 | CHAPTER XI. The oak openings, or, The bee-hunter |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
The branches of thy fruitful vine,
That its luxurious tendrils spread
O'er all the hills of Palestine.
And now the wild boar comes to waste
Even us, the greenest boughs and last,
That, drinking of its choicest dew,
On Zion's hill in beauty grew.”
Milman.
The change in Peter had been gradually making itself
apparent, ever since he joined the party of the bee-hunter.
When he entered the Kalamazoo, in the company of the
two men who had now fallen the victims of his own
designs, his heart was full of the fell intention of cutting
off the whole white race. Margery had first induced him
to think of exceptions. He had early half-decided that she
should be spared, to be carried to his own lodge, as an
adopted daughter. When he became aware of the state
of things between his favourite and her lover, there was a
severe struggle in his breast on the subject of sparing the
last. He saw how strongly the girl was attached to him,
and something like human sentiments forced their way
among his savage plans. The mysterious communication
of le Bourdon with the bees, however, had far more influence
in determining him to spare so great a medicine-man,
than Margery's claims; and he had endeavoured to avail
himself of a marriage as a means of saving the bride, instead
of saving the bridegroom. All the Indians entertained
about laying hands on one who appeared so gifted. It was
therefore the expectation of this extraordinary being, that
the wife might be permitted to escape with the husband.
The effect of the Weasel's cunning has been described.
Such was the state of Peter's mind when he met the band
in the scenes last described. There he had been all attention
to the demeanour of the missionary. A hundred times
had he seen warriors die uttering maledictions on their
enemies; but this was the first occasion on which he had
ever known a man to use his latest breath in asking for
blessings on those “who persecuted him.” At first, Peter
was astounded. Then the sublime principles had their
effect, and his heart was deeply touched with what he
heard. How far the Holy Spirit aided these better feelings,
it might be presumptuous, on the one hand, to say;
while, on the other, it will be equally presuming to think
of denying the possibility — nay, the probability—that the
great change which so suddenly came over the heart of
Peter, was produced by more than mere human agencies.
We know that this blessed Spirit is often poured out, in
especial cases, with affluent benevolence, and there can be
no sufficient reason for supposing this savage might not
have been thus signally favoured, as soon as the avenues
of his heart opened to the impulses of a generous humanity.
The very qualities that would induce such a being to attempt
the wild, and visionary scheme of vengeance and
retribution that had now occupied his sleeping and waking
thoughts for years, might, under a better direction, render
him eminently fit to be the subject of divine grace. A
latent sense of right lay behind all his seeming barbarity,
and that which to us appears as a fell ferocity, was, in his
own eyes, no less than a severe justice.
The words, the principles, the prayers, and more than
all, the example of the missionary, wrought this great
change, so far as human agencies were employed; but the
power of God was necessary to carry out, and complete
this renewal of the inner man. We do not mean that a
miracle was used in the sudden conversion of this Indian
to better feelings, for that which is of hourly occurrence,
and which may happen to all, comes within the ordinary
designated with propriety; but we do wish to be understood
as saying, that no purely human power could have
cleared the moral vision, changed all the views, and softened
the heart of such a man, as was so promptly done in
the case of Peter. The way had been gradually preparing,
perhaps, by the means already described; but the great
transformation came so suddenly and so powerfully, as to
render him a different being, as it might almost be, in the
twinkling of an eye! Such changes often occur, and
though it may suit the self-sufficiency of the worldling to
deride them, he is the wisest who submits in the meekest
spirit to powers that exceed his comprehension.
In this state of mind, then, Peter left the band as soon
as the fate of the missionary was decided. His immediate
object was to save the whites who remained, Gershom and
Dorothy now having a place in his good intentions, as well
as le Bourdon and Margery. Although he moved swiftly,
and nearly by an air-line, his thoughts scarce kept company
with his feet. During that rapid walk, he was
haunted with the image of a man, dying while he pronounced
benedictions on his enemies!
There was little in common between the natural objects
of that placid and rural scene, and the fell passions that
were so actively at work among the savages. The whole
of the landscape was bathed in the light of a clear, warm,
summer's day. These are the times when the earth truly
seems a sanctuary, in spots remote from the haunts of men,
and least exposed to his abuses. The bees hum around
the flowers, the birds carol on the boughs and from amid
their leafy arbours, while even the leaping and shining
waters appear to be instinct with the life that extols the
glory of God.
As for the family near the palisaded hut, happiness had
not, for many a month, been so seated among them, as on
this very occasion. Dorothy sympathized truly in the feelings
of the youthful and charming bride, while Gershom
had many of the kind and affectionate wishes of a brother
in her behalf. The last was in his best attire, as indeed
were the females, who were neatly though modestly clad,
and Gershom had that air of decent repose and of quiet
of his class, among the people from whom he sprung. The
fears lately excited were momentarily forgotten. Every
thing around them wore an air so placid; the vault above
them was so profoundly tranquil; the light of day was so
soft and yet so bright; the Openings seemed so rural and
so much like pictures of civilization, that apprehension
had been entirely forgotten in present enjoyment. Such
was the moment when Peter suddenly stood before le
Bourdon and Margery, as the young couple sat beneath
the shade of the oaks, near the spring. One instant the
Indian regarded this picture of young wedded life, with a
gleam of pleasure on his dark face; then he announced
his presence by speaking.
“Can't sit here lookin' at young squaw,” said this literal
being.—“Get up, and put thing in canoe. Time come to
go on path dat lead to pale-face country.”
“What has happened, Peter?” demanded the bee-hunter,
springing to his feet. “You come like a runner rushing
in with his bad tidings. Has anything happened to give
an alarm?”
“Up, and off, tell you. No use talkin' now. Put all
he can in canoe, and paddle away fast as can.” There
was no mistaking Peter's manner. The bee-hunter saw
the uselessness of questioning such a man, at a time like
that, and he called to Gershom to join him.
“Here is the chief, to warn us to move,” said the bee-hunter,
endeavouring to appear calm, in order that he
might not needlessly alarm the females, “and what he advises,
we had better do. I know there is danger, by what
has fallen from Pigeonswing as well as from himself; so
let us lose no time, but stow the canoes, and do as he tells
us.”
As Gershom assented, it was not two minutes ere all
were at work. For several days, each canoe had been
furnished with provisions for a hasty flight. It remained
only to add such of the effects as were too valuable and
necessary to be abandoned, and which had not been previously
exposed without the palisades. For half an hour
le Bourdon and Gershom worked as for life. No questions
were asked, nor was a single moment lost, in a desire to
satisfied Boden that the emergency was pressing, and it is
seldom that more was done by so few hands, in so short a
period. Fortunately, the previous preparation greatly aided
the present object, and nearly everything of any value was
placed in the canoes, within the brief space mentioned.
It then became necessary to decide concerning the condition
in which Castle Meal was to be left. Peter advised
closing every aperture, shutting the gate, and leaving the
dog within. There is no doubt that these expedients prevented
the party's falling early into the hands of their enemies;
for the time lost by the savages in making their approaches
to the hut, was very precious to the fugitives.
Just as the canoes were loaded, Pigeonswing came in.
He announced that the whole band was in motion, and
might be expected to reach the grove in ten minutes.
Placing an arm around the slender waist of Margery, le
Bourdon almost carried her to his own canoe. Gershom
soon had Dorothy in his little bark, while Peter entered
that to the ownership of which he may be said to have
justly succeeded, by the deaths of the corporal and the
missionary. Pigeonswing remained behind, in order to
act as a scout, having first communicated to Peter the
course the last ought to steer. Before the Chippewa
plunged into the cover in which it was his intention to conceal
himself, he made a sign that the band was already in
sight.
The heart of le Bourdon sunk within him, when he
learned how near were the enemy. To him, escape seemed
impossible; and he now regretted having abandoned the
defences of his late residence. The river was sluggish
for more than a mile at that spot, and then occurred a rift,
which could not be passed without partly unloading the
canoes, and where there must necessarily be a detention
of more than an hour. Thus, it was scarcely possible for
canoes descending that stream, to escape from so large a
band of pursuers. The sinuosities, themselves, would
enable the last to gain fifty points ahead of them, where
ambushes, or even open resistance, must place them altogether
at the mercy of the savages.
Peter knew all this, as well as the bee-hunter, and he
down the river. Pigeonswing, with the sententious brevity
of an Indian, had made an important communication to
him, while they were moving, for the last time, towards
the canoes, and he now determined to profit by it. Taking
the lead, therefore, with his own canoe, Peter paddled up,
instead of down the stream, going in a direction opposite
to that which it would naturally be supposed the fugitives
had taken. In doing this, also, he kept as close under the
bank which would most conceal the canoes from those who
approached it on its southern side.
It will be remembered that the trees for the palisades
had been cut from a swamp, a short distance above the
bee-hunter's residence. They had grown on the margin
of the river, which had been found serviceable in floating
the logs to their point of destination. The tops of many
of these trees, resinous and suited by their nature to preserve
their leaves for a considerable time, lay partly in the
stream, and partly on its banks; and Pigeonswing, foreseeing
the necessity of having a place of refuge, had made
so artful a disposition of several of them, that, while they
preserved all the appearance of still lying where they had
fallen, it was possible to haul canoes up beneath them,
between the branches and the bank, in a way to form a
place of perfect concealment. No Indian would have
trusted to such a hiding-place, had it not been matter of
notoriety that the trees had been felled for a particular
purpose, or had their accidental disposition along the bank
been discernibly deranged. But, such was not the case,
the hand of Pigeonswing having been so skilfully employed,
that what he had done could not be detected. He
might be said to have assisted nature, instead of disturbing
her.
The canoes were actually paddling close under the bank,
in the Castle Meal reach of the river, when the band arrived
at the grove, and commenced what might be called
the investment of the place. Had not all the attention of
the savages been drawn towards the hut, it is probable that
some wandering eye might have caught a glimpse of some
one of them, as inequalities in the bank momentarily exposed
each, in succession, to view. This danger, however,
effectually concealed from all who did not actually approach
the river at that particular point. Here it was, however,
that the swamp commenced, and the ground being wet and
difficult, no one would be likely to do this. The stream
flowed through this swamp, having a dense wood on each
side, though one of no great extent. The reach, moreover,
was short, making a completely sheltered haven of the Kalamazoo,
within its limits.
Once in this wooded reach, Peter tossed an arm, and
assumed an air of greater security. He felt infinitely relieved,
and knew that they were safe, for a time, unless
some wanderer should have taken to the swamp, a most
improbable thing of itself. When high enough, he led the
way across the stream, and entering below, he soon had
all the canoes in their place of concealment.
“Dis good place,” observed the great chief, as soon as all
were fast; “bess take care, dough. Bess not make track
too much on land; Injin got sharp eye, and see ebbery
t'ing. Now, I go and talk wid chief. Come back by-'em-by.
You stay here. Good-bye.”
“Stop, Peter—one word before we part. If you see
Parson Amen, or the corporal, it might be well to tell them
where we are to be found. They would be glad to know.”
Peter looked grave; even sad. He did not answer for
fully a minute. When he did, it was in a low, suppressed
voice, such as one is apt to use when there is a weight felt
on his mind.
“Nebber know any t'ing ag'in,” returned the chief.
“Both dem pale-face dead.”
“Dead!” echoed all within hearing.
“Juss so; Injin kill him. Mean to kill you, too—dat
why I run away. Saw medicine-priest die. What you
t'ink, Blossom?—What you t'ink, Bourdon?—Dat man
die asking Great Spirit to do good to Injin!”
“I can believe it, Peter, for he was a good man, and
such are our Christian laws, though few of us obey them.
I can easily believe that Parson Amen was an exception,
however.”
“Yes, Peter, such are our Christian laws,” put in Margery,
earnestly. “When Christ, the Son of God, came
to do good to them that did evil to us, and to pray for them
that tried to harm us. We have his very words, written in
our bibles.”
“You got him—” said Peter, with interest. “See you
read him, of'en. Got dat book here?”
“To be sure I have—it is the last thing I should have
forgotten. Dolly has one, and I have another; we read
in them every day, and we hope that, before long, brother
and Bourdon will read in them, too.”
“Why, I'm no great scholar, Margery,” returned her
husband, scratching his full, curling head of hair, out of
pure awkwardness: “to please you, however, I'd undertake
even a harder job. It was so with the bees, when I began;
I thought I should never succeed in lining the first bee to
his hive; but, since that time, I do think I've lined a
thousand!”
“It's easy, it's easy, dear Benjamin, if you will only
make a beginning,” returned the much interested young
wife. “When we get to a place of safety, if it be God's
will that we ever shall, I hope to have you join me in reading
the good book, daily. See, Peter, I keep it in this
little bag, where it is safe, and always at hand.”
“You read dem word for me, Blossom: I want to hear
him, out of dis book, himself.”
Margery did as desired. She was very familiar with the
New Testament, and turning to the well-known and Godlike
passage, she read several verses, in a steady, earnest
voice. Perhaps the danger they were in, and the recent
communication of the death of their late companions, increased
her earnestness and solemnity of manner, for the
effect produced on Peter was scarcely less than that he had
felt when he witnessed a practical obedience to these
sublime principles, in the death of the missionary. Tears
actually started to this stern savage's eyes, and he looked
back on his late projects and endeavours to immolate a
whole race, with a shudder. Taking Margery's hand, he
courteously thanked her, and prepared to quit the place.
Previously to leaving his friends, however, Peter gave a
brief account of the manner of the missionary's death, and
of the state in which he had left the corporal. Pigeonswing
eagerness with which the band had set out in quest of more
white scalps.
“Peter, we can count on you, for a friend, I hope?”
said the bee-hunter, as the two were about to part, on the
bank of the river. “I fear you were, once, our enemy!”
“Bourdon,” said Peter, with dignity, and speaking in
the language of his own people, “listen. There are Good
Spirits, and there are Bad Spirits. Our traditions tell us
this. Our own minds tell us this, too. For twenty
winters a Bad Spirit has been whispering in my ear. I
listened to him; and did what he told me to do. I
believed what he said. His words were — `Kill your enemies
— scalp all the pale-faces — do not leave a squaw, or
a pappoose. Make all their hearts heavy. This is what
an Injin should do.' So has the Bad Spirit been whispering
to me, for twenty winters. I listened to him. What
he said, I did. It was pleasant to me to take the scalps
of the pale-faces. It was pleasant to think that no more
scalps would be left among them, to take. I was Scalping
Peter.
“Bourdon; the Good Spirit has, at last, made himself
heard. His whisper is so low, that at first my ears did not
hear him. They hear him now. When he spoke loudest,
it was with the tongue of the medicine-priest of your people.
He was about to die. When we are about to die,
our voices become strong and clear. So do our eyes. We
see what is before, and we see what is behind. We feel
joy for what is before — we feel sorrow for what is behind.
Your medicine-priest spoke well. It sounded in my ears
as if the Great Spirit, himself, was talking. They say it
was his son. I believe them. Blossom has read to me
out of the good book of your people, and I find it is so. I
feel like a child, and could sit down, in my wigwam, and
weep.
“Bourdon; you are a pale-face, and I am an Injin.
You are strong, and I am weak. This is because the Son
of the Great Spirit has talked with your people, and has
not talked with mine. I now see why the pale-faces over-run
the earth and take the hunting-grounds. They know
most, and have been told to come here, and to tell what
will listen. What the Son of the Great Spirit says must
be true. He does not know how to do wrong.
“Bourdon; once it seemed sweet to me to take the
scalps of my enemies. When an Injin did me harm, I
took his scalp. This was my way. I could not help it,
then. The Wicked Spirit told me to do this. The Son
of the Manitou has now told me better. I have lived under
a cloud. The breath of the dying medicine-priest, of your
people, has blown away that cloud. I see clearer. I hear
him telling the Manitou to do me good, though I wanted
his scalp. He was answered in my heart. Then my
ears opened wider, and I heard what the Good Spirit
whispered. The ear in which the Bad Spirit had been
talking for twenty winters shut, and was deaf. I hear him
no more. I do not want to hear him again. The whisper
of the Son of the Manitou is very pleasant to me. It
sounds like the wren singing his sweetest song. I hope
he will always whisper so. My ear shall never again be
shut to his words.
“Bourdon; it is pleasant to me to look forward. It is
not pleasant to me to look back. I see how many things
I have done in one way, that ought to have been done in
another way. I feel sorry; and wish it had not been so.
Then I hear the Son of the Manitou asking His Father,
who liveth above the clouds, to do good to the Jews who
took his life. I do not think Injins are Jews. In this,
my brother was wrong. It was his own notion, and it is
easy for a man to think wrong. It is not so with the Son
of the Manitou. He thinketh always as His Father thinketh,
which is right.
“Bourdon; I am no longer Peter — I must be another
Injin. I do not feel the same. A scalp is a terrible thing
in my eyes — I wish never to take another — never to see
another — a scalp is a bad thing. I now love the yankees.
I wish to do them good, and not to do them harm. I love
most the Great Spirit, that let his own son die for all men.
The medicine-priest said he died for Injins, as well as for
pale-faces. This we did not know, or we should have
talked of him more in our traditions. We love to talk of
good acts. But we are such ignorant Injins! The Son
we ought to do. In time, we shall learn. Now, I feel like
a child: I hope I shall one day be a man.”
Having made this “confession of faith,” one that would
have done credit to a Christian church, Peter shook the
bee-hunter kindly by the hand, and took his departure. He
did not walk into the swamp, though it was practicable
with sufficient care, but he stepped into the river, and
followed its margin, knowing that “water leaves no trail!”
Nor did Peter follow the direct route towards the now
blazing hut, the smoke from which was rising high above
the trees, but he ascended the stream, until reaching a
favourable spot, he threw aside all of his light dress, made
it into a bundle, and swam across the Kalamazoo, holding
his clothes above the element with one hand. On reaching
the opposite shore, he moved on to the upper margin of the
swamp, where he resumed his clothes. Then he issued
into the Openings, carrying neither rifle, bow, tomahawk,
nor knife. All his weapons he had left in his canoe, fearful
that they might tempt him to do evil, instead of good, to his
enemies. Neither Bear's Meat, nor Bough of the Oak,
was yet regarded by Peter with the eye of love. He tried
not to hate them, and this he found sufficiently difficult;
conscious of this difficulty, he had laid aside his arms,
accordingly. This mighty change had been gradually in
progress, ever since the chief's close communication with
Margery, but it had received its consummation in the last
acts, and last words, of the missionary!
Having got out into the Openings, it was not difficult
for Peter to join his late companions, without attracting
observation from whence he came. He kept as much
under cover as was convenient, and reached the kitchen,
just as the band broke into the defences, and burst open
the door of the blazing, and already roofless hut. Here
Peter paused, unwilling to seem inactive in such a scene,
yet averse to doing anything that a sensitively tender conscience
might tell him was wrong. He knew there was no
human being there to save, and cared little for the few
effects that might be destroyed. He did not join the crowd,
therefore, until it was ascertained that the bee-hunter and
his companion had escaped.
“The pale-faces have fled,” said Bear's Meat to the
great chief, when the last did approach him. “We have
looked for their bones among the ashes, but there are none.
That medicine-bee-hunter has told them that their scalps
were wanted, and they have gone off!”
“Have any of the young men been down to the river, to
look for their canoes?” quietly demanded Peter. “If the
canoes are gone, too, they have taken the route towards the
Great Lake.”
This was so obvious and probable, that a search was
immediately set on foot. The report was soon made, and
great was the eagerness to pursue. The Kalamazoo was
so crooked, that no one there doubted of overtaking the
fugitives, and parties were immediately organized for the
chase. This was done with the customary intelligence and
shrewdness of Indians. The canoes that belonged to
Crowsfeather and his band had been brought up the river,
and they lay concealed in rushes, not a mile from the hut,
A party of warriors brought them to the landing, and they
carried one division of the party to the opposite shore, it
being the plan to follow each bank of the river, keeping
close to the stream, even to its mouth, should it prove
necessary. Two other parties were sent, in direct lines,
one on each side of the river also, to lay in ambush at such
distant points, ahead, as would be almost certain to anticipate
the arrival of the fugitives. The canoes were sent
down the stream, to close the net against return, while
Bear's Meat, Bough of the Oak, Crowsfeather, and several
others of the leading chiefs, remained near the still
burning hut, with a strong party, to examine the surrounding
Openings for foot-prints and trails. It was possible
that the canoes had been sent adrift, in order to mislead
them, while the pale-faces had fled by land.
It has been stated that the Openings had a beautiful
sward, near Castle Meal. This was true of that particular
spot, and was the reason why le Bourdon had selected it
for his principal place of residence. The abundance of
flowers drew the bees there, a reason of itself why he should
like the vicinity. Lest the reader should be misled, however,
it may be well to explain that an absence of sward is
characteristic of these Openings, rather than the reverse,
the country is settled, that the lands of the Oak Openings
are apt to be so light that the grasses do not readily form
as firm a turf as is desirable for meadows and pastures. We
apprehend this is true, however, less as a rule, than as exceptions;
there being variety in the soils of these Openings,
as well as in other quarters.
Nevertheless, the savages were aware that the country
around the burned hut, for a considerable extent, differed,
in this particular, from most of that which lay farther east,
or more inland. On the last a trail would be much more
easily detected than on the first, and a party, under the
direction of a particularly experienced leader, was dispatched
several miles to the eastward, to look for the usual signs
of the passage of any towards Detroit, taking that route.
This last expedient troubled Peter exceedingly, since it
placed a body of enemies in the rear of the fugitives; thereby
rendering their position doubly perilous. There was
no help for the difficulty, however; and the great chief saw
the party depart without venturing on remonstrance, advice,
or any other expedient to arrest the movement. Bear's Meat
now called the head chiefs, who remained, into a circle,
and asked for opinions concerning the course that ought
next to be taken.
“What does my brother, the tribeless chief, say?” he
asked, looking at Peter, in a way to denote the expectation
which all felt, that he ought to be able to give useful counsel
in such a strait. “We have got but two scalps from
six heads; and one of them is buried with the medicine-priest.”
“Scalps cannot be taken from them that get off,” returned
Peter, evasively. “We must first catch these pale-faces.
When they are found, it will be easy to scalp them. If the
canoes are gone, I think the medicine-bee-hunter and his
squaws have gone in them. We may find the whole, down
the river.”
To this opinion most of the chiefs assented, though the
course of examining for a trail farther east was still approved.
The band was so strong, while the pale-faces were so few,
that a distribution of their own force was of no consequence,
and it was clearly the most prudent to send out young men
fugitives would be overtaken on, or near the river, and
Bear's Meat suggested the propriety of their moving down
stream, themselves, very shortly.
“When did my brother last see the pale-faces?” asked
Crowsfeather. “This bee-hunter knows the river well, and
may have started yesterday; or even after he came from
the Great Council of the Prairie.”
This was a new idea, but one that seemed probable
enough. All eyes turned towards Peter, who saw, at once,
that such a notion must greatly favour the security of the
fugitives, and felt a strong desire to encourage it. He
found evasion difficult, however, and well knew the danger
of committing himself. Instead of giving a straight-forward
answer, therefore, he had recourse to circumlocution and
subterfuge.
“My brother is right,” he answered. “The pale-faces
have had time to get far down the stream. As my brothers
know, I slept among them at the Round Prairie. To-day,
they know I was with them at the council of the spring of
gushing waters.”
All this was true, as far as it went, although the omissions
were very material. No one seemed to suspect the
great chief, whose fidelity to his own principles was believed
to be of a character amounting to enthusiasm.
Little did any there know of the power of the unseen
spirit of God to alter the heart, producing what religionists
term the new birth. We do not wish, however, to be understood
that Peter had, as yet, fully experienced this vast
change. It is not often the work of a moment, though
well-authenticated modern instances do exist, in which we
have every reason to believe that men have been made to
see and feel the truth almost as miraculously as was St.
Paul himself. As for this extraordinary savage, he had
entered into the strait and narrow way, though he was not
far advanced on its difficult path.
When men tell us of the great progress that the race is
making towards perfection, and point to the acts which
denote its wisdom, its power to control its own affairs, its
tendencies towards good when most left to its own self-control,
our minds are filled with scepticism. The everyday
contradicts the theory and the facts. We believe
not in the possibility of man's becoming even a strictly
rational being, unaided by a power from on high; and all
that we have seen and read, goes to convince us that he is
most of a philosopher, the most accurate judge of his real
state, the most truly learned, who most vividly sees the
necessity of falling back on the precepts of revelation for
all his higher principles and practice. We conceive that
this mighty truth furnishes unanswerable proof of the unceasing
agency of a Providence, and when we once admit
this, we concede that our own powers are insufficient for
our own wants.
That the world, as a whole, is advancing towards a better
state of things, we as firmly believe as we do that it is
by ways that have not been foreseen by man; and that,
whenever the last has been made the agent of producing
portions of this improvement, it has oftener been without
design, or calculation, than with it. Who, for instance,
supposes that the institutions of this country, of which we
boast so much, could have stood as long as they have,
without the conservative principles that are to be found in
the Union; and who is there so vain as to ascribe the overshadowing
influence of this last great power to any wisdom
in man? We all know that perfectly fortuitous circumstances,
or what appear to us to be such, produced the
Federal Government, and that its strongest and least exceptionable
features are precisely those which could not
be withstood, much less invented, as parts of the theory of
a polity.
A great and spasmodic political movement is, at this
moment, convulsing Christendom. That good will come
of it, we think is beyond a question; but we greatly doubt
whether it will come in the particular form, or by the specified
agencies that human calculations would lead us to
expect. It must be admitted that the previous preparation
which has induced the present efforts, are rather in opposition
to, than the consequences of, calculated agencies;
overturning in their progress the very safeguards which the
sagacity of men had interposed to the advance of those
would perhaps baffle enquiry, preparing the way for the
results that have been so suddenly and unexpectedly obtained.
If the course is onward, it is more as the will of
God, than from any calculations of man; and it is when
the last are the most active, that there is the greatest reason
to apprehend the consequences.
Of such a dispensation of the Providence of Almighty
God, do we believe Peter to have been the subject.
Among the thousand ways that are employed to touch the
heart, he had been most affected by the sight of a dying
man's asking benedictions on his enemies! It was assailing
his besetting sin; attacking the very citadel of his
savage character, and throwing open, at once, an approach
into the deepest recesses of his habits and dispositions.
It was like placing a master-key in the hands of him who
would go through the whole tenement, for the purpose of
purifying it.
| CHAPTER XI. The oak openings, or, The bee-hunter | |