237CHAPTER XVIII.THE BOY IN THE TREE.
Charlie was a boy who naturally loved adventure. He was excitable, and yet had a reserved power, which, in great emergencies, made him cool and brave. He was fertile in expedients, and, when aroused, experienced a rollicking enjoyment in danger. In the little settlement he came across an old copy of Robinson Crusoe, and, charmed with its romantic descriptions, conceived the idea of becoming another Crusoe. But there was a serious obstacle in his way. He could not convert a prairie into an ocean, and get shipwrecked. Yet if he lacked salt water, there was many a man Friday at hand,–for he mentally promoted every friendly Indian to that office,–and there were plenty of cannibals in the shape of disaffected Indians who were already threatening the settlements with depredation and carnage. Now, Charlie, to enjoy his book under congenial circumstances, and where he would not be interrupted by his mother saying, “Charlie, bring some wood,” and “Charlie, get some water,”238and the various et-ceteras of domestic duty to which boys of his age and active habits are liable, looked about for some safe retreat, and chanced to find, one day, in the woods near at hand, a large, hollow tree. Many a time had he passed it, and not discovered the welcome fact. The entrance was effectually concealed by a tangled clump of bushes. Had they taken it specially in hand to grow in such a way as to hide the hole in the tree, they could not have done it more thoroughly; and nobody but a prying young Crusoe of Charlie’s qualifications would have spied out the entrance. Having discovered it, he would creep slyly in, and, by means of the light let in through a hole higher up in the trunk, would pore over the haps and mishaps of the Juan Fernandez hero, and imitate his achievements as well as he could.
It got to be a great mystery what became of Charlie through the long hours of the day. He could hear and see much of what passed around him, and, with imperturbable gravity, would sit in his sly retreat, making no answer, while his mother would come to the cabin door, and call, in silvery treble,–
“Charlie! Charlie! Where are you, Charlie?”
And then, in turn, the father would make his appearance, and shout, in masculine bass,–239
“Charlie, Charlie, your mother wants yer. Why don’t you come?”
After a while Sarah would be despatched to search for him, and her girlish voice would repeat the parents’ calls as she looked everywhere in vain.
Then, when he returned to the house, to the accustomed inquiry, “Why, where have you been? We’ve been calling you, and hunting everywhere for you,” he would reply, with the utmost nonchalance, “O, only out here;” at which Sarah would retort, impatiently, “I know better than that; for I hunted all round for you, and you wasn’t anywhere to be seen;” and Charlie respond, with compassionate condescension, “Pooh! girls are great at hunting!”
Now, it was very wrong in Charlie to be so dumb when his parents wanted him, and to cause them so much concern by his unexplained absence; but he justified it to his own conscience on the ground that it was in keeping with his character as second Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe, in his estimation, was the greatest and most glorious man that ever lived. Charlie had taken him for his model in life; and it would derogate from the dignity of his position, while enacting the man Crusoe,–“monarch of all he surveyed,”–to obey as the child Charlie. He was willing, when in the house, to do what was expected of240him, as a boy under subjection; but when he was in his Crusoe cave,aliasthe hollow tree, he was altogether another person; and he reasoned, in order to have things in harmony, he must act accordingly.
Charlie, by some means, had come into possession of a horse pistol, considerably out of order, it is true; but it served to fill the place of one of the two pistols Robinson Crusoe found on board the Spanish ship. He was in daily expectation of finding another; but needing ammunition to store up against a coming fray with the cannibals on the shore, he helped himself frequently to the contents of his father’s powder-horn and bullet-pouch.
“What under the canopy makes my powder go so fast?” his father often exclaimed, as he replenished the mysteriously-wasting stock. The lad also begged ammunition of the free-hearted settlers, and by these means he laid up a surprisingly large amount of warlike munitions, kept securely in an old skin bag. He had also dried venison stowed away, and a good store of nuts, with pop-corn for parching, and potatoes for roasting–all against some coming time of need.
Now, it chanced that Charlie’s tree-cave turned to good account, as it saved his curly scalp; for the afternoon of the Indian outbreak,–with one eye on the Crusoe history, and the other watching241to see if any cannibals landed on the shore, taking an occasional sip from an old coffee-pot filled with spring water, which he called goat’s milk,–the whole frightful scene of the massacre passed before him. He saw dear little Bub run to meet Yellow Bank, and he also saw what his mother did not in the panic, that, just as the treacherous savage fired, the little fellow tripped and fell, unharmed by the bullet. He saw, at that instant, his sister Sarah start from the store for the cabin, and that the fiendish savage did not notice Bub’s escape, in his eagerness to intercept the girl; so that Bub, terrified by the report of the gun, and at seeing his sister struck down by Yellow Bank, dragged himself off in the direction of Charlie’s tree, not seeming to know but that he was going towards the cabin.
He saw the door of the cabin closed, and that preparations were made to keep out the savages, and that the whole attention of the Indians was turned on assaulting the house. So, cautiously creeping out, and placing one hand firmly over Bub’s mouth to prevent him from making a sound, he drew him into the tree. He was fully aware that he did this at the risk of his own life; for if the child made an outcry, their hiding-place would be discovered, and they would both be sacrificed. But he had too loving and noble a242nature to save his own life by leaving his darling pet brother exposed.
Charlie found it a difficult task to control himself sufficiently in the scenes that were passing before him to keep guard over Bub each instant, as he must, to prevent him from revealing their place of refuge. The little fellow had received a terrible fright, and at first struggled with singular strength to free himself from Charlie’s grasp, and Charlie’s arms ached from the constant strain in holding him; his efforts, however, were rewarded at last by Bub’s beginning to comprehend the case.
“It’s the wicked Indians,” whispered Charlie, “and they’ll kill us if we make any noise.”
Three days and nights came and went. How thankful Charlie was for the provisions and water which he had unwittingly provided for this fearful hour! He had the good sense, however, to be careful of the water; for he knew not how long he must stay there; and he taught Bub to eat very slowly, as he had heard his father say that the hunters did so on the plains to prevent thirst. It was a terrible ordeal for a boy of his tender years to witness the horrid sights transpiring around him; and then, when the neighboring cabins were fired, he was filled with fear, lest the cinders would set the tree ablaze.
Charlie hoped, through all this long watching,243for an opportunity to take refuge with his father and mother in the cabin; but the savages lay encamped around him, and several times an Indian crept upon his hands and knees, and fired from behind the tree at the inmates of the cabin.
Three days and nights–how long they were to the children in the tree! And yet there was nothing to indicate that they might not remain there as much longer, provided the defence of the cabin continued as persistently as it had done. There was still a good supply of food, although the potatoes had to be eaten raw. But the water grew nauseating, and if some more could not be obtained, what would they do? Bub began to be tormented with thirst, and once attempted to cry for water. He had borne up like a hero, controlled by his fears, sometimes seeming to forget his own wants and perils in his baby concern for his parents.
“Will the wicked Indians kill father and mother?” he once asked, his blue eyes wide with horror, and voice too loud for prudence, just as a savage was creeping up to take aim from behind the tree, so that Charlie had to guard him with ceaseless vigilance. But thirst–how could he expect that a little boy, like Bub, could long endure its torments without making his agony known?244
“I want some water,” hoarsely whispered Bub; “I dry.”
“Well, don’t make any noise, and Charlie’ll get you some.”
So, waiting till after nightfall, Charlie put his head cautiously out of the hole, and peered around. The spring was not far off; but Charlie knew that the savages would be likely to guard that, and he did not venture to draw his whole body from the aperture save with the utmost caution, and very slowly. Satisfying himself that the Indians were not noticing the tree, he drew himself completely out, and then, putting his head in again, whispered,–
“Now, Bub, don’t you move nor stir, while I go for the water. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The heroic boy might have been taken in the darkness for an overgrown caterpillar, he crawled so softly towards the spring. He knew that if he broke a stick or twig, or inadvertently hit his coffee-pot against an obstacle, the quick ear of the Indian would be sure to detect it, and yet he was surprised at his own coolness and mastery of himself; and he accomplished the feat, returning with the black old pot filled to the brim.
He had got within a few feet of the tree, when, in range of the opening, he saw a figure apparently watching him. Charlie thought his hour had come; that it was a savage ready with245his scalping-knife, and had given up all for lost, when the dark form moved from out the shadow towards him, and to his consternation he saw that it was Bub, who trudged forward, saying in a loud whisper,–
“Has oo dot any water?”
Charlie, to save further noise, chose the bold alternative of letting him drink on the spot; and retaining his prostrate condition, quickly put the pot to Bub’s lips, and the child swallowed great draughts with satisfied gutturals that seemed to Charlie’s apprehensive ear like the reports of pocket pistols. He let him drink his fill, however, then, pulling him down by his chubby legs, thrust him swiftly, but softly, through the aperture, following as fast as he could, and keeping perfectly still for a full hour before he dared venture forth again for the coffee-pot, which he was obliged to leave behind.
The vigilance of their father in the defence of the cabin not only kept the children in the tree longer than Charlie bargained for when he turned in, on that memorable afternoon, to play Crusoe, but also put their lives in jeopardy from their father’s bullets. For, as we have said before, the tree being a large one, and conveniently near the cabin, the savages would creep up behind it to shoot from, which would be sure to bring a dangerous response; and Charlie was obliged to know246more than once that the tree was perforated by balls from his father’s rifle. At such times the youngsters kept as close to the ground as possible.
When the Indians set fire to the roof of the cabin, Charlie was almost wild with excitement, fearing that his parents would now be burned to death. Nor was his anxiety lessened when he saw his father ascend the roof to extinguish the flames, thus exposing himself to the deadly aim of the foe.
Captain Manly’s attack, however, he did not understand; for the soldiers did not pass near the tree, and the confusion and clamor, the horrid yells that rent the air, and the tramp of the contending parties in the dim twilight, seemed like the chaos of a whirlwind,–the fight was so sudden and so soon over,–and he dared not leave the tree after the battle, not knowing what it all meant. He had a bewildered idea that there had been an attack on the Indians by a party of whites, but which had been victorious he could not tell. So he watched on, trying to determine this point, until late in the night, when he saw a dark body moving cautiously from the cabin.
“The Indians have taken the cabin,” he concluded, “and now they’ll burn our house as they did the others.”
And yet it puzzled him to see how closely together the savages kept, instead of being scattered247about in all directions, as they were before. He could see them moving quietly away, and thought some of them were mounted on their ponies. After they were well out of sight, resting Bub’s head against the skin powder-bag,–for the little fellow, overcome by weariness, had fallen asleep,–he crawled from his hiding-place and reconnoitred. Suddenly he stumbled over a dead Indian, lying with his rifle beside him; and soon he came across another. But all was still in the cabin.
“There has been a battle,” said Charlie to himself, exultantly, “and the Indians are driven away;” and he entered the house.
All was dark and quiet; so, feeling his way to the chimney, he raked open the ashes, and found a few sparks. Going out, he gathered twigs and limbs, and, heaping them on the hearth, blew them into a blaze; then running to the tree, he awakened Bub, and hurried him to the cabin, and returned for his Crusoe provisions and ammunition.
“Where’s father and mother?” asked Bub, looking round in dismay.
“I think,” said Charlie, soothingly, with a profound air, “that the settlers have got together and driven off the Indians, and taken our folks where they’ll be safe; and now, Bub, we’ll live here like Robinson Crusoe on the island, and you shall be248my Friday till our folks come back; for, you see, they’ll find out that we ain’t with them, and they’ll come and take us away.”
“Can’t we go where our folks is now?” inquired Bub, beginning to cry.
“It’s so dark we can’t find them,” said Charlie.
“Won’t the Indians come and hurt us?”
Charlie started at the thought.
“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head doubtfully; “’twould be just like them. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. There’s a good many Indians been killed around the house, and I’ll just go out and get all the rifles I can, and then let them try it if they want to. Why, Robinson Crusoe drove off twenty-nine canoes full, and I bet he didn’t have so many guns as I’ll have.”
And hastening out, he kept finding and bringing them in until he had a dozen.
“Now,” said he, “I’ll bring in lots of wood, and we’ll keep the fire crackling;” and he stirred the burning limbs to make the sparks fly; “and if the Indians return, they’ll think there’s a big houseful of men in here. Besides,” he added, “if our folks see the sparks from the chimney, they’ll know you and I are here, and return for us. And on the whole, I guess I’d rather go with them, than to fight the cannibals alone; for if I should happen to be killed, I suppose they’d have to eat me, and I’d rather not be eaten.”249
Charlie brought from the enclosure a fine pile of wood and a pail of water, then went out to see that the outer door was secured, and closed the shutter in the room. He then proceeded to examine the rifles,–for he was well versed in fire-arms, like western boys generally,–and carefully cleaned and loaded them.
“Now,” said he, “Crusoe had his seven guns mounted, and I’ll mount my twelve.”
Fortunately for his scheme, the places had been already prepared. After this was done, he went down into the cellar to see if there was anything to eat, and finding some food, he returned, and hanging the tea-kettle over the fire, he poured some boiling water upon the tea-grounds in the tea-pot, then set the table for himself and Bub, and assigning Bub one chair, and getting another for himself, said,–
“We might as well live like folks, as long as we are out of the tree.”
Then, having finished their repast, he said,–
“I feel tired, it’s so long since I’ve had a good sleep; so I guess we’d better go to bed.” And lying down upon the bed in the corner, with an arm lovingly clasping little Bub, they sank into the sweet sleep of childhood.
250CHAPTER XIX.BUB’S BROADSIDE.
It was nine o’clock next morning when Charlie awoke, much refreshed. Some moments elapsed before he could recollect where he was, and how he came there. Then, hastening, first to the port-holes, through which his guns were pointed, he scanned the field on all sides, to see if any enemy was in view. The result being satisfactory, he commenced preparations for breakfast, for Bub was now awake, and hungry as a “starved kitten.”
“I tell you what,” said he to Bub, as they ate their morning meal, “I’ve got a jolly plan for us. I’m going to dig a cave in the cellar, so that if the Indiansshouldget into the cabin, we could hide there just as we did in the tree.”
“And you’ll have some water in there for me to drink,” suggested Bub.
“Yes,” answered Charlie; “we’ll have everything that we want.”
So, assuring himself, by another examination, that matters outside wore a peaceful aspect, he251repaired to the cellar, to commence the excavation. Luckily for Charlie’s plan, the cellar walls had been carelessly constructed, and in a corner he found a large-sized stone, that he could remove from its place in the foundation without disturbing the others. Taking this out, with the iron fire-shovel, he soon had drawn forth a large quantity of the loose sand.
“Now,” observed Charlie to Bub, “you must take the shovel, and throw the sand about the cellar, while I work with my hands.”
This was quite an easy task, the sand was so light and dry. And ere long he had a place large enough to conceal himself and Bub.
“But,” said he, “I shall make it extend farther in, so that if the cabin is burnt over our heads, it won’t be too hot for us.”
But Bub made little headway in shovelling the sand; so Charlie finished the job for him, and then from a heap of litter, which he had before taken the precaution to scrape into a corner, he took enough to cover the fresh sand all over.
“Now,” said he, “let’s try our new cave;” and, squeezing through the hole from which he had taken the stone, Bub creeping in after him, Charlie reached out and drew the stone into its place again. Charlie was delighted.
“I like this!” he exclaimed; “it’s more like Robinson Crusoe’s cave.”252
Bub thought he liked it too, but soon cried out, “I can’t hardly breeve; an’ it’s drefful dark.”
“It’s lucky I’ve tried it,” replied Charlie; “but I’ll fix it all nice.”
And pushing out the stone with his foot, he went up stairs, and returned with an old bayonet, with which he succeeded in dexterously working some small holes through the mortar, with which the crevices of the ill-matched stones were filled. This was so ingeniously done, that it would not be noticed; and yet enough light and air were let in to make the place tolerable for the purpose for which it was intended.
It was now past noon, and they went up stairs, and Charlie looked out again, to see if there were any signs of danger; but still “all was quiet along the Potomac.”
“I don’t think,” sagely observed Charlie, “that the Indians are ever coming back. In my opinion they have had about enough of fighting, they cleared off so quick, and there is so many of them dead.”
At which Bub waxed valiant, and said,–
“I wish I had my big stick to stick into their backs, if they do come.”
Charlie could not forbear a laugh at this, notwithstanding the sanguinary scenes that had crowded the last few days with horrors, but answered,–253
“I know what you can do, Bub, to drive them away, if they should come;” and, drawing a ball of twine from his pocket, he tied it to the trigger of one of the mounted rifles, then feeling again in his pocket for his knife to cut off the string, he said,–
“Where’s my jackknife? I must have lost it in going to the spring for water; lots of things tumbled out as I crawled through the grass. Never mind; I can use a case-knife;” and, taking one from the table, he divided the string so as to leave the end of it hanging within easy reach of Bub. He did the same to all the guns.
“Now,” he explained to Bub, “when I tell you to pull one of these strings, you must do it as quick as you can. I will whisper, Pull! and you must take right hold of the twine, and draw it so;” and, contrary to Charlie’s intention, bang went the rifle.
“Why, I didn’t mean to do that; but it will show you how. Pulling the string made the gun go off, you see.”
Bub was all attention, and asked, eagerly,
“Shall I do it now?”
“O, no,” replied Charlie. “I mean, when Itellyou to. When the Indians come, and I say,Pull!Suppose, for instance, I should get up in this way,”–and he ascended to the lookout,–“and I should look out in this way,”–and he254put his eye to the port-hole,–“and I should see a big Indian coming to kill Bub.”
“Yes,” answered the little listener, “I knows;” and his eyes glistened with excitement.
“Well, as I was saying, I peep out, and I see a big Indian coming–”
Bub at this instinctively drew nearer the string, his gaze on Charlie.
“And I should whisper,Pull!”
Instantly Bub’s fat fist twitched the string, and a second report echoed over the prairie.
“What did you do that for?” asked his brother, much displeased. “I didn’t wish you to do it now. I was only explaining how to do it, and I want you to do it right. Don’t touch the strings till I tell you; and then, when I give the word, you’ll pull–won’t you?”
Curly-head looked as if he intended to stand by the guns.
“In that way, Bub,” continued Charlie, “we could keep off a great many Indians; I loading and firing, and you firing too, Bub. But I haven’t put that last rifle in just right;” and glancing out of the hole, as he adjusted it, he turned deathly pale, and his whispered utterance was strangely faint, as he exclaimed,–
“If there isn’t an Indian now!”
It is said by old hunters accustomed to shoot small game, however skilful in the use of fire-arms255they may be, that the first time they see a large animal,–a deer, for example,–such a nervous excitement seizes them, although the creature stands within a few feet of them, for an instant they cannot command themselves to fire; and when they do, they are sure to miss the object. It is not surprising, then, that Charlie was, for a moment, paralyzed. He gazed at the Indian as if fascinated, as the savage glided along, his head bent, going from the spring towards the tree, in the very path through which Charlie had carried the water, stooping to pick up something, then keeping on a few paces, then stopping and putting his ear to the ground, as if intently listening. He was within easy range of Charlie’s rifle all the time; yet the boy lifted not his finger.
The savage now rapidly darted forward, as if following Charlie’s trail, and, sweeping the bushes back with his hand, discovered the opening in the tree, and, to Charlie’s amazement, managed to creep in. Nearly an hour had passed, and Charlie still waited in painful suspense, wondering what next would transpire, when he saw a score or more of Indians stealthily approaching from different directions towards the cabin. The blood returned to Charlie’s face, and, recovering his senses, he whispered to Bub, “The Indians have come.”256
He then took sight across the rifle nearest Bub, and found that it covered several of the savages; and, taking aim with the one next to it, he said to his little brother, “Pull!” Bub did so, and, starting on the round trot, pulled each string in succession. A broadside ensued that would have done honor to an old-fashioned ship of war. The effect was prodigious. The savages seemed to think that a strong force occupied the cabin; for, with a loud yell, and a hasty discharge of fire-arms, they vanished from sight.
Charlie was astounded at Bub’s misunderstanding of the order and the effect produced. Gazing amazed into vacancy,–for the enemy had disappeared,–he sprang to the floor, hugged Bub till he almost suffocated him, and, laughing uncontrollably, stammered, “That beats Robinson Crusoe!”
The scene was indeed ludicrous. The savages had come to carry off their dead comrades, and, creeping cautiously along, had got so near the house without being observed, that their suspicion that the cabin was vacated became confirmed. The discharge of the rifles by the boys was, therefore, a perfect surprise, the fact that they were permitted to get so near before they were fired upon impressing them all the more; for they well knew that, if few were in the dwelling to defend it, every effort would have257been put forth to keep them at a distance. Moreover, the firing coming from all sides of the dwelling at once, had also the appearance as if it was quite heavily manned.
It was a brilliant day, and the light puff of smoke from each rifle rose at once into the air, giving Charlie a fine view of the field; and the simultaneous springing up of so many astonished savages, their queer grimaces, and the grotesque manner in which they scrambled out of range, struck the lad as irresistibly comic, especially as he considered that it was Bub’s blunder that was at the bottom of the rout.
Recovering himself, he proceeded to reload the rifles. But one thing gave him uneasiness. The Indian, he was quite sure, was still in the tree. What was he there for? “Perhaps,” thought Charlie, “he will make a hole through the tree, and watch his chance, and shoot me. At any rate, he’s a spy; and if he should find out that only Bub and I were here, he might make us trouble.”
He was puzzled to know what to do. He set himself to watch through the port-hole to see if he would come out. Two long hours Charlie remained at his post, till he grew weary with the duty. Then he bethought himself of another plan. He had read in the old spelling book of the boy who wouldn’t descend from the farmer’s258apple tree for coaxing; and the farmer said, “If you will not come down for words, I’ll try the effect of stones,” which brought the trespasser quickly to the ground. Now, the Indian was notupa tree, but he wasinone, and he would not come out for Charlie’s watching; so Charlie thought he would employ harder arguments, and, aiming at the point where he supposed the savage must be in his hiding-place, he blazed away. He had fired three times, when, suddenly, the tawny occupant slipped out, and crouched behind the tree, from which he commenced making friendly signs towards the corner of the cabin from which the bullets came. Charlie understood the signals, but muttering, “You can’t catch me that way, old villain,” continued firing every time he thought he could hit the savage. The Indian had not, during all this, fired in return. This seemed curious to the boy; but concluding it to be an Indian trick, he determined not to be outwitted. Whatever the object of the savage was in his mysterious conduct, he at last despaired of accomplishing it, and adroitly slipped away.
As night drew its heavy curtains around the beleaguered cabin, Charlie experienced a feeling of dread creeping over him. He felt comparatively safe while he could see the foe; but now the night seemed ominous of evil. The wind259moaning through the trees, the ticking of the insect under the bark in the logs, and even the shrill chirping of the cricket, sounded unnatural to him. He thought of the dead and gory forms stretched upon the greensward without; the grass matted with human blood; the imprecations and fierce shouts that had resounded, and the deathly struggles that passed before him while sheltered by the friendly tree; the heavy tramp of men fighting in the deadly struggle; the sharp reports of the fire-arms; the horrible screams and heart-piercing pleadings of women and children as they were murdered and tortured by the savages; the lurid glare of the burning cabins; the Indians dancing and yelling in horrid mirth: his active brain was filled with such remembrances. In the stillness and loneliness of night, in that cabin, these awful scenes came up with appalling vividness, and weird and demon faces seemed to peep and mutter at him from the corners of the room. Once he fancied that he heard the cellar stairs creak under a heavy tread. And while Bub slept peacefully in childish unconsciousness of his brother’s terror, he shivered and watched through that long night until the rosy beams of morning dispelled the illusions of the darkness.
260CHAPTER XX.LONG HAIR.
The news of Mr. Jones’s death, together with the atrocities connected with the Indian uprising, spread a gloom throughout the fort; and when, two days later, the funeral of the pioneer took place, tears were in many a veteran’s eye. General McElroy respected the qualities which had marked the last days of the deceased, and said,–
“He did not serve in the ranks, but if ever a man deserved a soldier’s burial, poor Jones does; and he shall have it.”
So the body was borne to the grave under military escort, the soldiers marching to the mournful strains of the funeral dirge and muffled drums; the corpse was lowered to its last resting-place; the burial service read with a trembling voice by the chaplain,–for the missionary had taken his place among the mourners by the side of the widow,–the usual salute was fired, and the procession retraced its steps.
Mrs. Jones felt that she was now bereaved indeed, and almost alone in the world, and it261became a question with her what she could do, under the circumstances, for herself and family. Disconsolately she discussed this matter with Tom.
“I cannot remain longer in these apartments, living on the hospitality of the general,” said she; “and as your dear father is gone, it becomes me to earn something for my own support. I must have Robert with me, he is so young, and make some humble home where you can be with us as much as possible. But what I can do to effect this I cannot now see, there are so few opportunities for women to earn.”
It goaded Tom that his mother was under the necessity of talking in so depressed a way, and that he could do nothing suitably to provide for her. At this juncture there was a gentle knock at the door, and Mrs. McElroy entered.
“You will excuse me if I have intruded,” said she; “but I came in to ask what arrangements, if any, you had made for the future, and to say that, if you have nothing better in view, the general and myself would like to have you remain with us.”
“But I have already been dependent on your hospitality too long,” objected Mrs. Jones, “and it seems proper that I should make a home for myself and Robert as soon as possible.”262
“Have you any suitable place provided as yet?” asked Mrs. McElroy.
“Not decisively,” answered the widow.
“It could not be expected that you would so soon,” answered Mrs. McElroy. “Now we have a plan for you, which may be to our mutual advantage. The little community dwelling within these brick walls is a very social one, and the general’s time and my own is so much occupied, that my children suffer for a mother’s care. You are exactly the person we need to take the oversight of them. Your own children are a credit to you; they show that you have just the qualities of mind and heart for such a position. Now, if you will look a little after my children’s training, you will take a burden from my hands, and a load of anxiety from my mind, and between us both, I think we can manage so as not to be overcharged.”
“But Robert–” began Mrs. Jones, hesitatingly.
“The general has taken a great fancy to him, and says if he can have him he will make something of him; and what my husband undertakes he never does by halves. Robert would have the best of advantages, and be under your own eye.”
Mrs. Jones’s emotions were too great for words. This unexpected provision for herself and boy seemed truly providential. She might go the263world over and not meet with such delicate and appreciative treatment. Still she hesitated. Her life in the squatter’s cabin through so many years of deprivation and poverty placed her, in her own consciousness, in such painful contrast to the courtly and elegant Mrs. McElroy, that she felt diffident about accepting so responsible a trust. And she understood children well enough to know that the offspring of the rich often look down on those in humbler circumstances. Would the general’s children respect her as they should, in order for her to assume such a relation towards them as their mother wished? These thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, and, in justice to them as well as herself, she felt that she would like to have that point put to rest. She was a woman of straightforward good sense, and therefore decided to be frank in the matter, and asked,–
“But would the arrangement be agreeable to your children, madam?”
Mrs. McElroy had foreseen this, and was prepared with an answer. She rang the bell, and black Nancy appeared.
“Send Alice and Willie here,” she said; and in a moment the brother and sister came running in.
“Children,” said their mother, “I’ve been trying264to persuade Mrs. Jones to stay with us, and take charge of you. How would you like that?”
“O, that would be so nice!” said Alice, crossing to Mrs. Jones, and putting her arms around her neck–an action that was peculiar to her.
“It would be real good in her, I’m sure,” chimed in Willie; “and then I could have Robert to play with me,–he makes splendid popguns,–couldn’t I, mother?”
So it was settled, and in such a manner that Mrs. Jones was made to feel that she was conferring a favor, rather than having one conferred on her; and, in fact, the arrangement was mutually advantageous, as Mrs. McElroy had sincerely remarked.
Mr. Payson now called to take leave of the widow, and ask if Tom would like to return with him. He was much pleased with the arrangement, expressing anew his sympathy with her in her bereavements, and, charging her to cling to the consolation of the gospel, he and Tom took their departure, the latter tenderly kissing his mother and Robert as he bade them good by.
“You must come often and see your mother,” said Mrs. McElroy, cordially; “you know we shall be like one family hereafter; and not only Robert and your mother will be lonesome without you, but the rest of the children will be glad to265have you join them in their amusements and studies,” to which assurance Alice and Willie looked their approval. As the wheels of the missionary’s buggy rumbled out of the square, Mrs. Jones said with a sigh,–
“What a change has come over my flock within a few days! my husband, and Sarah, and dear little Bub murdered by the Indians, and Charlie, also, I suppose I must say, although there is something peculiarly trying in the mystery that hangs over his fate.”
“You do not really know, then, what became of him,” observed Mrs. McElroy.
“No; and this uncertainty is agonizing. Perhaps he was captured by the Indians, and may be at this very moment suffering the most barbarous treatment from them; or the dear boy may have been devoured by a wild beast, or he may be starving in the wilderness. This suspense concerning him is too much to bear;” and she looked anxiously out of the window.
But the hour for dinner had arrived, and Mrs. Jones and Robert went down with the others to dine. As they entered the dining-room, the general directed their attention to the corner of the room; and there, wrapped in his blanket, sat an Indian, whom Mrs. Jones, after the first start of surprise, recognized as Long Hair.
“Mrs. Jones,” said the general, “perhaps you266can find out what the red-skin wants. He isn’t very communicative with me, but seems anxious to see your Tom.”
“I am glad to meet you,” said Mrs. Jones, kindly, to the savage. “Have you anything of importance to communicate?”
But Long Hair appeared as if something had gone wrong with him, and sat in moody silence.
“Will you not speak to me, Long Hair?” asked Mrs. Jones. “You know I’ve always treated you well–have I not?”
“White squaw good to Injin. Sojer say Injin lie; sojer call Long Hair dog; tell him go way.”
“Some of your men have ill-treated Long Hair, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Jones to the general.
“Well,” said the general, “I’ll see that they don’t do it any more;” and, wishing to propitiate the tawny brave, he added, “perhaps Long Hair would take some dinner with us.” But the Indian wasn’t so easily appeased, and said,–
“Long Hair no beggar-dog; Long Hair shoot deer, shoot raccoon, catch fish, plenty!”
“But,” interposed Mrs. Jones, “didn’t you bring some venison to my cabin one day, and did I refuse it, Long Hair?”
“White squaw good,” he repeated; “Long Hair never forget. Long Hair sick; white267squaw medicine him. Long Hair kill deer for white squaw.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Jones; “you were sick, and I took care of you, as I ought to; and you have been very kind to me and mine, and I shall never forget it.”
Under her gentle influence, the Indian was persuaded to partake of the food placed before him. He ate with a voracity which showed that he had been long fasting, and his appearance indicated that he had seen hardship and danger. Mrs. Jones was satisfied that his coming portended something to her, either good or evil; and, from his reserve, she feared it might be the latter, and the better to draw out of him the tidings, whatever they might be, related the circumstances attending her husband’s death, referring to the murder of Sarah and little Bub, and the disappearance of Charlie, adding, that she supposed he was also killed. The Indian listened in silence till she spoke of Charlie and little Bub, and then, with energy, exclaimed,–
“Charlie no dead! Bub no dead!”
“But Bub must be dead,” said Mrs. Jones; “for I saw him shot by Yellow Bank.”
“No; Injin speak truth.”
“What makes you think so?” asked she, astonished.
Long Hair made no reply; but drawing from268beneath his blanket a little shoe, he placed it on the edge of the table; then, by its side, he laid an old battered jackknife.
“Why, Long Hair!” cried Mrs. Jones, deeply agitated; “that’s Bub’s shoe, and Charlie’s knife. Where did you get them?” a ray of hope springing up in her heart.
“Long Hair went find Charlie; travel much; peep in wigwam much; no find. Long Hair say Charlie no killed; Charlie no taken prisoner; Charlie hid near cabin. Long Hair look all ’bout near cabin; see Charlie hand put down so,” spreading his fingers, “in mud at spring; den Long Hair say, Charlie thirsty; been spring for water; find trail; find knife in trail, near big tree; find shoe near big tree; Bub hid in tree; then Long Hair push bush way; see hole in tree. Long Hair hear Injins coming; Long Hair crawl in tree quick; no Charlie there; no Bub there; find these in tree;” taking from his blanket a handful of nuts, and some potatoes, and a crust of bread, and some trinkets that must have fallen from Charlie’s pocket; “den Long Hair see Injins come, one, two, tree, ten, twenty, many; come all round, crawling, crawling; get near cabin; Injin think nobody in cabin, ’cause get near; rifle shoot from cabin, one, two, tree, many rifle; scare Injin; Injin run like deer; Long Hair wait to see if Injin come again; no269come; shoot from cabin at Long Hair; come out tree; get behind tree quick; make peace sign at cabin,–no bleeve Long Hair; try shoot at him; Long Hair come way–come to fort!”
“Well, that’s strange,” said General McElroy; “from Long Hair’s account, there seems to be a number in the cabin; it must be that all the settlers were not massacred, and have returned, and taken possession of the cabin; we must send a force to their relief.”
“But where are Charlie and Bub?” asked Mrs. Jones of the Indian.
“Long Hair don’t know; think in cabin.”
“How many persons, should you judge from the firing, were in the cabin?” inquired the general.
“Long Hair don’t know; no trail.”
“What does Long Hair mean by that?” asked Mrs. McElroy of her husband.
“He means that there is no appearance of any of the settlers being about the cabin,” said the general, “which makes the matter still more incomprehensible; for if any of the settlers had come back, Long Hair would have traced them. Isn’t that it, Long Hair?” The Indian nodded assent. “And yet he says that there were many guns fired,” continued the general; “so many that quite a force of the assailing Indians were panic-struck, and fled. How was the firing270done, Long Hair? As if by persons that were used to handling the rifle?”
“One, two, tree, bery good; hit Injin some; shoot at Long Hair good; much hard get way; to the most, much poor–shoot here, shoot dere, shoot everywhere!”
“But what makes you think the children are in the cabin?” asked Mrs. Jones; for, mother-like, her thoughts were constantly recurring to them.
“Trail go towards cabin,” replied the sagacious red man; “couldn’t follow trail; shoot Long Hair if he follow trail.”
“I think that Long Hair is right,” said the general, striking the table with the flat of his hand: “your boys were born to be heroes, madam. If I mistake not, that Charlie and Bub of yours were the defenders of that cabin against the savages. And yet,” he added, doubtfully, “that is simply absurd; it’s beyond the power of two little boys to perform such a feat; for you recollect, ladies, that Long Hair said that not only a number of guns were fired, but at the same time; and to conclude that two little boys should fire off a score of guns, more or less, simultaneously, is to assent to a physical impossibility. The truth is, the deeper I go into this matter, the more I’m puzzled. What is your opinion of it, Long Hair?”271
“Long Hair no sense; no tell; mind much dark;” and the Indian seemed mortified that his sagacity was for once at fault. “No white settlers in cabin; Charlie and Bub in cabin; much gun fire; hurt two, tree Injin; scare much Injin–don’t know.”
“He means that he is certain that no settlers have returned to the cabin,” explained Mrs. Jones, “but that Charlie and Bub are there; while as to who shot off so many fire-arms, he is as much in the dark as ourselves.”
“Well,” said the general, rising, “there is one way to clear up this mystery. I’ll send a trusty detachment there at once to open the secrets of the cabin.”
Long Hair rose at this, and said,–
“White chief send sojer to cabin, right way, bimeby, quick?”
“Yes,” replied the general, “and I should like to have you go with them as guide.”
“No,” answered the Indian, sententiously; “Long Hair go ’lone; Long Hair always go ’lone;” and, starting at a quick pace, he was speedily out of sight.