University of Virginia Library

3. III.

Many years had now elapsed, and men ceased to
remember the once noble nation of the Yemassees
— once the most terrible and accomplished people
of the southern forests. They had even gone out
of the memories of their ancient enemies, the
Creeks; and the Carolinians, while in the full enjoyment
of the fertile lands which had been their
heritage, had almost entirely forgotten the hard
toils and fearful perils by which they had been acquired.

It was in the morning of a bright day in
October, that a small Indian canoe might have
been seen ascending the river St. Mary, up to its
source in the Okeefanokee swamp, a dismal region,
which lies between the Ockmulgee and Flint rivers,
in the state of Georgia.

There were but two persons in the canoe, both
Indian hunters of the Creek nation; a gallant
race, well known for high courage among the
tribes, and distinguished not less by their wild
magnanimity and adventure, than by their daring
ferocity. The warriors were both young, and
were numbered, and with strict justice, among the
ćlite of their people. At peace, for the first time
for many seasons, with all around them, they gave
themselves up to the pleasures of the chase, and
sought, in the hardy trials of the hunt for the bear
and the buffalo, to relieve the inglorious and unwelcome
ease which this novel condition of things
had imposed upon them. Our two adventurers,
forsaking the beaten track, and with a spirit tending
something more than customary to that which
distinguishes civilization, had undertaken an exploring
expedition into the recesses of this vast
lake and marsh, which, occupying a space of nearly
three hundred miles in extent, and in very rainy
seasons almost completely inundated, presented,

amidst the thousand islands which its bosom conceals,
fruitful and inviting materials for inquiry
and adventure. Girt in with interminable forests,
the space of which was completely filled up with
umbrageous vines and a thick underwood, the trial
was one of no little peril, and called for the exercise
of stout heart, strong hand, and a world of
fortitude and patience. It was also the abiding-place
of the wild boar and the panther — the
southern crocodile howled nightly in its recesses —
and the coiled snake, ever and anon, thrust out its
venomous fangs from the verdant bush. With
words of cheer and mutual encouragement, the
young hunters made their way. They were well
armed and prepared for all chances; and fondly
did they anticipate the delight which they would
entertain, on relating their numerous adventures
and achievements, by field and flood, to the assembled
nation, on the return of the ensuing spring.
They took with them no unnecessary incumbrances.
The well tempered bow, the chosen and
barbed arrows, the curved knife, suited to a transition
the most abrupt, from the scalping of the enemy
to the carving of the repast, and the hatchet,
fitted to the adroit hand of the hunter, and ready
at his back for all emergencies, were the principal
accoutrements of the warriors. They troubled
themselves not much about provisions. A little
parched corn supplied all wants, and the dried
venison in their pouches was a luxury, taken on
occasion only. They knew that, for an Indian,
the woods had always a pregnant store; and they
did not doubt that their own address, in such matters,
would at all times enable them to come at it.

Dreary, indeed, was their progress. An European
would have despaired entirely, and given up
what must have appeared, not merely a visionary
and hopeless, but a desperate and dangerous pursuit.
But the determination of an Indian, once
made, is unchangeable. His mind clothes itself
in a seemingly habitual stubbornness, and he is
inflexible and unyielding. Though young, scarcely
arrived at manhood, our warriors were too well
taught in the national philosophy, to have done
any thing half so womanlike as to turn their backs
upon an adventure, devised coolly, and commenced
with all due preparation. They resolutely pursued
their way, unfearing, unswering, unshrinking.
The river narrowed at length into hundreds of diverging
rivulets, and, after having run their canoe
upon the sands, they were compelled to desert it,
and pursue their farther way on foot. They did
not pause, but entered at once upon the new labor;
and now climbing from tree to bank — now wading

along the haunts of the plunging alligator, through
pond and mire — now hewing with their hatchets
a pathway through the thickest branches, they
found enough to retard, but nothing to deter them.
For days did they pursue this species of toil, passing
from island to island — alternately wading and
swimming — until at length, all unexpectedly, the
prospect opened in strange brightness and beauty
before them. They came to a broad and lovely
lake, surrounded on all sides by the forest,
through a portion of which they had passed with
so much difficulty, and to which the storms never
came. It lay sleeping before them with the calm
of an infant, and sheltered by the wood, the wild
vine, and a thousand flowers. In the centre rose
a beautiful island, whose shores were crowned with
trees bearing all species of fruit, and emitting a
most grateful fragrance. The land was elevated
and inviting, and, as they looked, the young warriors
conceived it the most blissful and lovely spot
of earth. Afar in the distance, they beheld the
white habitations of the people of the strange land,
but in vain did they endeavor to reach them.
They did not seek to adventure into the broad and
otherwise inviting waters; for occasionally they
could behold the crocodiles, of the largest and
fiercest class, rising to the surface, and seeming to
threaten them with their unclasped jaws, thickly
studded with their white sharp teeth. While in
this difficulty, they beheld a young maiden waving
them on the opposite bank; and Onea, the youngest
of the two hunters, attracted by the incomparable
beauty of her person, would have leapt without
scruple into the lake, and swam to the side on
which she stood, but that his more grave and cautious
companion, Hillaby, restrained him. They
observed her motions, and perceived that she directed
their attention to some object in the distance.
Following her direction, they found a small canoe
tied to a tree, and sheltered in a little bay. Into this
they entered fearlessly, and putting out their paddles,
passed in a short time to the opposite shore,
the beauty of which, now that they had reached
it, was even more surpassingly great than when
seen afar off. Nor did the young Indian maiden,
in the eye of the brave Onea, lose any of those
charms, the influence of which had already penetrated
his inmost spirit. But now she stood not
alone. A bright young maiden like herself appeared
beside her, and, taking the warriors by the
hand, they sung sweet songs of pleasure in their
ears, and brought them the milk of the cocoa to
refresh them, and plucked for them many of the
rich and delightful fruits which hung over their
heads. There were oranges and dates, and cakes
made of corn and sugar, baked with their own
hands, which they cordially set before them. Many
were the sweet glances and precious sentences
which they gave to the young warriors, and soon
did the gallant Creeks understand, and gladly did
they respond to their kindness. Long would they
have lingered with these maidens, but, when their
repast had ended, they enjoined them to begone —
to fly as quickly as possible, for that their people
were cruel to strangers, and the men of their nation
would certainly destroy them with savage tortures,
were they to return from the distant chase
upon which they had gone, and find the intruders.
“But will they not give you,” said the fearless
Onea, “to be the bride of a brave warrior? I shame
not to speak the name of my nation. They are
men, and they beg not for life. I, myself, am a
man among my people, who are all men. They
will give you to fill my wigwam. I will do battle
for you, Anyta, with the knife and the bow; I
will win you by the strong arm, if the strange
warriors stand in the path.” “Alas,” said the
young girl, “you know not my people. They
are tall like the pine trees, which rise above other
trees; they look down upon your tribe as the prairie
grass that the buffalo tramples down, and the
flames wither. The sun is their father — the earth
their mother — and we are called the daughters of
the sun. They would dash you into the flames, if
you told them of a lodge in the Creek wigwam
for a maiden of our tribe.”

“The Creek is a warrior and a chief, Anyta,
and he will not die like a woman. He can pluck
out the heart of his foe while he begs upon the
ground. I fear not for your people's anger, but I
love the young maid of the bright eye and sunny
face, and would take her as a singing-bird into the
lodge of a great warrior. I will stay in your cabin
till the warriors come back from the hunt. I am
no fox to burrow in the hill side.”

“You will stay to see me perish, then, Onea,”
said the girl — a gleam of melancholy shining
from her large dark eyes — “for my people will
not let me live, when I speak for your life.”

“See you not my bow and arrows, Anyta? Is
not the tomahawk at my shoulder? Look, my
knife is keen — the sapling may speak.”

“Your arm is strong, and your heart true, you
would say to Anyta; but what is one arm, and what
are thy weapons, to a thousand? You must not
linger, Onea; we will put forth in the little canoe.
I will steer to a quiet hollow, and when thou art

in safety I will leave thee, and return to thee
again.”