 | CHAPTER II. The prairie |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
But where, to-morrow?—Well, all's one for that.”
Richard the Third.
The travellers soon discovered the usual and unerring
evidences, that the several articles necessary
to their situation were not far distant. A clear and
gurgling spring burst out of the side of the declivity,
and joining its waters to those of other similar little
fountains, in its vicinity, their united contributions
formed a run, which was easily to be traced for miles,
along the prairie, by the scattering foliage and verdure
which occasionally grew within the influence of
its moisture. Hither, then, the stranger held his way,
eagerly followed by the willing teams, whose instinct
gave them a prescience of refreshment and of rest
from labour.
On reaching what he deemed a suitable spot, the
old man halted, and with an inquiring look, he seemed
to demand if it possessed the needful conveniences.
The leader of the emigrants cast his eyes, understandingly,
about him, and examined the place
with the keenness of one competent to judge of so
nice a question, though in that dilatory and heavy
manner, which rarely permitted him to betray any
unmanly precipitation.
“Ay, this may do,” he said, when satisfied with
his scrutiny; “boys, you have seen the last of the
sun; be stirring.”
The young men manifested a characteristic obedience
to the injunction. The order, for such, in tone
and manner it was, in truth, was received with respect;
but the utmost movement was the falling of
an axe or two from the shoulder to the ground, while
and incurious eyes. In the mean time, the elder
traveller, as if familiar with the nature of the impulses
by which his children were governed, disencumbered
himself of his pack and rifle, and, assisted
by the man already mentioned as disposed to appeal
so promptly to the rifle, he quietly proceeded to release
the cattle from the gears.
At length the eldest of the sons stepped heavily
forward, and, without any apparent effort, he buried
his axe to the eye, in the soft body of a cotton-wood
tree. He stood, a moment, regarding the effect of
his blow, with that sort of contempt with which a
giant might be supposed to contemplate the puny resistance
of a dwarf, and then flourishing the implement
above his head, with the grace and dexterity
with which a master of the art of offence would
wield his nobler though less useful weapon, he quickly
severed the trunk of the tree bringing its tall top
crashing to the earth, in submission to his prowess.
His companions had regarded the operation with indolent
curiosity, until they saw the prostrate trunk
stretched along the ground, when, as if a signal for a
general attack had been given, they advanced in a
body to the work, and in a space of time, and with a
neatness of execution that would have astonished an
ignorant spectator, they stripped a small but suitable
spot of its burden of forest, as effectually, and almost
as promptly, as if a whirlwind had passed along the
place.
The stranger, had been a silent but attentive observer
of their progress. As tree after tree came
whistling down, he cast his eyes upward, at the vacancies
they left in the heavens, with a melancholy
gaze, and finally turned away, muttering to himself
with a bitter smile, like one who disdained giving a
more audible utterance to his discontent. Pressing
through the groupe of active and busy children, who
the old man became next fixed, on the movements
of the leader of the emigrants and of his savage
looking assistant.
These two had, already, liberated the cattle, which
were eagerly browsing the grateful and nutritious extremities
of the fallen trees, and were now employed
about the wagon, which has been described, as having
its contents concealed with so much apparent
care. Notwithstanding it appeared to be as silent,
and as tenantless as the rest of the vehicles, the men
applied their strength to its wheels, and rolled it
apart from the others, to a dry and elevated spot,
near the edge of the thicket. Here they brought
certain poles, which had, seemingly, been long employed
in such a service, and fastening their larger
ends firmly in the ground, the smaller were attached
to the hoops that supported the covering of the
wagon. Large folds of cloth were next drawn out
of the vehicle, and after being spread around the
whole, were pegged to the earth in such a manner as
to form a tolerably capacious and exceedingly convenient
tent. After surveying their work with inquisitive,
and perhaps jealous eyes, arranging a fold
here and driving a peg more firmly there, the men
once more applied their strength to the wagon, pulling
it, by its projecting tongue, from the centre of
the canopy, until it appeared in the open air, deprived
of its covering, and destitute of any other freight,
than a few light articles of furniture. The latter
were immediately removed, by the traveller, into the
tent with his own hands, as though to enter it, were
a privilege, to which even his bosom companion was
not entitled.
As curiosity is a passion that is rather quickened
than destroyed by seclusion, the old inhabitant of the
prairies did not view these precautionary and mysterious
movements, without experiencing some of its
to sever two of its folds, with the very obvious intention
of examining, more closely, into the nature of
its contents, when the man who had once already
placed his life in jeopardy, seized him by the arm,
and with a somewhat rude exercise of his strength
threw him from the spot he had selected as the one
most convenient for his object.
“It's an honest regulation, friend,” the fellow, drily
observed, though with an eye that threatened volumes,
“and sometimes it is a safe one, which says,
mind your own business.”
“Men seldom bring any thing to be concealed into
these deserts,” returned the old man, as if willing,
and yet a little ignorant how to apologize for the liberty
he had been about to take, “and I had hoped no
offence, in looking into the place.”
“They seldom bring themselves, I reckon,” the
other roughly answered; “this has the look of an old
country, though to my eye it seems not to be overly
peopled.”
“The land is as aged as the rest of the works of
the Lord, I believe; but you say true, concerning its
inhabitants. Many months have passed since I have
laid eyes on a face of my own colour, before your
own. I say again, friend, I had hoped, no harm; I
didn't know, whether there was not, something behind
the cloth, that might bring former days to my
thoughts.”
As the stranger ended his simple explanation, he
walked meekly away, like one who felt the deepest
sense of the right which every man has to the quiet
enjoyment of his own, without any troublesome interference
on the part of his neighbour; a wholesome
and just principle that he had, also, most probably
imbibed from the habits of his secluded life. As
he passed back, towards the little encampment of the
emigrants, for such the place had now become, he
hoarse and authoritative tones, the name of—
“Ellen Wade.”
The girl who has been already introduced to the
reader, and who was occupied with others of her sex,
around the fires, sprang willingly forward, at this summons,
and passing the stranger with the activity of a
young antelope, she was instantly lost, behind the
forbidden folds of the fent. Neither her sudden disappearance,
nor any of the arrangements we have
mentioned, seemed, however, to excite the smallest
surprise, among the remainder of the party. The
young men who had already completed their tasks,
with the axe, were all engaged after their lounging
and listless manner; some in bestowing equitable
portions of the fodder, among the different animals;
others in plying the heavy pestle of a moveable hommony-mortar,
and one or two, in wheeling the remainder
of the wagons aside and arranging them, in
such a manner as to form a sort of outwork for their,
otherwise, defenceless bivouac.
These, several, duties were soon performed, and,
as darkness, now, began to conceal the objects on the
surrounding prairie, the shrill toned termagant, whose
voice since the halt had been diligently exercised
among her idle and drowsy offspring, announced in
tones that might have been heard at a dangerous distance,
that the evening meal waited only for the approach
of those who were to consume it. Whatever
may be the other qualities of a border man, he
is seldom deficient in the virtue of hospitality. The
emigrant no sooner heard the sharp call of his wife,
than he cast his eyes about him in quest of the stranger,
in order to proffer to him the place of distinction,
in the rude entertainment to which they were so unceremoniously
summoned.
“I thank you, friend,” the old man replied to the
“you have my hearty thanks; but I have eaten
for the day, and I am not one of them, who dig their
graves with their teeth. Well; as you wish it, I will
take a place, for it is long sin' I have seen people of
my colour, eating their daily bread.”
“You ar' an old settler, in these districts, then,”
the emigrant rather remarked than inquired, with a
mouth filled nearly to overflowing with the delicious
hommony, prepared by his skilful, though repulsive
spouse. “They told us below, we should find settlers
something thinnish, hereaway, and I must say, the report
was mainly true; for, unless, we count the Canada
traders on the big river, you ar' the first white
face I have met, in a good five hundred miles; that
is calculating according to your own reckoning.”
“Though I have spent some years, in this quarter,
I can hardly be called a settler, seeing that I have no
regular abode, and seldom pass more than a month,
at a time, on the same range.”
“A hunter, I reckon?” the other continued, glancing
his eyes aside, as if to examine the equipments
of his new acquaintance; “your fixen seem none of
the best, for such a calling.”
“They are old, and nearly ready to be laid aside,
like their master,” said the old man, regarding his
rifle, with a look in which affection and regret were
singularly blended; “and I may say they are but little
needed, too. You are mistaken, friend, in calling
me a hunter; I am nothing better than a trapper.”
“If you ar' much of the one, I'm bold to say you
ar' something of the other; for the two callings, go
mainly together, in these districts.”
“To the shame of the man who is able to follow
the first be it so said!” returned the trapper, whom
in future we shall choose to designate by his pursuit;
“for more than fifty years did I carry my rifle in the
even a bird that flies the heavens;—much less, a
beast that has nothing but legs, for its gifts.”
“I see but little difference whether a man gets his
peltry by the rifle or by the trap,” said the ill-looking
companion of the emigrant, in his rough and sullen
manner. “The 'arth was made for his comfort; and,
for that matter, so ar' its creatur's.”
“You seem to have but little plunder, stranger, for
one who is far abroad,” bluntly interrupted the emigrant,
as if he had a reason for wishing to change the
conversation. “I hope you ar' better off for skins.”
“I make but little use of either,” the trapper, quietly
replied. “At my time of life, food and clothing
be all that is needed, and I have little occasion for
what you call plunder, unless it may be, now and
then, to barter for a horn of powder or a bar of lead.”
“You ar' not, then, of these parts, by natur',
friend!” the emigrant continued, having in his mind
the exception which the other had taken to the very
equivocal word, which he himself, according to the
customs of the country, had used for “baggage” or
“effects.”
“I was born on the sea-shore, though most of my
life has been passed in the woods.”
The whole party, now looked up at him, as men
are apt to turn their eyes on some unexpected object
of general interest. One or two of the young men,
repeated the words “sea-shore,” and the woman tendered
him one of those civilities, with which, uncouth
as they were, she was little accustomed to grace
her hospitality, as if in deference to the travelled dignity
of her guest. After a long, and, seemingly a
meditating silence, the emigrant, who had, however,
seen no apparent necessity to suspend the functions
of his powers of mastication, resumed the discourse.
“It is a long road, as I have heard, from the waters
of the west to the shores of the main sea?”
“It is a weary path, indeed, friend; and much
have I seen, and something have I suffered in journeying
over it.”
“A man would see a good deal of hard travel in
going its length!”
“Seventy and five years have I been upon the
road, and there are not half that number of leagues
in the whole distance, after you leave the Hudson, on
which I have not tasted venison of my own killing.
But this is vain boasting! of what use are former
deeds, when time draws to an end!”
“I once met a man, that had boated on the river
he names,” observed one of the sons, speaking in a low
tone of voice, like one who distrusted his knowledge,
and deemed it prudent to assume a becoming diffidence
in the presence of a man who had seen so
much; “from his tell, it must be a considerable stream,
and deep enough for a keel, from top to bottom.”
“It is a wide and deep water-course, and many
sightly towns, are there growing on its banks,” returned
the trapper; “and yet it is but a brook, to the
waters of the endless river!”
“I call nothing a stream, that a man can travel
round,” exclaimed the ill-looking associate of the
emigrant; “a real river must be crossed; not headed,
like a bear in a country hunt.”
“Have you been far towards the sun-down, friend?”
again interrupted the emigrant, as if he desired to
keep his rough companion, as much as possible out
of the discourse. “I find it is a wide tract of clearing,
this, into which I have fallen.”
“You may travel weeks, and you will see it the
same. I often think the Lord has placed this barren
belt of prairie, behind the states, to warn men to
what their folly may yet bring the land! Ay! weeks
if not months, may you journey in these open fields,
in which there is neither dwelling, nor habitation for
man or beast. Even the savage animals travel miles
blows from the east, but I conceit the sounds of
axes, and the crash of falling trees are in my ears.”
As the old man spoke with the seriousness and dignity
that age seldom fails to communicate, even, to
less striking sentiments, his auditors were deeply attentive,
and as silent as the grave. Indeed, the trapper
was left to renew the dialogue, himself, which he
soon did by asking a question, in the indirect manner
so much in use by the border inhabitants.
“You found it no easy matter to ford the water-courses,
and make your way so deep into the prairies,
friend, with teams of horses, and herds of horned
beasts?”
“I kept the left bank of the main river,” the emigrant
replied, “until I found the stream leading too
much to the north, when we rafted ourselves across,
without any great suffering. The woman lost a fleece
or two from the next year's shearing, and the girls
have one cow less to their dairy. Since then, we
have done bravely, by bridging a creek, every day
or two.”
“It is likely you will continue west, until you come
to land more suitable for a settlement?”
“Until I see reason to stop, or to turn ag'in,” the
emigrant bluntly answered, rising at the same time,
and cutting short the dialogue, by an air of dissatisfaction,
no less than by the suddenness of the movement.
His example, was followed by the trapper, as
well as the rest of the party, and then, without much
deference to the presence of their guest, the travellers
proceeded to make their dispositions to pass the
night. Several little bowers, or rather huts, had already
been formed of the tops of trees, blankets of
coarse country manufacture, and the skins of buffaloes,
united without much reference to any other object
than temporary comfort. Into these covers the
children with their mother soon drew themselves,
speedily lost in the oblivion of sleep. Before the
men, however, could seek their rest, they had sundry
little duties to perform; such as completing their
works of defence; carefully concealing the fires; replenishing
the fodder of their cattle, and setting the
watch that was to protect the party in the approaching
hours of deeper night.
The former was effected by dragging the trunks of
a few trees, into the intervals left by the wagons, and
along the open space, between the vehicles and the
thicket, on which, in military language, the encampment
would be said to have rested; thus forming a
sort of chevaux-de-frise on three sides of the position.
Within these narrow limits (with the exception
of what the tent contained,) both man and beast
were now collected; the latter being far too happy
in resting their weary limbs, to give any undue annoyance
to their scarcely more intelligent associates.
Two of the young men took their rifles, and first renewing
the priming and examining the flints, with the
utmost care, they proceeded, the one to the extreme
right and the other to the left of the encampment,
where they posted themselves, within the shadows of
the thicket, but in such positions, as enabled each to
overlook his proper portion of the prairie.
The trapper had loitered about the place, declining
to share the straw of the emigrant, until the
whole arrangement was completed; and then without
the ceremony of an adieu, he slowly retired from
the spot.
It was now in the first watch of the night, and the
pale, quivering, and deceptive light, from a new
moon, was playing over the endless waves of the
prairie, tipping the swells with gleams of brightness,
and leaving the interval land in deep shadow. Accustomed
to scenes of solitude like the present, the
old man, as he left the encampment proceeded alone
to trust itself on the trackless field of the ocean.
He appeared to move for some time, without object,
or indeed, without any apparent consciousness, whither
his limbs were carrying him. At length, on reaching
the rise of one of the undulations, he came to a
stand, and for the first time, since leaving the band,
who had caused such a flood of reflections and recollections
to crowd upon his mind, the old man became
aware of his present situation. Throwing one end
of his rifle to the earth, he stood leaning on the
other, again lost in deep contemplation for several
minutes, during which time his hound came and
crouched close at his feet. It was a deep, menacing,
growl from the faithful animal, that first aroused him
from his musing.
“What now, dog?” he said, looking down at his
companion, as though he addressed a being of an intelligence
equal to his own, and speaking in a voice
of great affection. “What is it, pup? ha! Hector;
what is it nosing, now? It won't do, dog; it won't
do; the very fa'ns play in open view of us, without
minding two such worn out curs, as you and I. Instinct
is their gift, Hector; and, they have found out
how little we are to be feared, now; they have!”
The dog stretched his head upward, and responded
to the words of his master by a long and plaintive
whine, which he even continued after he had again
buried his head in the grass as if he held an intelligent
communication with one who so well knew how
to interpret dumb discourse.
“This is a manifest warning, Hector!” the trapper
continued, dropping his voice, to the tones of
caution and looking warily about him. “What is it,
pup; what is it?”
The hound had, however, already laid his nose to
the earth, and was silent; appearing to slumber. But
the keen quick glances of his master, soon caught a
the deceptive light, floating along the very elevation
on which he had placed himself. Presently its proportions
became more distinct, and then an airy, female
form appeared to hesitate, as if considering
whether it would be prudent to advance. Though
the eyes of the dog, were now to be seen glancing in
the rays of the moon, opening and shutting lazily, he
gave no further signs of displeasure.
“Come nigher; we are friends,” said the trapper,
associating himself with his companion by long use
and, probably, through the strength of the secret tie
that connected them together; “we are your friends;
none will harm you.”
Encouraged by the mild tones of his voice, and
perhaps led on by the earnestness of her purpose, the
female approached, until, she stood at his side; when
the old man perceived his visiter to be the young
woman, with whom the reader, has already become
acquainted by the name of “Ellen Wade.”
“I had thought you were gone,” she said, looking
timidly and anxiously around. “They said you were
gone; and that we should never see you again. I
did not think, it was you!”
“Men are no common objects in these empty
fields,” returned the trapper, “and I humbly hope,
though I have so long consorted with the beasts of
the wilderness, that I have not yet lost the look of
my kind.”
“Oh! I knew you to be a man, and I thought I
knew the whine of the hound, too,” she answered,
hastily, as if willing to explain she knew not what,
and then checking herself, as though fearful of having,
already, said too much.
“I saw no dogs, among the teams of your father,”
the trapper dryly remarked.
“Father!” exclaimed the girl, feelingly, “I have
no father! I had nearly said no friend.” The old
and interest, that was even more conciliating than
the ordinary, upright, and benevolent expression of
his weather-beaten countenance.
“Why then do you venture in a place where none
but the strong should come?” he demanded. “Did
you not know that, when you crossed the big river,
you left a friend behind you that is always bound to
look to the young and feeble, like yourself.”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“The law—'tis bad to have it, but, I sometimes
think, it is worse, where it is never to be found. Yes
—yes, the law is needed, when such as have not the
gifts of strength and wisdom are to be taken care of.
I hope, young woman, if you have no father, you
have at least a brother.”
The maiden felt the tacit reproach conveyed in
this covert question, and for a moment remained in
an embarrassed silence. But catching a glimpse of
the mild and serious features of her companion, as
he continued to gaze on her with a look of interest,
she replied, firmly, and in a manner that left no
doubt she comprehended his meaning:
“Heaven forbid that any such as you have seen,
should be a brother of mine or any thing else near or
dear to me! But, tell me, do you then actually live
alone, in this desert district, old man; is there really
none here besides yourself?”
“There are hundreds, nay, thousands of the rightful
owners of the country, roving about the plains;
but few of our own colour.”
“And have you then met none who are white, but
us?” interrupted the girl, like one too impatient to
await the tardy explanation his age and deliberation
were about to make.
“Not in many days—Hush, Hector, hush,” he
added in reply to a low, and nearly inaudible, growl
from his hound. “The dog scents mischief in the
make their way, even lower than this. The
pup is not apt to complain of the harmless game.
I am not so ready and true with the piece as I used-to-could-be,
yet I have struck even the fiercest animals
of the prairie, in my time; so, you have little
reason for fear, young woman.”
The girl, raised her eyes, in that peculiar manner
which is so often practised by her sex, when they
commence their glances, by examining the earth at
their feet, and terminate them by noting every thing
within the power of human vision; but she rather
manifested the quality of impatience, than any feeling
of alarm.
A short bark from the dog, however, soon gave a
new direction to the looks of both, and then the real
object of his second warning became dimly visible.
| CHAPTER II. The prairie | |