 | CHAPTER VII. The oak openings, or, The bee-hunter |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
Their outraged feelings scan;
A voice comes forth, 't is from the dust—
The savage was a man!
Sprague.
As soon as le Bourdon reached the commencement of
that which might be called his path across the marsh, he
stopped and looked backward. He was now sufficiently
removed from the low acclivity to see objects on its summit,
and had no difficulty in discerning all that the waning
fire illuminated. There stood the Chippewa erect against
the tree as if still bound with thongs, while the sentinel
was slowly approaching him. The dogs were on their feet,
and gave two or three sharp barks, which had the effect to
cause five or six of the savages to lift their heads in their
lairs. One arose even and threw an armful of dried
branches on the fire, producing a bright blaze, that brought
everything around the hut, and which the light could touch,
into full view.
The bee-hunter was astonished at the immovable calmness
with which Pigeonswing still stood to his tree, awaiting
the approach of the sentinel. In a few moments the
latter was at his side. At first the Pottawattamie did not
perceive that the prisoner was unbound. He threw him
into shadow by his own person, and it required a close
look to note the circumstance. Boden was too far from
the spot to see all the minor movements of the parties, but
there was soon a struggle that could not be mistaken. As
the Pottawattamie was examining the prisoner, an exclamation
that escaped him betrayed the sudden consciousness
that the Chippewa was unbound. The sound was no sooner
uttered than Pigeonswing made a grasp at the sentinel's
knife, which however he did not obtain, when the two closed
and fell, rolling down the declivity into the darkness. When
the Pottawattamie seized the Chippewa, he uttered a yell,
As the savages now united in the whoops, and the dogs
began to bark wildly, an infernal clamour was made.
At first, le Bourdon did not know how to act. He greatly
feared the dogs, and could not but think of Margery, and
the probable consequences, should those sagacious animals
follow him across the marsh. But he did not like the idea
of abandoning Pigeonswing, when a single blow of his arm,
or a kick of his foot, might be the cause of his escape.
While deliberating in painful uncertainty, the sounds of the
struggle ceased, and he saw the sentinel rising again into
the light, limping like one who had suffered by a fall. Presently
he heard a footstep near him, and, calling in a low
voice, he was immediately joined by Pigeonswing. Before
the bee-hunter was aware of his intention, the Chippewa
seized his rifle, and levelling it at the sentinel, who still
stood on the brow of the hill, drawn in all his savage outlines
distinctly in the light of the flames, he fired. The cry,
the leap into the air, and the fall, announced the unerring
character of the aim. In coming to the earth, the wounded
man fell over the brow of the sharp acclivity, and was heard
rolling towards its base.
Le Bourdon felt the importance of now improving the
precious moments, and was in the act of urging his companion
to follow, when the latter passed an arm around his
body, whipped his knife from the girdle and sheath, and
dropping the rifle into his friend's arms, bounded away in
the darkness, taking the direction of his fallen enemy.
There was no mistaking all this; the Chippewa, led by his
own peculiar sense of honour, risking everything to obtain
the usual trophy of victory. By this time, a dozen of the
savages stood on the brow of the hill, seemingly at a loss
to understand what had become of the combatants. Perceiving
this, the bee-hunter profited by the delay and reloaded
his rifle. As everything passed almost as swiftly as
the electric spark is known to travel, it was but a moment
after the Pottawattamie fell ere his conqueror was through
with his bloody task. Just as le Bourdon threw his rifle
up into the hollow of his arm, he was rejoined by his red
friend, who bore the reeking scalp of the sentinel at his
belt; though fortunately the bee-hunter did not see it on
willing to continue to act with so ruthless an ally.
Further stay was out of the question; for the Indians were now collected in a body on the brow of the hill,
where the chief was rapidly issuing his orders. In a minute
the band dispersed, every man bounding into the darkness,
as if aware of the danger of remaining within the
influence of the bright light thrown from the fire. Then
came such a clamour from the dogs, as left no doubt in the
mind of the bee-hunter that they had scented and found
the remains of the fallen man. A fierce yell came from
the same spot, the proof that some of the savages had already
discovered the body; and le Bourdon told his companion
to follow, taking his way across the marsh as fast
as he could overcome the difficulties of the path.
It has already been intimated that it was not easy, if indeed
it were possible, to cross that piece of low wet land
in a direct line. There was tolerably firm ground on it,
but it lay in an irregular form, its presence being generally
to be noted by the growth of trees. Le Bourdon had been
very careful in taking his land-marks, foreseeing the probability
of a hasty retreat, and he had no difficulty for
some time in keeping in the right direction. But the dogs
soon left the dead body, and came bounding across the
marsh, disregarding its difficulties; though their plunges
and yells soon made it apparent that even they did not
escape altogether with dry feet. As for the savages, they
poured down the declivity in a stream, taking the dogs as
their guides; and safe ones they might well be accounted,
so far as the scent was concerned, though they did not
happen to be particularly well acquainted with all the difficulties
of the path.
At length le Bourdon paused, causing his companion to
stop also. In the hurry and confusion of the flight, the
former had lost his land-marks, finding himself amidst a
copse of small trees, or large bushes, but not in the particular
copse he sought. Every effort to get out of this
thicket, except by the way he had entered it, proved abortive,
and the dogs were barking at no great distance in his
rear. It is true that these animals no longer approached;
for they were floundering in the mud and water; but
on, and the low calls that passed from mouth to mouth, let
the pursued understand that the Pottawattamies were at
their heels, if not absolutely on their trail.
The crisis demanded both discretion and decision; qualities
in which the bee-hunter, with his forest training, was
not likely to be deficient. He looked out for the path by
which he had reached the unfortunate thicket, and having
found it, commenced a retreat by the way he had come.
Nerve was needed to move almost in a line towards the
dogs and their masters; but the nerve was forthcoming,
and the two advanced like veterans expecting the fire of
some concealed but well-armed battery. Presently, le
Bourdon stopped, and examined the ground on which he
stood.
“Here we must turn, Chippewa,” he said, in a guarded
voice. “This is the spot where I must have missed my
way.”
“Good place to turn 'bout,” answered the Indian—“dog
too near.”
“We must shoot the dogs if they press us too hard,”
returned the bee-hunter, leading off rapidly, now secure in
the right direction. “They seem to be in trouble, just at
this time; but animals like them will soon find their way
across this marsh.”
“Bess shoot Pottawattamie,” coolly returned Pigeonswing.
“Pottawattamie got capital scalp — dog's ears no
good for nuttin', any more.”
“Yonder, I believe, is the tree I am in search of!” exclaimed
le Bourdon. “If we can reach that tree, I think
all will go well with us.”
The tree was reached, and the bee-hunter proceeded to
make sure of his course from that point. Removing from
his pouch a small piece of moistened powder that he had
prepared ere he liberated the Chippewa, he stuck it on a
low branch of the tree he was under, and on the side next
the spot where he had stationed Margery. When this was
done, he made his companion stand aside, and lighting
some spunk with his flint and steel, he fired his powder.
Of course, this little preparation burned like the fire-works
of a boy, making sufficient light, however, to be seen in a
powder hissing and throwing off its sparks, than the bee-hunter
gazed intently into the now seemingly tangible obscurity
of the marsh. A bright light appeared and vanished.
It was enough; the bee-hunter threw down his
own signal and extinguished it with his foot; and, as he
wished, the lantern of Margery appeared no more. Assured
now of the accuracy of his position, as well as of
the course he was to pursue, le Bourdon bade his companion
follow, and pressed anew across the marsh. A tree
was soon visible, and towards that particular object the
fugitives steadily pressed, until it was reached. At the
next instant Margery was joined; and the bee-hunter could
not refrain from kissing her, in the excess of his pleasure.
“There is a dreadful howling of dogs,” said Margery,
feeling no offence at the liberty taken, in a moment
like that, “and it seems to me that a whole tribe is following
at their heels. For Heaven's sake, Bourdon, let us
hasten to the canoes; brother and sister must think us
lost!”
The circumstances pressed, and the bee-hunter took
Margery's arm, passing it through one of his own, with a
decided and protecting manner, that caused the girl's heart
to beat with emotions not in the least connected with fear,
leaving an impression of pleasure even at that perilous moment.
As the distance was not great, the three were soon
on the beach and near to the canoes. Here they met Dorothy,
alone, and pacing to and fro like a person distressed.
She had doubtless heard the clamour, and was aware that
the savages were out looking for their party. As Margery
met her sister, she saw that something more than common
had gone wrong, and in the eagerness of her apprehensions
she did not scruple about putting her questions.
“What has become of brother?—Where is Gershom?”
demanded the sensitive girl, at once.
The answer was given in a low voice, and in that sort
of manner with which woman struggles to the last to conceal
the delinquencies of him she loves.
“Gershom is not himself, just now,” half whispered the
wife—“he has fallen into one of his old ways, ag'in.”
“Old ways!” slowly repeated the sister, dropping her
news had just been communicated. “How is that possible,
now that all the whiskey is emptied?”
“It seems that Bourdon had a jug of brandy among his
stores, and Gershom found it out. I blame no one; for
Bourdon, who never abuses the gifts of Providence, had a
right to his comforts at least; but it is a pity that there was
anything of the sort in the canoes!”
The bee-hunter was greatly concerned at this unwelcome
intelligence, feeling all its importance far more vividly than
either of his companions. They regretted as women; but
he foresaw the danger, as a man accustomed to exertion in
trying scenes. If Whiskey Centre had really fallen into
his old ways, so as to render himself an incumbrance, instead
of being an assistant at such a moment, the fact was
to be deplored, but it could only be remedied by time.
Luckily they had the Indian with them, and he could manage
one of the canoes, while he himself took charge of
the other. As no time was to be lost, the barking of the
dogs and the cries of the savages too plainly letting it be
known that the enemy was getting through the marsh by
some means or other, he hurried the party down to the canoes,
entering that of Whiskey Centre at once.
Le Bourdon found Gershom asleep, but with the heavy
slumbers of the drunkard. Dolly had removed the jug
and concealed it, as soon as the state of her husband enabled
her to do so, without incurring his violence. Else
might the unfortunate man have destroyed himself, by indulging
in a liquor so much more palatable than that he
was accustomed to use, after so long and compelled an abstinence.
The jug was now produced, however, and le
Bourdon emptied it in the river, to the great joy of the two
females, though not without a sharp remonstrance from the
Chippewa. The bee-hunter was steady, and the last drop
of the liquor of Gascony was soon mingling with the waters
of the Kalamazoo. This done, the bee-hunter desired the
women to embark, and called to the Chippewa to do the
same. By quitting the spot in the canoes, it was evident
their pursuers would be balked, temporarily at least, since
they must recross the marsh in order to get into their own
boats, without which further pursuit would be fruitless.
It might have been by means of a secret sympathy, or it
was possibly the result of accident, but, certain it is, that
the Chippewa was placed in the stern of Gershom's canoe,
while Margery found a place in that of le Bourdon. As
for Whiskey Centre, he lay like a log in the bottom of his
own light bark, cared for only by his affectionate wife, who
had made a pillow for his bead; but, fortunately, if no assistance
just then, not any material hindrance to the movements
of his friends. By the time le Bourdon and the
Chippewa had got their stations, and the canoes were free
of the bottom, it was evident by the sounds, that not only
the dogs, but divers of their masters, had floundered
through the swamp, and were already on the firm ground
east of it. As the dogs ran by scent, little doubt remained
of their soon leading the savages down to the place of embarkation.
Aware of this, the bee-hunter directed the
Chippewa to follow, and urged his own canoe away from
the shore, following one of three of the natural channels
that united just at that point.
The clamour now sensibly increased, and the approach
of the pursuers was much faster than it had previously
been, in consequence of there no longer being wet land
beneath their feet. At the distance of fifty yards from the
shore, however, the channel, or open avenue among the
rice plants, that the canoes had taken, made a short turn
to the northward; for all the events we have just been recording
occurred on the northern, or leeward side of the
river. Once around this bend in the channel, the canoes
would have been effectually concealed from those on the
beach, had it even been broad daylight, and, of course,
were so much more hidden from view under the obscurity
of a very dark night. Perceiving this, and fearful that the
dip of the paddles might be heard, le Bourdon ceased to
urge his canoe through the water, telling the Chippewa to
imitate his example, and let the boats drift. In consequence
of this precaution the fugitives were still quite near the
shore when, first, the dogs, and then a party of their masters,
came rushing down to the very spot whence the canoes
had departed, scarcely two minutes before. As no precautions
were taken to conceal the advance of the pursuers,
the pursued, or the individuals among them who alone understood
well, had an opportunity of hearing and understanding
all that was said. Le Bourdon had brought the two canoes
together; and the Chippewa, at his request, now translated
such parts of the discourse of their enemies as he deemed
worthy of communicating to the females.
“Say, now, nobody dere!” commenced the Indian,
coolly — “T'ink he no great way off — mean to look for
him—t'ink dog uneasy—won'er why dog so uneasy.”
“Them dogs are very likely to scent us here in the canoes,
we are so near them,” whispered le Bourdon.
“S'pose he do, can't catch us,” coolly answered the
Chippewa—“beside, shoot him, don't take care—bad for
dog to chase warrior too much.”
“There is one speaking now, who seems to have authority.”
“Yes—he chief—know he voice—hear him too often—
he mean to put Pigeonswing to torture. Well, let him
catch Pigeonswing fust—swift bird do dat, eh?”
“But what says he? — it may be of importance to learn
what the chief says, just now.”
“Who care what he say—can't do nuttin'—if get good
chance, take his scalp, too.”
“Ay, that I dare say—but he is speaking earnestly, and
in a low voice; listen, and let us know what he says. I do
not well understand at this distance.
The Chippewa complied, and maintained an attentive
silence until the chief ceased to speak. Then he rendered
what had been said into such English as he could command,
accompanying the translation by the explanations
that naturally suggested themselves to one like himself.
“Chief talk to young men,” said the Chippewa—“all
chief talk to young men—tell him dat Pigeonswing muss
get off in canoe—don't see canoe, nudder—but, muss be
canoe, else he swim. T'ink more dan one Injin here—
don't know, dough—maybe, maybe not—can't tell, till see
trail, morrow mornin'—”
“Well, well: but what does he tell his young men to
do?” demanded the bee-hunter, impatiently.
“Don't be squaw, Bourdon—tell all by'em bye. Tell
young men s'pose he get canoe, den he may get our canoe,
swim down stream and get our canoe dat fashion—bess go
back, some of you, and see arter our canoe—dat what he
tell young men most.”
“That is a lucky thought!” exclaimed le Bourdon—
“let us paddle down, at once, and seize all their canoes
before they can get there. The distance by water, owing
to this bend in the river, is not half as great as that by
land, and the marsh will double the distance to them.”
“Dat good council!” said Pigeonswing—“you go—I
follow.”
This was no sooner said, than the canoes were again
got in motion. The darkness might now have been a sufficient
protection had there been no rice, but the plant
would have concealed the movement, even at noon-day.
The fire in the hut served as a beacon, and enabled le
Bourdon to find the canoes. When he reached the landing,
he could still hear the dogs barking on the marsh, and the
voices of those with them, calling in loud tones to two of
the savages who had remained at the chienté, as a sort of
camp-guard.
“What do them chaps say?” asked le Bourdon of the
Chippewa. “They yell as if striving to make the two men
at the door of the hut hear them. Can you make out what
they are bawling so loud?”
“Tell two warrior to come down and take care of canoe
—dat all—let 'em come—find two here take care of dem—
got good scalp, dem two rascal Pottawattamie!”
“No—no—Pigeonswing—we must have no more of that
work to-night, but must set about towing these four canoes
off the shore as fast as we can. Have you got hitches on
your two?”
“Fast 'nough—so fast, he follow,” answered the Indian,
who, notwithstanding his preparations to help to remove the
canoes, was manifestly reluctant to depart without striking
another blow at his enemies. “Now good time for dem
rascal to lose scalp!”
“Them rascals, as you call them, begin to understand
their friends in the marsh, and are looking to the priming
of their rifles. We must be moving, or they may see us,
once for the middle of the bay.”
As le Bourdon was much in earnest, Pigeonswing was
fain to comply. Had the last possessed a rifle of his own,
or even a knife, it is highly probable he would have leaped
ashore, and found the means of stealing on some one of
his enemies unawares, and thus secured another trophy.
But the bee-hunter was determined, and the Chippewa,
however reluctant, was compelled to obey; for not only
had le Bourdon kept his rifle at his side, but he had used
the precaution of securing his knife and tomahawk, both
of which he carried habitually, the same as a red man.
The canoes had now a somewhat difficult task. The
wind still blew fresh, and it was necessary for one of these
light craft, pretty well loaded with its proper freight, and
paddled by only a single person, to tow two other craft of
equal size dead to windward. The weight in the towing
craft, and the lightness of those that were towed, rendered
this task, however, easier than it might otherwise have
proved. In the course of a couple of minutes all the canoes
were far enough from the shore to be out of sight of
the two Indians, who, by that time, had got down to the
beach to look after their own craft. The yell these savages
raised on finding themselves too late, not only announced
their disappointment, but communicated the extent of the
disaster to their friends, who were still floundering through
the marsh.
The great advantage that the party of the bee-hunter
had now obtained must be very apparent to all. In possession
of all the canoes, their enemies were, or would be
for some time at least, confined to the northern side of the
river, which was so wide near its mouth as to present an
effectual barrier between them and those who occupied the
opposite bank. The canoes, also, enabled the weaker
party to change their position at will, carrying with them
as many of their effects as were on board, and which included
the whole of the property of le Bourdon; while
their loss deprived their enemies of all extra means of motion,
and would be very likely to induce them to proceed
on their expedition by land. The objects of that expedition
could only be conjectured by the bee-hunter, until he
do, as soon as he believed the party quite safe, under the
south shore. Here the fugitives landed, proceeding up a
natural channel in the wild rice in order to do so, and selecting
a bit of dry beach for their purpose. Margery set
about lighting a fire, in order to keep the musquitoes at a
distance, selecting a spot to kindle it, behind a swell of the
land, that concealed the light from all on the other shore.
In the morning, it would be necessary to extinguish that
fire, lest its smoke should betray their position. It was
while these things were in progress, and after le Bourdon
had himself procured the fuel necessary to feed pretty
Margery's fire, that he questioned the Chippewa touching
his captivity.
“Yes, tell all 'bout him,” answered the Indian, as soon
as interrogated — “no good to hide trail from friend.
'Member when say good bye up in openin' to Bourdon?”
“Certainly—I remember the very instant when you left
me. The Pottawattamie went on one path, and you went
on another. I was glad of that, as you seemed to think
he was not your friend.”
“Yes; good not to travel on same path as inimy, 'cause
he quarrel sometime,” coolly returned the Indian. “Dis
time, path come togedder, somehow; and Pottawattamie
los he scalp.”
“I am aware of all that, Pigeonswing, and wish it had
not been so. I found the body of Elksfoot sitting up
against a tree soon after you left me, and knew by whose
hands he had fallen.”
“Didn't find scalp, eh?”
“No, the scalp had been taken; though I accounted
that but for little, since the man's life was gone. There
is little gained by carrying on war in this manner, making
the woods, and the openings, and the prairies, alike unsafe.
You see, now, to what distress this family is reduced by
your Injin manner of making war.”
“How you make him, den—want to hear. Go kiss, and
give venison to inimy, or go get his scalp, eh? Which
bess fashion to make him afeard, and own you master?”
“All that may be done without killing single travellers,
or murdering women and children. The peace will be
you have got the scalp of Elksfoot.”
“No haben't got him any longer; wish had—Pottawattamie
take him away, and say he bury him. Well, let him
hide him in a hole deep as white man's well, can't hide
Pigeonwing honour dere, too. Dat is safe as notch cut
on stick can make him!”
This notch on a stick was the Indian mode of gazetting
a warrior; and a certain number of these notches was
pretty certain to procure for him a sort of savage brevet,
which answered his purpose quite as well as the modern
mode of brevetting at Washington answers our purpose.
Neither brings any pay, we believe, nor any command,
except in such cases as rarely occur, and then only to the
advantage of government. There are varieties in honour,
as in any other human interest: so are there many moral
degrees in warfare. Thus, the very individual who admires
the occupation of Algiers, or that of Tahiti, or the
attack on Canton, together with the long train of Indian
events which have dyed the peninsulas of the East in
the blood of their people, sees an alarming enormity in the
knocking down of the walls of Vera Cruz, though the
breach opened a direct road into San Juan de Ulloa. In
the eyes of the same profound moralists, the garitas of
Mexico ought to have been respected, as so many doors
opening into the boudoirs of the beautiful dames of that
fine capital; it being a monstrous thing to fire a shot into
the streets of a town, no matter how many came out of
them. We are happy, therefore, to have it in our power
to add these touches of philosophy that came from Pigeonswing
to those of the sages of the old world, by way of
completing a code of international morals on this interesting
subject, in which the student shall be at a loss to say
which he most admires—that which comes from the schools,
or that which comes direct from the wilderness.
“So best,” answered the bee-hunter. “I wish I could
persuade you to throw away that disgusting thing at your
belt. Remember, Chippewa, you are now among Christians,
and ought to do as Christians wish.”
“What Christians do, eh?” returned the Indian, with a
sneer. “Get drunk, like Whiskey Centre, dere? Cheat
Dat what Christian do, eh?”
“They who do such things are Christians but in name
—you must think better of such as are Christians in fact.”
“Ebbery body call himself Christian, tell you—all pale-face
Christian, dey say. Now, listen to Chippewa. Once
talk long talk wit' missionary—tell all about Christian—
what Christian do—what Christian say—how he eat, how
he sleep, how he drink! — all good — wish Pigeonwing
Christian — den 'member so'ger at garrison — no eat, no
sleep, no drink Christian fashion—do ebbery t'ing so'ger
fashion—swear, fight, cheat, get drunk—wuss dan Injin—
dat Christian, eh?”
“No, that is not acting like a Christian; and I fear very
few of us who call ourselves by that name, act as if we
were Christians, in truth,” said le Bourdon, conscious of
the justice of the Chippewa's accusation.
“Just dat — now, I get him — ask missionary, one day,
where all Christian go to, so dat Injin can't find him —
none in woods—none on prairie—none in garrison—none
at Mack'naw — none at Detroit — where all go to, den, so
Injin can't find him, on'y in missionary talk?”
“I am curious to know what answer your missionary
made to that question.”
“Well, tell you — say, on'y one in ten t'ousant raal
Christian 'mong pale-face, dough all call himself Christian!
Dat what Injin t'ink queer, eh?”
“It is not easy to make a red man understand all the
ways of the pale-faces, Pigeonswing; but we will talk of
these things another time, when we are more at our ease.
Just now, I wish to learn all I can of the manner in which
you fell into the hands of the Pottawattamies.”
“Dat plain 'nough—wish Christian talk half as plain.
You see, Bourdon, dat Elkfoot on scout, when we meet in
openin', up river. I know'd his ar'nd, and so took scalp.
Dem Pottawattamie his friend—when dey come to meet
ole chief, no find him; but find Pigeonwing; got me when
tired and 'sleep; got Elkfoot scalp wid me — sorry for dat
—know scalp by scalp-lock, which had grey hair, and some
mark. So put me in canoe, and meant to take Chippewa
to Chicago to torture him—but too much wind. So, when
while.”
This was the simple explanation of the manner in which
Pigeonswing had fallen into the hands of his enemies. It
would seem that Elksfoot had come in a canoe from the
mouth of the St. Joseph's to a point about half-way between
that river and the mouth of the Kalamazoo, and there
landed. What the object of the party was, does not exactly
appear, though it is far from being certain that it was
not to seize the bee-hunter, and confiscate his effects.
Although le Bourdon was personally a stranger to Elksfoot,
news flies through the wilderness in an extraordinary
manner; and it was not at all unlikely that the fact of a
white American's being in the openings should soon spread,
along with the tidings that the hatchet was dug up, and
that a party should go out in quest of his scalp and the
plunder. It would seem that the savage tact of the Chippewa
detected that in the manner of the Pottawattamie
chief, which assured him the intentions of the old warrior
were not amicable; and that he took the very summary
process which has been related, not only to secure his
scalp, but effectually to put it out of his power to do any
mischief to one who was an ally, and, by means of recent
confidence, now a friend. All this the Indian explained
to his companion, in his usual clipped English, but with a
clearness sufficient to make it perfectly intelligible to his
listener. The bee-hunter listened with the most profound
attention, for he was fully aware of the importance of comprehending
all the hazards of his own situation.
While this dialogue was going on, Margery had succeeded
in lighting her fire, and was busy in preparing some warm
compound, which she knew would be required by her unhappy
brother after his debauch. Dorothy passed often
between the fire and the canoe, feeling a wife's anxiety in
the fate of her husband. As for the Chippewa, intoxication
was a very venial offence in his eyes; though he had
a contempt for a man who would thus indulge while
on a war-path. The American Indian does possess this
merit of adapting his deportment to his circumstances.
When engaged in war, he usually prepares himself in the
coolest and wisest manner to meet its struggles, indulging
It is true that the march of what is called civilization is
fast changing the red man's character, and he is very apt
now to do that which he sees done by the “Christians”
around him.
Le Bourdon, when his dialogue with the Chippewa was
over, and after a few words of explanation with Margery,
took his own canoe, and paddled through the rice plants
into the open water of the river, to reconnoitre. The
breadth of the stream induced him to float down before the
wind, until he reached a point where he could again command
a view of the hut. What he there saw, and what he
next did, must be reserved for a succeeding chapter.
| CHAPTER VII. The oak openings, or, The bee-hunter | |