158CHAPTER XII.FIRE AND FLOOD.
The sum which had been pledged by the settlers was not sufficient for the support of the missionary’s family; and although the treasurer exerted himself to the utmost, he could only collect a portion of what was due from those whose names were on the subscription paper. No one felt the inconvenience of this more than the clergyman’s wife. She was a good manager, and had a wonderful faculty for making “one dollar go as far as three, and getting up meals out of nothing,” as her husband often remarked. But it must be confessed, that with the keen appetites brought to them on the wings of the prairie winds, the little household sometimes rose from the scantily-furnished table hungry for more.
Mr. Payson, under these circumstances, would comfort her with anticipations of future abundance. They knew, indeed, that most of the settlers had newly arrived, and had everything to buy, as they had not been long enough settled to159raise anything from the ground. But a year had now elapsed, and many acres of the rich soil had been turned over and planted, and there was prospect of abundant returns. The missionary, being unaccustomed to farming, and wishing to devote his energies, as far as practicable, to the spiritual interests of his growing charge, had let out his tillable ten-acre lot to a neighbor, to be cultivated on shares, reserving a little spot for himself, which he had planted to early potatoes, and a good variety of garden vegetables. As the one who carried on the rest of the piece was an intelligent and experienced farmer, and had facilities for the work in the way of teams and men, the clergyman felt that he might reasonably calculate on a supply of corn and wheat, to which crops the ground had been devoted. And nowhere was there promise of a larger yield than on that quick and productive river bottom. The corn grew to a prodigious height, crowded with mammoth ears, and the wheat emulated the corn; while the squash and pumpkin vines conducted as if on a race to see which would beat in the number and size of their fruit; and Mr. Payson’s pet sorghum–a species of sugar-cane–shot up to a marvellous perfection. It is true that a neighbor’s unruly cattle had broken into the enclosure a number of times; and a contrary sow, with her lively family of eleven, had also made160sundry plundering raids, causing the minister considerable trouble in driving and keeping out the intruders; but he had already a fine supply of seasoned oak rails under way for perfecting the fences; and he cheerily said to his wife,–
“Another year, and I’ll defy the unruliest animals in the settlement to steal an ear of corn or a potato from my lot.”
Summer had now faded into late autumn, and one day the farmer, who had charge of the field, called at Mr. Payson’s, looking very dejected.
“Elder,” said he, “our farming this year is going to be losing business.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the clergyman.
“You see,” he replied, “most of the settlers, like myself, came from a warmer climate than this. We were told also that the growing season was as long here as there, and brought our choicest seed with us. But there is not time for it to ripen; and our corn will not do to grind, nor will it keep, it is so green. It is a great disappointment to me; but most of the neighbors are in the same situation.”
Words cannot describe what sad tidings these were to the missionary.
“The wheat is good–is it not?” he inquired.161
“Yes; but you know there was little sown, as the ground was best adapted to corn.”
So it turned out that more was realized from the half acre cultivated by the missionary, notwithstanding the old farmer laughed at his city style of doing things, than from the nine and a half acres besides. And the year of plenty had to be deferred for another twelvemonth.
That eighty acres!–how much comfort the missionary and his wife took in the thought that it was, or rather soon would be, theirs! How many times they admired its pleasant, rolling aspect, and weighed its prospective value! And the pretty grove near the cabin, with its straight-growing trees–what cosy walks they had with the children in its leafy shade! What enjoyment in noting the progress made in clearing out the underbrush and trimming the trees of superfluous branches!
“If the place was only paid for,” said the husband one day, “I should be glad. Let me see. Eighty acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre,–the government price,–would be one hundred dollars. I think I’ll act upon Mr. Jones’s suggestion, and sell some of the timber across the river, and pre-empt immediately. I have been offered thirty dollars an acre for the privilege of cutting off the wood, and, at that162rate, three and a half acres would be more than enough.”
So the sale was effected, and, with the hundred dollars in his pocket, the clergyman started one morning on horseback for the Land Office, thirty-seven miles distant. A horseback ride across a Minnesota prairie is highly exhilarating, and both horse and rider were in good spirits. Seemingly half borne on by a sweeping prairie wind, Mr. Payson reached his destination in some five hours, in season for an early tea; and the next morning he was conducted to the Land Office by a lawyer acquaintance, and, with a witness at hand to prove what he affirmed, stated, under oath, that he had, on the land he wished to pre-empt, a cabin and other improvements to the amount that the law required; and then, having paid his hundred dollars, he started towards home with a light heart.
The day became dark and cloudy; and, as there was only a faint cart track across the prairies, the minister found, in the course of the afternoon, that he had lost his way. There were no cabins at which he could retrieve his error, and, after many vain endeavors to find the track, he let his horse take his own course; and, carrying his master under low-branched trees and through thorny thickets, across a swamp, he brought him out at last by a much shorter route163than he had taken in going, on the farther bank of the river, near the town.
As the clergyman neared the village, he noticed heavy volumes of smoke ascending. Then he saw Mr. Palmer with a force of men busily engaged in checking a fire that was careering through the bushes. There was a wall of flame between him and them. Striking the road, he dashed through the glowing boundary; and Mr. Palmer, beckoning to him, said,–
“We have rather bad news to tell you, though not so bad as it might have been. A fire commenced near your place yesterday afternoon, and came near burning the town.”
“A fire there!” ejaculated the minister. “How did it start?”
“I cannot stop to tell you,” said his bachelor friend; “but your wife, when you get home, will tell you all about it. Had it not been for her, we should have been swept away.”
What a sight met the clergyman’s eye as he came into the town! The entire area, before so like a lawn, looked as if the contents of a large ink-pot had been spread over it. He was relieved, however, to see that his cabin and the other houses were still standing; but his wife met him with a depressed bearing quite in contrast to her usual sprightly manner. It so struck to his heart to see how badly she felt, that–although164his glance from the saddle showed that the flames had not spared his beloved grove, and had consumed the rails, of which he had been so proud, and spoiled many a promising tree–with a desperate endeavor, he set about comforting her.
“O, this is nothing,” said he–“nothing at all! Consider what it would have been had the cabin taken fire, and you and the children been in danger.”
“Which would have been the case,” she added, “had not our quick-moving town owner, Mr. Caswell, come to the rescue with his usual energy, at the head of a force of men and teams, bringing with them hogsheads of water, and pails, with which to throw it upon the fire. You have reason to thank them; for they worked as I never saw men work before.”
“But how did the fire commence?” he asked.
“Why, you see,” said she, “after you left, I said to the children, ‘Father’s gone to the Land Office to buy the land; and now we’ll stir around, and see how nice we can make everything look by the time he gets back.’ Well, you know how unsightly the chips looked around the house, and which you had not had time to remove. So we went to work raking them up into little heaps. While we were thus employed, we heard the report of a gun in the bushes near by. The morning,165you recollect, was quite calm; but just as the gun was fired, a gust of wind swept over the place, carrying with it some burning wadding that alighted in a dry log some rods away. Before I could get there, the inflammable wood was afire, and from that other sparks had been borne on, and at once had kindled flames in a number of different places. Seeing that it was impossible to arrest the progress of the conflagration, I sent Helen to the nearest neighbor’s to give the alarm, and, as I have already said, by the help of those that came, our cabin was barely saved, and the neighbors had to fight hard to preserve their own dwellings.”
Each day after that the missionary would walk about his blackened domain, pondering the uncertainty of all sublunary things, about which he had so often preached, his wife scrutinizing his disconsolate face the while, and he repeating, with an emphasis that showed he was saying it for his own benefit as much as hers,–
“O, it’s nothing at all–nothing at all; and as for those few rails,”–as he kicked over the burnt fragments with a melancholy look,–“they’re not of much account, for the piece over the river is pretty well fenced, after all; luckily, the fires didn’t touch them, and we have them safe for another year.”
One afternoon, a few days later, as Mr. Payson166was in his attic study absorbed, an unwonted darkness fell upon the page before him; then a heavy peal of thunder succeeded. It was one long, continuous roll, for an hour or more, without pause, and the rain poured down as he never saw it in any shower east; it seemed as if the heavy clouds were literally emptying their contents upon prairie and forest, while flash followed flash of vivid lightning. Throughout the whole night it rained, and the next day, and the next; and, were it not for the ancient promise, one might have thought that a second flood was to sweep the inhabitants of the world away. About midnight of the third day of the terrible storm, the family at the missionary’s cabin were awakened by wild shoutings in the village below.
“What do you suppose is the matter?” asked Mrs. Payson.
“Nothing serious, I think,” said her husband. “As the town site is rolling and descends towards the river, it is probable that the high water has come up into some of the yards and gardens, and perhaps has invaded some of the settlers’ pig-pens and hen-coops, and the neighbors are working in the rain and darkness to save their live stock.”
The sun came out next morning like “a bride-groom from out his chamber, rejoicing as a strong man to run his race,” flooding the fields with light, as the clouds had flooded them with water,167revealing the destruction which the tempest had caused. It appeared that the river, a short distance up stream from the town, had become obstructed by dead trees, and brush, and loosened soil, until a heavy body of water had accumulated, when, the impediment suddenly giving way, the water rushed with tremendous power, inundating a wide extent of ground, and sweeping away everything movable in its path. Many cabins were flooded, sleepers being awakened by the water dashing against their beds, while articles of furniture were floating about in the room. It was this that caused the outcries that Mr. Payson had heard.
The Jones’s cabin had been well chosen for safety on ordinary occasions; but, on the night in question, Tom was awakened by something cold touching his hand; for, in throwing it out of bed in his sleep, it had been immersed in the water, which had entered the room, and was rapidly rising. Shouting to his mother and the children, he struck a light, and leaped into the water; and, taking Bub in his arms, and directing the movements of the rest, he hurried them out of the door, away from the river bank, as fast as they could go. How providential it was that he should have, in his restlessness, dropped his hand over the bedside! for scarcely had they ascended a swell of ground beyond the field when168the cabin went down with a crash, and the fragments, whirling about and jarring together, disappeared from view.
They were now poorer than ever; but, cold and wet, with the lightning flashing about them, in the pouring rain, they clung together for mutual protection, while they took their toilsome and difficult way from the scene of danger.
There was an unoccupied shanty in the edge of the town farthest from the river, and to that Tom led the terrified and shivering group. It was three full hours before they reached it; and then they had nothing but the bare walls and the bare floor, with the shelter over their heads, for a resting-place, where, the next day, the missionary found them as he went about assisting to succor the sufferers; and, at his suggestion, from the scanty stores of the settlers about, their cabin was fitted out with eatables and housekeeping articles.
During all this time Mr. Payson had been so occupied in benevolent labor among those whose cabins had been flooded, that it had not occurred to him that he had sustained any damage; but, after the subsiding of the waters, as he took his way down his favorite path through the grove, he saw that the waters had borne away every vestige of fencing around his cherished ten-acre lot. The highest part of the fence had169been under water many feet on that calamitous night, and with the loss of the rails had gone down another of the earthly props on which he had leaned for his daily bread in the wilderness.
170CHAPTER XIII.THE INDIAN LODGE.
Spring on a north-western prairie. What a glorious scene! Suddenly, you scarcely know when, the snow has disappeared, leaving the long, dead grass lying in matted unsightliness, and you would think it was dead forever; but soon, in little clusters of from three to seven, you see dotting the landscape a purple flower, a tough, membranous, hairy sheath protecting each floweret from the chilling winds, for it opens at once to your gaze. Then, as the weather waxes genial, the blossoms shoot up from their hirsute guardianship, and nod brightly in the breeze. It is the “spring beauty,”–as the frontier folk call it,–the first vegetation of the season, presenting the phenomenon of rich blooming flowers, while yet the lifeless turf shows no signs of vitality. But life is there; for at once, as if by magic, the whole expanse is green with verdure, growing with marvellous rapidity, decked with flowers.
“Garden without path or fence,Rolling up its billowy blooms.”
171
Then you rise some soft morning, and the air is vocal with the cooing of myriad birds. If you are just from the east, you will think that thousands of turtle doves are announcing that spring has come. They seem close about you; but you cannot see them. They are not in the groves near by; you follow the sounds through the waving prairie grass for a long distance, and you find them not, and will be surprised when your western friend tells you that these are the voices of the prairie hens, miles away, holding their annual convention, the queer cuckooing not being loving sounds, but notes of war–abortive attempts at crowing, which the rival males set up as they prepare to do battle with each other.
And now from the blue expanse overhead come down the varied cries of the migratory birds returning from the south. Line upon line of wild geese, in military order, follow their leader, while the trumpet blasts of the sand-hill cranes–the ostrich of the American prairie–ring out clear and shrill, and their long white bills glisten in the sunlight from afar, like bristling bayonets of ivory.
Tom stood in front of the hotel, enjoying the spring sights and sounds with unusual zest. The two winters now past had been eventful to him. Mr. Payson, the missionary, who had taken a great interest in Tom, had, the winter before,172kept school in his own cabin; and Tom and his sister Eliza had attended much of the time, their tuition being paid by such assistance as Tom might be able to render Mr. Payson in his outdoor work.
Eliza had grown to be a sedate and interesting young woman, and was making good headway with her studies, when one day she gave notice that she should not be able to attend school any longer; and to her teacher’s inquiries she returned only blushes in reply, and he could get no further light until the next day, when an enterprising young man from a “neighboring village,” twenty miles distant, called to invite Mr. Payson to join himself and “Miss Eliza” in marriage.
The last winter the missionary’s family had occupied rooms at the hotel. Mrs. Payson had been growingly unhappy from dread of the Indians, and often said to her husband,–
“Our lot is just such a place as they would be likely to come to first.”
Mr. Payson did not share this fear; but, on account of her feelings, the generous-hearted landlord offered them rooms for the winter rent free.
The winter had gone by without any adverse occurrence. Tom had been prospering in his studies under the missionary’s direction, working for his board in the family of one of the town173owners, just opposite the hotel; so it was but a step for him to the missionary’s when he wished to recite.
“Will you be able to hear my recitation this afternoon?” asked Tom, as Mr. Payson came down the hotel steps.
“Yes,” replied the missionary. “I am called away this morning, but I think I shall get back in season.”
That afternoon, as Tom sat in the missionary’s front room, absorbed in a book, the furious barking of a dog disturbed him. He glanced out of the window, and saw, to his surprise, an Indian. The savage had turned, facing the hotel, rifle in his hand, and, with flashing eyes, was driving back a large mastiff that had attacked him. Tom was struck with the singular intelligence and beauty of the young savage. He was a shade lighter than most of his race, had large, dark, expressive eyes, regular and finely-cut features, a symmetric form, and his luxuriant black hair, which was of great length, was dressed with most elaborate care, and the ornaments that he wore about his person, and his blanket, were better than those usually worn by Indians.
From the Indian’s manner, Tom concluded that he suspected the dog was set upon him by some white person. The bearing of the red man was lofty, collected, and defiant. In an instant174Tom sprang down the front stairs, and called the dog off. The Indian, glancing at the lad, went stolidly on his way, up the main street, through the village, till he was hidden from view by the trees on the missionary’s land.
Mrs. Payson and her children stood at the window, watching the retreating figure of the Indian with mingled fear and admiration.
“Isn’t he handsome?” exclaimed the elder of the little girls.
“He certainly is very intelligent looking,” remarked her mother; “a noble specimen of the red man.”
“Did you see that Indian?” inquired the landlady, a calm, dignified woman, as she stepped into the room. “One of the boarders says there is quite a company of them encamped on your husbands land. The have a large wigwam, and seem to be making themselves as much at home as if they owned the place.”
The missionary’s wife shuddered, and remarked,–
“It is just as I foreboded.”
“But these arefriendly,” returned the landlady. “The chief has a letter from the government agent, recommending him to the confidence and charity of the settlers. It has been a long and hard winter, and the agent says there has been much suffering among the Indians.”175
“Is that young Indian the chief?” asked Mrs. Payson.
“No; I wish he were. He is the finest-looking savage I ever saw. I don’t think I should be afraid to trust him. But the chief looks frightfully; he is as cruel and treacherous as a snake, or I do not read his face aright.”
“Then you have seen him?” said the other, in surprise.
“Yes; I was riding through the woods with husband, and we met him. The young Indian seems to belong to the company, and yet holds himself somewhat aloof from the others, as if he feels conscious of being superior to them, and finds it difficult to fellowship their low ways. To-morrow a party of us are going to call on the Indians at their wigwam, and I stepped in to invite you to go. There will be a good many of us; so you needn’t fear being tomahawked!” she added, laughing.
The visit to the Indians the next day was full of interest to the missionary’s family, for, although they had seen numbers of the half-civilized Indians of the Eastern States, they had never before seen the red man in his native wilds, with habits and customs unchanged from their primitive character. The wigwam was large and well constructed, erected in a sheltered and romantic spot, convenient at once to the village, the woods,176and the river. Within were squatted four or five of the company on the ground, playing a game of chance, in which employment the Indian men spend most of their time, when not hunting, fishing, or at war. There were no women with them, and therefore the men had, besides the cooking, to do the drudgery usually assigned to the squaws, such as gathering and bringing in the wood, and dressing the skins of the wild animals.
The Indians did not lift their eyes as the whites entered through the narrow opening which served as door, and ranged themselves around the sides of the lodge as best they might. Nor did they answer any questions, not appearing to understand a word of English, their faces remaining as stolid under the remarks of the whites as if nothing had been said; and taking it for granted that the Indians were as ignorant of civilized speech as they appeared, some of the inquisitive pale-faces indulged themselves in quite uncivilized speeches, for they had a traditional contempt and hatred of their tawny brothers.
“You had better not express yourself quite so freely,” said Mr. Caswell, the landlord, aside to a settler; “these fellows understand every word you say, and it’s better to have the good will than the ill will of a dog, as the old saying is.”177
Curious, however, to see what the effect would be, those who disliked the Indians the most made them presents with the rest. Tobacco, skeins of cotton, brass buttons, cakes, crackers, cents, sticks of candy, bits of ribbon, were received by the Indians without a word or nod of acknowledgment. No sign of consciousness of visitor or presents was evinced, save that a grimy hand would deftly clutch the article tossed within its reach, and convey it to the head, quickly and ingeniously twisting it in the hair, the game proceeding the while, without a pause. The young Indian played with his companions; and from his beauty and princely bearing drew much attention and a large share of the gifts to himself; yet even in receiving the presents he seemed different from the other savages. His was the only face in the swarthy group that betrayed “the workings of the soul;” and although he fastened the trinkets in his raven locks, drops of sweat stood on his brow, and it seemed as if it cost him a struggle to be treated as an object of charity.
Tom, with the others, was much struck with the appearance of the young Indian, and made a number of unsuccessful attempts to converse with him. Finding that the “confusion of tongues,” or some other barrier, had made talking178together impossible, in various ingenious ways he tried to direct the Indian’s attention to himself, but without avail; game succeeded game in Indian silence, the talking and advancing towards acquaintanceship remaining wholly on the side of the whites.
“How many belong to this company?” asked Mr. Payson of the landlord.
“There are nine of them: the rest are out hunting, I suppose,” was the reply.
“And do all these chaps manage to sleep in this little hut?” asked a settler.
“A nice time they must have of it on the ground, especially when it rains,” added another, pointing up through the roof, which was open, to let out the smoke.
“But,” said the missionary, “everything is in remarkable order here. Don’t you see that each man has his place, and on the side of the lodge a snug chance to stow away or hang up his personal effects. We whites could scarcely arrange the little space with more fairness and mathematical precision, so as to make the most of the room.”
It was indeed so; and much did the callers marvel at the intelligent system that prevailed.
“Some one has had a hand in the ordering of affairs here, who has more intellect than we are accustomed to attribute to the red man;” and179the minister glanced at the young Indian, as if to say, “It must be due to him.”
But twilight was falling, and the villagers started on their way home. Scarcely, however, had they passed the hedge of elders and the rows of young oaks that hid the abode of the Indians from view, when from within the wigwam there went up a startling whoop and yell, mingled with derisive laughter.
Mrs. Payson stood still, pale with terror, as if expecting to see the savages rush out to massacre them. But they kept within their tent, their horrible whoopings and mockings continuing until the whites were well away.
“I do not like the sound of those yells,” said the missionary, soberly.
“O, the Indians are only amusing themselves by trying to scare the women and children,” replied Mr. Caswell, merrily.
“There is more than that intended,” returned the minister. “There was the bitterest irony and hatred expressed in those tones. If the authors of them dared, or it was in their plan to do so now, they would spring upon us with the eagerness of so many beasts of prey.”
The next day eight of the Indians walked into the village, one after the other, as is the Indian way, and called at the hotel to beg. They had found their tongues over night, and could manage,180not only to understand, when it was for their interest, what was said to them, but in broken English make reply. They were a fine set of men, physically–tall, broad-chested, erect; and, wrapped in their white and red blankets, they made a formidable appearance. There was no touch of fawning or crouching in their manner. They demanded the articles given them, rather than begged. You would have thought them lords of the soil, come to collect rent of tardy tenantry.
The young Indian, however, still preserved his individuality, and various romantic conjectures were conjured up in imaginative heads concerning him. Some went so far as to assert that he had no Indian blood in him, and started the theory that he must have had white parentage, and that he might have been stolen, when a child, from some noble white family. But the more experienced of the pioneers set that at rest by affirming that they could tell the pure, unmixed Indian, and that he was one.
Tom lingered much about him.
“O,” said he to the missionary, “if I could only talk with him, how I would love to teach him how to read, and speak to him of the blessed things in the Bible!”
“That is on my mind most of the time, Tom,” replied the good man. “I am often asking myself.181Can I not, in some way, lead these benighted souls to the Lamb of God? But how inaccessible they are! What an impassable barrier between them and us! and, with the exception of the youngest of them, how brutal and low! To see such splendidly-formed men spend their time squatted on the earth, playing jack-straws, or some equally silly game, from morning to night, is pitiful. And then their yelling and laughter are more like wild beasts or demons than human beings. These people seem to me the lowest, meanest, most treacherous, and hardened of the human race. I do not wonder that it is so difficult to civilize or Christianize them.”
Weeks went by, and the Indians remained in their lodge, daily growing bolder and more intrusive, till they had become obnoxious to the most benevolent of the settlers. It had come to be not over pleasant to the women of the neighborhood to look up from their domestic duties, and see that a grim savage had stolen into the house, and, unasked, seated himself in a chair, ready, as soon as he thought best, to nod, in a dictatorial way, towards some coveted article, in a manner which meant,–
“Hand that to me!”
Meanwhile Tom and the young Indian–who, whether that was his real Indian name or not,182was calledLong Hair–had become quite intimate. Nevertheless, not many words passed between them, for Long Hair was more reticent, if possible, than the rest of his company. But without word-signs they managed to understand each other. Long Hair, indeed, appeared to read Tom’s thoughts intuitively, and Mrs. Payson was often made anxious for Tom, because he would be gone so long in the woods with Long Hair. The latter had selected a tree for a canoe, and Tom, with his sharp-edged axe, cut it down for him, and helped him dig it out and shape it. A strange sympathy had grown up between them, and one evening, as Tom was on his way to the prayer-meeting, chancing to meet Long Hair, he invited the latter to accompany him, trying, with great earnestness, to make him comprehend the object of the gathering. Long Hair seemed to gain a dim perception of what his friend meant, and, after much persuasion, entered with Tom the cabin in which the meeting was to be held. The Indian’s face gave evidence of great excitement as the services progressed; the deep solemnity of the prayers, and the devout strains of Christian song, took powerful hold of the red man’s feelings. Doubtless he understood little of the scene in which, for the first time, he mingled; but a potent influence went along with it, and so affected was he, that183his hand sought Tom’s, and he held it in a strong, tender grasp till the meeting closed, his frame trembling with emotion. And yet Tom could not converse with him afterwards; and what the nature of the emotion was that shook him so,–what thoughts were stirred, and with what result for eternity in the bosom of that silent son of the prairie, who, for the first time, had attended Christian worship,–no one knew. Tom could not induce him to attend again, and yet he did not seem offended at what he had heard; but when his white friend alluded to it, his eye gleamed with a new light, and his face looked thoughtfully, doubtfully serious.
Nearly every day Tom and Long Hair were together, the latter keeping but little in the wigwam, and seldom going with the other Indians. When they filed into town, and besieged the houses, trying the doors, peeping into the windows, accosting the street-passers, Long Hair was not with them; and when at evening they returned exultant from a successful hunt, singing their strong-lunged song of triumph,–their wild and scarcely human “Hi yar! hi yar!” growing nearer, till, entering the village, they sang their way through to their lodge, Long Hair was not of their number.
One day Tom, chancing to visit the wigwam, found Long Hair there, shivering with a violent184attack of ague. He was alone, and had been for two days.
How bare and cheerless appeared the Indian’s life to Tom’s sympathetic nature then! for an Indian, when sick, has few comforts. Solitary he sits wrapped in his blanket, or lies on the ground, with no one to nurse or care for him; no nice dishes to tempt his feeble appetite, no hand to bathe his fevered brow, no medicines to assuage his pain or drive disease away.
“Why, Long Hair,” cried Tom, “why didn’t you let me know that you were sick?”
But Long Hair sat shaking in his blanket, and, as usual, heard, but made no answer, only with his expressive eyes.
Tom brought in wood, and started the fire, and saying, “Mother’ll know just what to do for you, Long Hair; I’ll go and tell her how you are,” he ran to his mother’s cabin, and, quickly making some nourishing gruel, and putting up a store of simples that she used in fever and ague, she returned with Tom to the lodge. What a treasure is a loving, experienced woman in sickness, whether in a palace, a log house, or beneath the rude shelter of an Indian’s moving home–ever gentle, exhaustless in resources, untiring in her ministrations! It seemed a marvel to Tom how readily his mother knew just what to do for Long Hair, intuitively adapting herself to his Indian185peculiarities; and, for the week that his illness lasted, she nursed him with great tenderness, often remarking to Tom,–
“He is one of God’s children, Tom; for the Bible says, ‘God has made of one blood all the nations of men to dwell upon the face of the earth,’ and Jesus died for the red man as much as for the white.”
Through all this womanly care of him by Mrs. Jones, and brotherly attention of Tom, the Indian, while shivering with the chill, or burning and panting with the fever, made no acknowledgments of kindness shown him, or uttered a word of complaint as he suffered, and, when he recovered, returned in silence to his Indian occupations.
“I wouldn’t give one of the red skins a glass of water to save his life!” exclaimed a settler who had lost by the depredations of the Indians. “There isn’t a particle of gratitude in one of ‘em. Give any of them all you have, and ten to one he’ll steal upon you out of a bush, and take your scalp.”
“It is too true of most of the Indians, I admit,” said Mrs. Jones, “and perhaps Long Hair will prove ungrateful; but I only did as the Bible directs, and I am contented.”
But, some days after, as Long Hair strode into her cabin with a freshly-killed deer on his186shoulder, which he deposited at her feet, saying, as he left,–for he tarried not to sit down,–“White squaw, much good; Long Hair bring venison,” Mrs. Jones wiped the tears from her eyes, rejoicing more to find that there was gratitude even in an Indian’s heart, than at receiving his generous gift.
Longhair and His Present.Page 186.
Longhair and His Present.Page 186.
187CHAPTER XIV.THE WAR-SONG.
Mrs. Payson sat sewing in her pleasant room at the hotel. Her thoughts were far away from the checkered experiences of the frontier, for her husband–having received by the last mail a new book from an eastern friend–read while she plied her needle. Baby was in his crib in the bed-room adjoining, and Fannie and Helen were whispering in a matronly way in the corner, as with the help of mother’s scissors they fitted their dolls to new dresses. Had you looked in upon the group, you would not realize that they constituted a pioneer missionary’s family; for the hotel building was tasteful and spacious, and if they lived and dressed plainly, and often felt the pinchings of poverty, their appearance betrayed no unhappiness. And then the volume had transported the father and mother to other and brighter scenes than those of the uncultured wilderness. The tone of the reader in its subdued or impassioned modulations attested the interest he felt in the volume, and the heightened color of188the wife showed her sympathy with the theme. What a magician is a book! It can cause the poor to forget their poverty, and the wanderer in a distant land to become oblivious of his exile.
“What was that?” exclaimed the missionary and his wife at once, as they sprang to their feet in breathless suspense.
Again the horrible cry broke forth, seeming to come from the room below.
At this moment the fair face of the landlady appeared, and she said,–
“The Indians are below, and are going to sing for us. Won’t you come down and hear them?”
“Rather discordant music,” answered the minister; “but I think we may as well accept your invitation–don’t you, wife?” and taking the children with them, they descended to the dining-room. Ranged round the long table were eight savages, and sitting back against the walls a few boarders,–for most of the household were away. Some of the Indians held tin pans, and on these, as an accompaniment, they beat time with iron instruments, their heavy blows making a deafening din, and their harsh, guttural notes, uttered in unison, made the diabolical uproar. Mr. Payson’s inspection of the performers in this strange concert was anything but satisfactory to him. The manner of the savages was impudent and brutal beyond anything he had yet seen in them,189and he fancied that their sneering and malignant grimaces and serpent-like contortions of the body expressed evil and vengeful passions that burned within. On the faces of the whites a startled, anxious look struggled, with an effort to feel at ease, and fear nothing.
“There is something wrong about these Indians,” whispered the minister to a man near him; “they are plotting mischief; their looks and tones are full of ugliness; and I am convinced that if they intend no trouble to-night, they know that some hidden danger threatens us. See how that chief’s eye glares. Observe the murderous leer of the one beside him. Notice how they mock and insult us to our very faces. Now, how awfully jubilant their tones, as if they had us at their mercy. Do you suppose they are secretly armed?” and, rising, he went calmly from Indian to Indian, lifting the blanket of each, to see if a rifle cut short, or some other deadly weapon, was not concealed there. But none was to be found; and at the close of their alarming exhibition, the chief haughtily arose, bowed to the missionary, who was now seated again, and passed out; each of his followers imitating him in the salute as he glided from the room.
“The Indians have taken down their wigwam, and gone away,” said Tom to Mr. Payson, the next day.190
“I am glad to hear it,” replied the missionary; “they are a dangerous set, and I have been quite anxious lest the settlers should get into a quarrel with them. But what makes you look so depressed? Are any of your folks sick?”
“No,” replied Tom, striving to appear calm. “Father came home last night–”
“Well, that was a pleasant surprise–was it not?” interrupted his kind friend.
“Yes; but–but–he wants us to remove.”
“Remove! Whereto?”
“Near Spirit Lake.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I heard this morning that the Sioux are quite insolent towards the settlers in that vicinity, and threaten an outbreak. I must see your father, and dissuade him from his project;” and the minister proceeded to the cabin occupied by the Joneses.
It was near Spirit Lake that Mr. Jones was wounded by the Indian. This, however, did not deter him from going there again to hunt. Three promising young settlements had sprung up there, side by side, for the beauty, fertility, and cheapness of the land had attracted quite an immigration that way. Mr. Jones had mingled much with the settlers,–for an entirelynewcountry had special charms for him,–and his knowledge of all matters most needful to the pioneer made him a welcome acquaintance. He had become a191great favorite with the inhabitants. The Indians were numerous and bold, but entertained a wholesome dread of the squatter’s rifle and personal courage; and the whites, although they did not anticipate serious trouble with the savages, felt so much safer when he was with them, that they offered him a comfortable cabin, and promised other advantages if he would dwell among them. Among the Indians Mr. Jones went by the name ofLong Rifle, and they expressed great admiration of his marksmanship. Occasions not unfrequently happened for him to show his superior qualities in that line. For example, the squatter happened in one day at a cabin, and found some half dozen Indians there, who had busied themselves, in the absence of the men, in rummaging the house for plunder, greatly to the terror of the women and children. As Mr. Jones appeared, they seated themselves with Indian gravity, refusing to answer a word, while their faces wore an angry and sullen look. Among these were some famous for their skill with the rifle, and, knowing their passion for target-shooting, he proposed at once a trial of skill. This was eagerly accepted; but the squatter triumphed in the contest, and the Indians went away much impressed with the result.
When Mr. Jones returned to his family, and mentioned his decision to remove, the mother192heard his account with a foreboding heart, but made no objection, only saying,–
“We mustn’t take Tom away from his studies.”
To this the father assented, for he really felt grateful to the missionary for the interest he took in his son, and proud of the progress the lad was making in his books.
“Tom,” said he, “has a good chance, and it isn’t in me to discourage him.”
It was, however, more difficult to persuade Tom to remain behind, than for his parents to give him up,–hard as it was for them. He had so long been the staff of his mother, that it seemed like selfish desertion for him to stay with the missionary, while she went farther off on the frontier.
“It is yourdutyto remain, Tom,” urged the mother. “God has opened the way for you to cultivate your mind, and fit yourself for usefulness; and we shall not be so far away but that you can come to us at any time, if we need you.”
“And are you not afraid to go where there are so many Indians?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” she replied, “I am afraid; and yet I feel strengthened to go. Your father will be useful there. He is fitted to take the lead in case of trouble with the savages; the settlers look up to him, and depend upon him, and I cannot find it in my heart to hold him back; and if he goes, it is best for me to be with him. If you remain193behind, we shall have in you a friend to assist us if any trouble should arise. You might be able to do more for us here than if shut up with us by a common danger.”
And so, with many a last farewell by the fond mother, Tom saw them start for their new home.