast.
11Rattlesnake root&Botanical,Polygala senega&being an active stimulant, will counteract the bite of this most poisonous of reptiles.
12A common mode of taking fish among the Indians.
13The gauntlet consists in drawing up the members of the village in two files facing each other four feet apart, through which the victim has to make his way, the Indians striking at him as he runs with clubs, knives, tomahawks or any weapon they choose to arm themselves with. Not one out of a hundred get through the file, and if they do they are sure to meet with kindness; but if beaten down they are either killed on the spot or carried wounded and bleeding to the stake where they perish amidst horrible tortures.
14Bark cut off from trees to indicate a certain course through the forests. It is a very common practice among the pioneers of the West.
15Since 1840 this pass over the Sierra has been abandoned, and one far easier and less difficult discovered twenty miles below it. It was originally used by the Indians, as the shortest route to the valley beyond.
16Since the above was written, a gentleman who became acquainted with the above facts from the Curate, visited the spot and made other discoveries of importance, which he communicated to the Maryland Historical Society in an important document, to which the reader is referred.
17Within a year past the aqueduct has been traced forty miles, terminating at the banks of a beautiful stream, which now empties its waters into the Pecos, the mouth of the aqueduct being blocked up.
18Early in the year 1853, a party of California explorers came across this same pyramid, but as they were not prepared to investigate it nothing new was elicited.
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