 | CHAPTER XVI. The prairie |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
As far as land will let me, by your side.”
Shakspeare.
The passage of the Pawnee to his village was interrupted
by no such scene of violence. His vengeance
had been as complete as it was summary. Not
even a solitary scout of the Siouxes was left on the
hunting-grounds he was obliged to traverse, and of
course the journey of Middleton's party was as
peaceful as though it were made in the bosom of the
States. The marches were timed to meet the weakness
of the females. In short the victors seemed to
have lost every trace of ferocity with their success,
and appeared disposed to consult the most trifling of
the wants of that engrossing people who were daily
encroaching on their rights, and reducing the Redmen
of the west from their state of proud independence
to the condition of fugitives and wanderers.
Our limits will not permit a detail of the triumphal
entry of the conquerors. The exultation of the
tribe was proportioned to its previous despondency.
Mothers boasted of the honourable deaths of their
sons; wives proclaimed the honour and pointed to
the scars of their husbands, and Indian girls rewarded
the young braves with their songs of triumph. The
trophies of their fallen enemies were exhibited, as
conquered standards are displayed in more civilized
regions. The deeds of former warriors were recounted
by the aged men, and declared to be eclipsed by
the glory of this victory. While Hard-Heart himself,
so distinguished for his exploits from boyhood to that
hour, was unanimously proclaimed and re-proclaimed
the worthiest chief and the stoutest brave that the
Wahcondah had ever bestowed on his most favoured
children, the Pawnees of the Loup.
Notwithstanding the comparative security in which
Middleton found his recovered treasure, he was not
sorry to see his faithful and sturdy artillerists standing
among the throng as he entered in the wild train, and
lifting their voices in a martial shout to greet his return.
The presence of this force, small as it was,
removed every shadow of uneasiness from his mind.
It made him master of his movements, gave him
dignity and importance in the eyes of his new friends,
and would enable him to overcome the difficulties of
the wide region which still lay between the village
of the Pawnees and the nearest fortress of his countrymen.
A lodge was yielded to the exclusive possession
of Inez and Ellen; and even Paul, when he
saw an armed sentinel, in the uniform of the States,
pacing before its entrance, was content to stray among
the dwellings of the `Red-skins,' prying with but
little reserve into their domestic economy, commenting
sometimes jocularly, sometimes gravely, and always
freely, on their different expedients, or endeavouring
to make the wondering housewives comprehend
his quaint explanations of what he conceived
to be the better customs of the whites.
This inquiring and troublesome spirit found no
imitators among the Indians. The delicacy and reserve
of Hard-Heart were communicated to his people.
When every attention that could be suggested
by their simple manners and narrow wants had been
fulfilled, no intrusive foot presumed to approach the
cabins that had been devoted to the service of the
strangers. They were left to seek their repose in
that manner which most comported with their habits
and inclinations. The songs and rejoicings of the
tribe, however, ran far into the night, during the
deepest hours of which, the voice of more than one
warrior was heard, recounting, from the top of his
lodge, the deeds of his people and the glory of their
triumphs.
Every thing having life, notwithstanding the excesses
of the night, was abroad with the appearance
of the sun. The expression of exultation, which had
so lately been seen on every countenance, was now
changed to one better suited to the feeling of the
moment. It was understood by all, that the Palefaces,
who had befriended their chief, were about to
take their final leave of the tribe. The soldiers of
Middleton, in anticipation of his arrival, had bargained
with an unsuccessful trader for the use of his
boat, which lay in the stream ready to receive its
cargo, and nothing remained to complete the arrangements
for the long journey.
Middleton did not see this moment arrive entirely
without distrust. The admiration, with which Hard-Heart
had regarded Inez, had not escaped his jealous
eye, any more than had the lawless wishes of Mahtoree.
He knew the consummate manner in which
a savage could conceal his designs, and he felt that
it would be a culpable weakness to be unprepared
for the worst. Secret instructions were therefore
given to his men, while the preparations they made
were properly masked behind the show of military
parade with which it was intended to signalize their
departure.
The conscience of the young soldier reproached
him, when he saw the whole tribe accompanying his
party to the margin of the stream, with unarmed
hands and sorrowful countenances. They gathered
in a circle around the strangers and their chief, and
became not only peaceful, but highly interested observers
of what was passing. As it was evident that
Hard-Heart intended to speak, the former stopped,
and manifested their readiness to listen, the trapper
performing the office of interpreter. Then the young
chief addressed his people, in the usual metaphorical
language of an Indian. He commenced by alluding
to the antiquity and renown of his own nation. He
of the manner in which they had always known
how to defend their rights and to chastise their enemies.
After he had said enough to manifest his respect
for the greatness of the Loups, and to satisfy
the pride of the listeners, he made a sudden transition
to the race of whom the strangers were members.
He compared their countless numbers to the flights of
migratory birds in the season of blossoms or in the fall
of the year. With a delicacy, that none knew better
how to practise than an Indian warrior, he made no
direct mention of the rapacious temper, that so many
of them had betrayed in their dealings with the Redmen.
Feeling that the sentiment of distrust was
strongly engrafted in the tempers of his tribe, he
rather endeavoured to soothe any just resentment
they might entertain, by indirect excuses and apologies.
He reminded the listeners that even the
Pawnee Loups had been obliged to chase many unworthy
individuals from their villages. The Wahcondah
sometimes veiled his countenance from a Redman.
No doubt the Great Spirit of the Pale-faces
often looked darkly on his children. Such as were
abandoned to the worker of evil could never be
brave or virtuous, let the colour of the skin be what
it might. He bade his young men to look at the hands
of the Big-knives. They were not empty, like those
of hungry beggars. Neither were they filled with
goods, like those of knavish traders. They were,
like themselves, warriors, and they carried arms
which they knew well how to use—they were worthy
to be called brothers!
Then he directed the attention of all to the chief
of the strangers. He was a son of their great white
father. He had not come upon the prairies to frighten
the buffaloes from their pastures, or to seek the game
of the Indians. Wicked men had robbed him of one
of his wives; no doubt she was the most obedient,
only to open their eyes to see that his words must be
true. Now, that the white chief had found his wife,
he was about to return to his own people in peace.
He would tell them that the Pawnees were just, and
there would be a line of wampum between the two
nations. Let all his people wish the strangers a safe
return to their towns. The warriors of the Loups
knew both how to receive their enemies, and how to
clear the briars from the path of their friends.
The heart of Middleton had beat quick, as the
young partisan alluded to the charms of Inez, and
for an instant he cast an impatient glance at his little
line of artillerists; but the chief from that moment
appeared to forget he had ever seen so fair a being.
His feelings, if he had any on the subject, were veiled
behind the cold mask of Indian self-denial: He took
each warrior by the hand, not forgetting the meanest
soldier, but his cold and collected eye never wandered,
for an instant, towards either of the females.
Arrangements had been made for their comfort, with
a prodigality and care that had not failed to excite
some surprise in his young men, but in no other particular
did he shock their manly pride by betraying
any solicitude in behalf of the weaker sex.
The leave-taking was general and imposing. Each
male Pawnee was sedulous to omit no one of the
strange warriors in his attentions, and of course the
ceremony occupied some time. The only exception,
and that was not general, was in the case of Dr. Battius.
Not a few of the young men, it is true, were
indifferent about lavishing civilities on one of so
doubtful a profession, but the worthy naturalist found
some consolation in the more matured politeness of
the old men, who had inferred, that though not of
much use in war, the medicine of the Big-knives
might possibly be made serviceable in peace.
When all of Middleton's party had embarked, the
feet during the previous proceedings, and whistling
Hector to his side, he was the last to take his seat.
The artillerists gave the usual cheers, which were
answered by a shout from the tribe, and then the
boat was shoved into the current, and began to glide
swiftly down its stream.
A long and a musing, if not a melancholy silence
succeeded this departure. It was first broken by
the trapper, whose regret was not the least visible in
his dejected and sorrowful eye—
“They are a valiant and an honest tribe,” he said;
“that will I say boldly in their favour; and second
only do I take them to be to that once mighty but
now scattered people, the Delawares of the Hills.
Ah's me! Captain, if you had seen as much good and
evil as I have seen in these nations of Red-skins, you
would know of how much value was a brave and
simple-minded warrior. I know that some are to be
found, who both think and say that an Indian is but
a little better than the beasts of these naked plains.
But it is needful to be honest in one's self to be a
fitting judge of honesty in others. No doubt, no
doubt, they know their enemies, and little do they
care to show to such any great confidence or love.”
“It is the way of man,” returned the Captain,
“and it is probable they are not wanting in any of
his natural qualities.”
“No, no; it is little that they want, that natur' has
had to give. But as little does he know of the temper
of a Red-skin, who has seen but one Indian or one
tribe, as he knows of the colour of feathers who has
only looked upon a crow. Now, friend steersman,
just give the boat a sheer towards youder, low, sandy
point, and a favour will be granted at a short asking.”
“For what?” demanded Middleton; “we are now
in the swiftest of the current, and by drawing to the
shore we shall lose the force of the stream.”
“Your tarry will not be long,” returned the old
man, applying his own hand to the execution of that
which he had requested. The oarsmen had seen
enough of his influence with their leader not to dispute
his wishes, and before time was given for further
discussion on the subject, the bows of the boat had
touched the land.
“Captain,” resumed the other untying his little
wallet with great deliberation, and even in a manner
to show he found satisfaction in the delay, “I wish to
offer you a small matter of trade. No great bargain,
mayhap; but still the best that one, of whose hand
the skill of the rifle has taken leave, and who has
become no better than a miserable trapper, can offer
before we part.”
“Part!” was echoed from every mouth among
those who had so recently shared his dangers and
profited by his care.
“What the devil, old trapper, do you mean to
foot it to the settlements, when here is a boat that will
float the distance in half the time, that the jackass,
the Doctor has given the Pawnee, could trot along
the same!”
“Settlements, boy! It is long sin' I took my leave
of the waste and wickedness of the settlements and
the villages. If I live in a clearing here, it is one of
the Lord's making, and I have no hard thoughts on
the matter; but never again shall I be seen running
wilfully into the danger of immoralities.”
“I had not thought of parting,” answered Middleton,
endeavouring to seek some relief from the uneasiness
he felt, by turning his eyes on the sympathizing
countenances of his friends; “on the contrary, I had
hoped and believed that you would have accompanied
us below, where I give you a sacred pledge,
nothing shall be wanting to make your days comfortable.”
“Yes, lad, yes; you would do your endeavours;
of the devil! Ay, if kind offers and good wishes
could have done the thing, I might have been a
congress-man, or perhaps a governor, years agone.
Your gran'ther wished the same, and there are
them still living in the Otsego mountains, as I hope,
who would gladly have given me a palace for my
dwelling. But what are riches without content!
My time must now be short, at any rate, and I hope
it's no mighty sin for one, who has acted his part
honestly near ninety winters and summers, to wish
to pass the few hours that remain in comfort. If you
think I have done wrong in coming thus far to quit
you again, Captain, I will own the reason of the act
without shame or backwardness. Though I have
seen so much of the wilderness, it is not to be gainsayed,
that my feelings, as well as my skin, are white.
Now it would not be a fitting spectacle, that yonder
Pawnee Loups should look upon the weakness of an
old warrior, if weakness he should happen to show
in parting for ever from those he has reason to love,
though he may not set his heart so strongly on them
as to wish to go into the settlements in their company.”
“Harkee, old trapper,” said Paul, clearing his
throat with a desperate effort, as if he was determined
to give his voice a clear exit; “I have just
one bargain to make, since you talk of trading,
which is neither more nor less than this. I offer
you, as my side of the business, one half of my
shanty, nor do I much care if it be the biggest half;
the sweetest and the purest honey that can be made
of the wild locust; always enough to eat, with now
and then a mouthful of venison, or, for that matter,
a morsel of buffaloe's hump, seeing that I intend to
push my acquaintance with the animal, and as good
and as tidy cooking as can come from the hands of
one like Ellen Wade, here, who will shortly be Nelly
somebody-else, and altogether such general treatment
his best friend, or, for that matter, to his own father;
in return for the same you ar' to give us at odd moments
some of your ancient traditions, perhaps a little
wholesome advice on occasions, in small quantities
at a time, and as much of your agreeable company
as you please.”
“It is well—it is well, boy,” returned the old man,
fumbling at his wallet; “honestly offered and not
unthankfully declined—but it cannot be; no, it can
never be.”
“Venerable venator,” said Dr. Battius; “there
are obligations, which every man owes to society and
to human nature. It is time that you should return
to your countrymen, to deliver up some of those
stores of experimental knowledge that you have
doubtless obtained by so long a sojourn in the wilds,
which, however they may be corrupted by preconceived
opinions, will prove acceptable bequests to those
whom, as you say, you must shortly leave forever.”
“Friend physicianer,” returned the trapper, looking
the other steadily in the face, “as it would be no
easy matter to judge of the temper of the rattler by
considering the fashions of the moose, so it would be
hard to speak of the usefulness of one man by thinking
too much of the deeds of another. You have
your gifts like others, I suppose, and little do I wish to
disturb them. But as to me, the Lord has made me
for a doer and not a talker, and therefore do I consider
it no harm to shut my ears to your invitation.”
“It is enough,” interrupted Middleton; “I have
seen and heard so much of this extraordinary man,
as to know that persuasions will not change his purpose.
First we will hear your request, my friend,
and then we will consider what may be best done for
your advantage.”
“It is a small matter, Captain,” returned the old
man, succeeding at length in opening his bundle. “A
small and trifling matter is it, to what I once used-to-could
best I have, and therein not to be despised. Here
are the skins of four beavers, that I took, it might be
a month afore we met, and here is another from a
raccoon, that is of no great matter to be sure, but
which may serve to make weight atween us.”
“And what do you propose to do with them?”
“I offer them in lawful barter. Them knaves the
Siouxes, the Lord forgive me for ever believing it
was the Konzas, have stolen the best of my traps,
and driven me altogether to make-shift inventions,
which might foretel a dreary winter for me, should
my time stretch into another season. I wish you
therefore to take the skins, and to offer them to some
of the trappers you will not fail to meet below, and
to send the same into the Pawnee village in my name.
Be careful to have my mark painted on them; a letter
N, with a hound's ear and the lock of a rifle.
There is no Red-skin who will then dispute my right.
For all which trouble I have little more to offer than
my thanks, unless my friend, the bee-hunter here,
will accept of the raccoon, and take on himself the
special charge of the whole matter.”
“If I do, may I be—!” The mouth of Paul
was stopped by the pretty hand of Ellen, and he was
obliged to swallow the rest of the sentence, which he
did with a species of emotion that bore no slight resemblance
to the process of strangulation.
“Well, well,” returned the old man meekly, “I
hope there is no heavy offence in the offer. I know
that the skin of a raccoon is of small price, but then
it was no mighty labour that I asked in return.”
“You entirely mistake the meaning of our friend,”
interrupted Middleton, who observed, that the bee-hunter
was looking in every direction but the right
one, and that he was utterly unable to make his own
vindication. “He did not mean to say that he declined
the charge, but merely that he refused all compensation.
It is unnecessary, however, to say more
gratitude, we owe, is properly discharged, and that
all your necessities shall be anticipated.”
“Anan!” said the old man, looking up enquiringly
into the other's face, as if to ask an explanation.
“It shall all be as you wish. Lay the skins with my
baggage. We will bargain for you as for ourselves.”
“Thankee, thankee, Captain; you gran'ther was
of a free and generous mind. So much so, in truth,
that those just people, the Delawares, called him the
`Open-hand.' I wish, now, I was as I used to be, in
order that I might send in the lady a few delicate
martens for her tippets and overcoats, just to show
you that I know how to give courtesy for courtesy.
But do not expect the same, for I am too old to
give a promise. It will all be just as the Lord shall
see fit. I can offer you nothing else, for I haven't
liv'd so long in the wilderness, not to know the scrupulous
ways of a gentleman.”
Harkee, old trapper,” cried the bee-hunter, striking
his own hand into the open palm which the other
had extended, with a report but little below the
crack of a rifle, “I have just two things to say. Firstly,
that the captain has told you my meaning better
than I can myself; and secondly, if you want a skin,
either for your private use or to send abroad, I have
it at your service, and that is the skin of one Paul
Hover.”
The old man returned the grasp he received, and
opened his mouth to the utmost, in his extraordinary,
silent laugh.
“You couldn't have given such a squeeze, boy,
when the Teton squaws were about you with the
knives!” he said. “Ah! you are in your prime, and
in your vigour and happiness, if honesty lies in your
path.” Then the expression of his rugged features
suddenly changed to a look of seriousness and thought.
“Come hither, lad,” he said, leading the bee-hunter
by a button to the land, and speaking apart in a tone
atween us on the pleasures and respectableness of a
life in the woods or on the borders. I do not now
mean to say that all you have heard is not true; but
different tempers call for different employments. You
have taken to your bosom, there, a good and kind
child, and it has become your duty to consider her,
as well as yourself, in setting forth in life. You are
a little given to skirting the settlements, but, to my
poor judgment, the girl would be more like a flourishing
flower in the sun of a clearing, than in the
winds of a prairie. Therefore forget any thing you
may have heard from me, which is nevertheless true,
and turn your mind on the ways of the inner country.”
Paul could only answer with a squeeze, that would
have brought tears from the eyes of most men, but
which produced no other effect on the indurated
muscles of the other, than to make him laugh and
nod, as if he would say he received the same as a
pledge that the bee-hunter would remember his advice.
The trapper then turned away from his rough
but warm-hearted companion, and having called
Hector from the boat, he seemed anxious still to
utter a few words more—
“Captain,” he at length resumed, “I know when
a poor man talks of credit, he deals in a delicate word
according to the fashions of the world; and when an
old man talks of life, he speaks of that which he may
never see; nevertheless there is one thing I will say,
and that is not so much on my own behalf as on that
of another person. Here is Hector, a good and faithful
pup, that has long outlived the time of a dog, and
like his master he looks more to comfort now, than
to any deeds in running. But the creatur' has his
feelings as well as a Christian. He has consorted
latterly with his kinsman, there, in such a sort as to
find great pleasure in his company, and I will acknowledge
that it touches my feelings to part the pair so
soon. If you will set a value on your hound, I will
should them same traps come safe to hand; or,
if you dislike parting with the animal altogether, I
will just ask you for his loan through the winter. I
think I can see my pup will not last beyond that time,
for I have judgment in these matters, since many is
the friend, both hound and Red-skin, that I have seen
depart in my day, though the Lord hath not yet seen
fit to order his angels to sound forth my name.”
“Take him, take him,” cried Middleton; “take
all or any thing!”
The old man whistled the younger dog to the land;
and then he proceeded to the final adieus. Little was
said on either side. The trapper took each person
solemnly by the hand, and uttered something friendly
and kind to all. Middleton was perfectly speechless,
and was driven to affect busying himself among the
baggage. Paul whistled with all his might, and even
Obed took his leave with an effort that bore the appearance
of a desperate philosophical resolution.
When he had made the circuit of the whole, the old
man with his own hands shoved the boat into the current,
wishing God to speed them. Not a word was
spoken, nor a stroke of the oar given, until the travellers
had floated past a knoll that hid the trapper
from their view. He was last seen standing on the
low point, leaning on his rifle, with Hector crouched
at his feet and the younger dog frisking along the sands
in the playfulness of youth and vigour.
| CHAPTER XVI. The prairie | |