 | Tales of the border |  |
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS.
The French, who first explored the wild shores
and prolific plains that margin the Mississippi
river, and extend along its tributary streams, believed
that they had found a terrestrial paradise.
Never before was such a desert of flowers presented
to the astonished eye of man—never before
was there exhibited an expanse so wide, so fertile,
so splendidly adorned. If the beauty of this region
delighted them, its immensity filled them with
astonishment, and awakened the most extravagant
expectations. Their warm and sprightly imaginations
were easily excited to lively admiration,
by scenes so grand, so lovely, and so wild, as those
presented in this boundless wilderness of woods
and flowers. The great length of the magnificent
rivers filled them with amazement; while the
reputed wealth, and fancied productions of the
country, awakened both avarice and curiosity.
We can scarcely realise the sensations with
which they must have wandered over a country
so different from any they had ever seen, and have
contemplated a landscape so unexpectedly majestic
and attractive. The freshness and verdure of new
lands, unspoiled and unimpoverished by the hand
of cultivation, is in itself delightful. It is pleasing
to see the works of nature in their original character,
as they came from the creative hand; and
that pleasure was here greatly enhanced by the
infinite variety, and magnificent extent, of the
romantic scenery. The plains seemed as boundless
as they were beautiful, and the splendid groves,
which diversified the surface of these exquisitely
graceful lawns, invested them with a peculiar air
of rural elegance.
Delighted with this extensive and fertile region,
they roamed far and wide over its boundless prairies,
and pushed their little barks into every navigable
stream. Their inoffensive manners procured
them a favourable reception; their cheerfulness
and suavity conciliated even the savage warrior,
whose suspicious nature discovered no cause of
alarm in the visits of these gay strangers. Divided
into small parties, having different objects in view,
they pursued their several designs without collision
and with little concert. One sought fame,
another searched for mines of gold as opulent as
those which had enriched the Spaniards in a more
simply to the honour of discovering new lands,
another came to collect rare and nondescript specimens
of natural curiosities; one travelled to see
man in a state of nature, another brought the
gospel to the heathen; while, perhaps, a great
number roved carelessly among these interesting
scenes, indulging an idle curiosity or a mere love
of adventure, and seeking no higher gratification
than that which the novelty and excitement of the
present moment afforded.
Whatever might be their respective views, they
were certainly, in one respect, the most successful
of adventurers. They traversed these wide plains
with impunity. They penetrated far into the interior
of the trackless wilderness. Their canoes
were seen tracing the meanders of the longest
rivers; and these fearless explorers had already
found their way into the heart of this immense
continent, while other Europeans obtained, with
difficulty, a footing upon the sea coast.
Among the earliest who thus came was Pierre
Blondo, who, having served a regular apprenticeship
to an eminent barber at Paris, had recently
commenced the world on his own account, in the
character of valet to an excellent Dominican priest,
who was about to visit America. The proverb,
“like master like man,” had little application to
this pair—for never were two human beings more
gentlemanly and priest-like personage, and Pierre
a very unassuming plebeian. The master was
learned and benevolent,—grave, austere, and self-denying;
the valet was a jolly, rattling madcap,
who, as he never hesitated to grant a favour or a
civility to any human being who asked or needed
it, thought it right to be equally obliging to himself;
and neither mortified his own flesh nor his
neighbour's feelings. The priest mourned over
the depravity of the human race, and especially
deprecated the frivolous habits of his countrymen;
the valet not only believed this to be the best of
all possible worlds, but prided himself particularly
in being a native of a country which produces the
best fiddlers, cooks, and barbers, on the habitable
globe. In short, the master was a priest and the
man a hair-dresser; they both loved and endeavoured
to improve their species; but the one dealt
with the inner, the other with the outer man;—
one sought to enlighten the dark abyss of the
ignorant heart, while the other sedulously scraped
the superfluities of the visage. Father Francis
was a mysterious, silent, ascetic man; Pierre was
as mercurial and as merry a lad as ever flourished
a pair of scissors.
However they might differ in other respects,
there was one particular in which Father Francis
and his man, Pierre, exactly agreed; namely, in
and the prairies of Louisiana. They were allured,
it is true, by very different motives. The priest
came to spread the gospel among the heathen, to
arrest their vices, and to explode their human
sacrifices; the valet travelled to see the lion with
one horn, the fountain of rejuvenescence, the white-breasted
swans, and the dark-skinned girls of Illinois.
Pierre's researches into American history
had been considerable, and his opportunities for
acquiring a knowledge of the new world singularly
felicitous. He had shaved gentlemen who had been
there—had scraped the very cheeks which were
embrowned by the sun of the western Indies, and
had held, with secret delight, betwixt his thumb
and finger, the identical nostrils that had inhaled
the delicious odours of Florida, the land of flowers.
He had listened with admiration to their wonderful
stories, some of which almost staggered his
credulity. He did not doubt the existence of gold
mines, in which the pure metal was found in solid
masses—the only objection to which was, that
they were too large for transportation,—nor of
that wonderful pool, in which, if an old man bathed,
he lost the decrepitude of age, and regained the
bloom of childhood. These things seemed proper
enough, and were vouched for by gentlemen who
could not be mistaken; yet it seemed to him marvellous,
that the birds should be snowy white, and
and the lions have horns; and that gold-dust,
grapes, and oranges, should grow and glitter in
a wilderness, where there were none but wolves
and wild men to gather them.
It is proper to state here, in order to prevent
any misunderstanding in a matter of so much importance,
that, although Pierre was a barber, he
was by no means an insignificant person. He was
of honest parentage—the son of a very reputable
peasant, who lived decently, and brought up his
offspring in habits of industry. He had a fine
figure and a very prepossessing countenance.
His eye was good, his teeth white, and his smile
agreeable. He was, in short, a gentleman—on a
small scale, and a most excellent person—in his
way.
During the passage, Pierre became a favourite
with his fellow voyagers. He played the flute,
sang merry songs, shaved the sailors gratis, and
on Sundays brushed up the captain as fine as a
grenadier. He felt so happy himself, that he
could not be easy without trying to make every
body happy around him. At odd times, when he
was unemployed, he amused himself in fancying
the adventures that awaited him, the fine sights he
should see, and the heaps upon heaps of gold and
jewels that he should pick up in the new world.
He thought himself a second Columbus, and had
upon him on his return—the king would make
him a count or a marquis; and M. Corneille, who
was then in the meridian of his fame, would write
a play, and tell his exploits in poetry. The prime
minister would probably offer him his daughter in
marriage—and a cloud passed over the brow of
the merry Frenchman as he reflected that it would
be proper to make the lady miserable, by refusing
the honour of the alliance. “I shall certainly be
very much obliged to him,” said Pierre, as he sat
musing on the forecastle, gazing at a long stream
of moonlight that sparkled on the undulating waves;
“very much obliged: and I shall never be wanting
in gratitude to a nobleman who shall do me so
much honour,—but I must decline it; for there is
pretty little Annette, that I have promised to marry,
and who shall never have reason to weep for my
inconstancy. Annette is a very pretty girl, and
she loves me dearly. I really think she would
break her heart if I should not marry her. Poor
girl! she thinks there is no body in the world
equal to Pierre—and I have no reason to dispute
her judgment. She is neither rich nor noble, but
what of that? When I am master of a gold mine,
and a marquis of France, I can elevate her to my
own rank; and I will hang strings of pearl, and
ornaments of solid gold, about her pretty neck,
and her slender waist, in such profusion, that the
of her attire.” Thus did Pierre enjoy the
luxury of hope, and revel in anticipation upon the
bright prospects that beamed upon his delighted
fancy. The vessel flew rapidly over the waves;
and, after a prosperous voyage, the new world
spread its illimitable shores, its gigantic mountains,
and its wooded vales, before the enraptured
eyes of the weary voyagers.
Pierre was in the new world. It was very
much unlike the old one. Yet its great superiority
did not strike him so forcibly as he had expected.
The St. Lawrence was a noble river; its shores
were green, and the trees were larger than any
he had seen in France; but the sunny clime, and
the rich vineyards of his native land were not
there, nor was there the least sign of a gold mine,
or a pearl fishery. Our adventurer, however, was
of a sanguine temperament, and determined to
suspend his judgment, and hope on for a season.
Shortly after their arrival at Montreal, an expedition
was concerted to the newly discovered region
of the Upper Mississippi, and Father Francis
made his arrangements to accompany the party.
Pierre, who, in the long voyage across the Atlantic,
comparatively agreeable as it was, had become
wearied of the confinement and privations incident
to this mode of travelling, looked at the little boats
launched on the St. Lawrence, for the transportation
a considerable deal of reluctance against embarking
in a new adventure. In Montreal he had
found some of the luxuries which he enjoyed at
home, and had been deprived of on shipboard.
There were barbers and cooks, to shave and feed
people; and, new as the city was, there was a
monastery and a ball room, in the first of which,
he could be seated in a snug confessional, when
he went to confess his sins to the priest, and in
the other he could dance without knocking his
head against a spar, or running the risk of jumping
overboard. Other considerations, however,
weighed against his indolence and love of pleasure.
He longed to discover the fountain of rejuvenescence,
to bathe in its renovating waters, and
secure the miraculous gift of perpetual youth.
He panted for the dignity and advantage of being
sole proprietor of a gold mine, and returning to
merry France with a ship load of treasure,—for
the honour of nobility, the pleasure of refusing the
prime minister's daughter, and the pride of making
Annette a peeress. Incited by hopes so brilliant,
and so remarkably reasonable, the spirit of
adventure was re-animated in his bosom, and he
embarked with newly invigorated alacrity.
They ascended, with much toil, the rapid current
of the noble Lawrence, meandering among its
thousand isles, and gazing with delight on its
grand and beautiful lakes of the north, enraptured
with the freshness and variety of the scenery; and
surveyed with amazement, the great cataract,
which has been the wonder of succeeding generations.
Every night they encamped upon the
banks, and the forest rang with the cheerful
sounds of merriment. Sometimes they met the
Indians, who gazed upon them as superior beings,
and either fled in terror, or endeavoured to conciliate
them by kindness and hospitality. It was
thus that the Europeans were usually received by
the natives of this continent, before little jealousies,
and occasional aggressions, were fomented, by
hasty retaliation, into lasting hatred. Happy
would it have been for our country, and for human
nature, had the civilised adventurers to the new
world conducted themselves in such a manner as
to have deepened, and indelibly engraved upon the
savage mind, the feelings of profound respect
which their first appearance excited.
When they reached the southern end of Lake
Michigan, the waters were high, and they floated
over the inundated lands, pushing their boats
among the trees of the forest, and over the rank
herbage of the low prairies of that region, until
they found the current, which had set towards the
north, began to flow off in the opposite direction,
and floated them into a small stream, running
days to hunt, and repair their boats; and when
they reached the Illinois, a large, but placid river,
one of the noblest tributaries of the Mississippi,
the flood had subsided, and the waters were flowing
quietly within their natural channel, through
the silent forest.
With what emotions of wonder must those adventurous
travellers have gazed upon these wild
scenes! How singular must have been their sensations,
when they reflected on their distance
from the civilised world, and thought of the immensity
of that immeasurable waste that was
spread around them. They had never imagined,
far less witnessed, a desert so blooming or so
extensive. There was a magnificence of beauty
in its prolific vegetation and gorgeous verdure,
and a grandeur in the idea of the boundless extent
of this splendid wilderness, that must have excited
the imagination to speculations of intense interest.
Pierre seemed to awaken to a new existence
when the boats entered upon this beautiful river;
and he felt a thrill of pleasure as he surveyed the
placid stream and its lovely shores. The river,
deep, unobstructed, and clear as crystal, flows
with a current so gentle as to be almost imperceptible,
while the overhanging trees protect it from
the winds, keeping it as still and inviolate as the
fountain that sleeps in its native cave. The
her downy plumage, and the gaudy paroquet, rich
in green and golden hues, sported among the tall
trees. The tangled grape vines hung in heavy
masses from the boughs, and the wild fruit trees
dipped their limbs in the water. Here and there
the tall bluffs jutted in upon the river, impressing
their gracefully curved outlines upon the clear
blue ground of the sky, and throwing their long
dark shadows upon the water; but most usually, a
rich border of noble forest trees, springing from a
low shore, hung in graceful beauty over the
stream. Sometimes they saw herds of buffalo,
wading in the tide, sometimes the lazy bear, wallowing
in the mire, and, occasionally, the slender
deer, standing in the timid attitude of attention;
while every secluded inlet, or shaded cove, was
filled with screaming wild fowl, of an infinite
variety of plumage.
The travellers arrived, at length, at an Indian
village, where they were entertained with great
hospitality. The chief, surrounded by his wise
men, and his warriors, painted in gay colours, and
decked with feathers, symbolical of peace, received
them with public demonstrations of respect; and a
great company, of different ages, and both sexes,
was assembled to gaze at them, and to do them
honour. The hump of the buffalo, the head of
the elk, and the marrowy tail of the beaver, were
gourmandism; they were feasted, besides, upon
bear's oil, jerked venison, hominy, and delicately
roasted puppies; and the juicy steams of these
delicious viands, unvitiated by the villanous artificial
mixtures of European cookery, were pleasantly
blended with the balmy odours of the
forest. Father Francis, among other monastic
attainments, had acquired a very competent
knowledge of the art of good eating, and did
ample justice to the generous fare which spread
the board of his savage entertainers; but being a
reformer of morals, he determined to show his
gratitude by delivering before his new friends a
homily against intemperance; resolving, at the
same time, to improve so favourable an opportunity
of suggesting the propriety of seasoning such
gross meats with a few wholesome condiments;
for, to his taste, the devouring of flesh without
salt, pepper, or sauce, was mere cannibalism.
Pierre was a reformer, too, and he made up his
mind to improve the gastronomic science of his
country, whenever he should become a marquis,
by adding the buffalo's tongue and hump, and the
elk's head, to the luxuries of a Parisian bill of fare.
The cooking of puppies he thought an unchristian
and dangerous innovation, which might lead to the
destruction of some of the most harmless animals
in creation, while the addition which it brought to
commendation.
Having feasted the adventurers, the Indians
presented them with feathers, belts, moccasins,
and dressed skins; and the chief, in the profusion
of his generosity, offered to Father Francis fifteen
beautiful young girls, but the good man, as any
prudent man would have done, wisely declined the
acceptance of a present that might prove so troublesome.
Pierre thought he would have ordered
things differently: he winked, shrugged, hinted,
and at last ventured to beg that he might take one
of them, at least, to Paris with him, as a curiosity;
but the inexorable priest advised him to carry a
swan, a paroquet, a pet buffalo, or a rattlesnake,
in preference. Finally, when that worthy and
highly honoured ecclesiastic had been feasted
to repletion, and loaded to weariness with deferential
civilities, a soft couch of buffalo robes
was spread for him, and a number of young girls
stood round him, as he reposed, fanning him with
the snowy wings of the swan, and driving away
the musquitoes with bunches of gaudy feathers.
Pierre thought this a very grand ceremony, and
quite comfortable withal; and determined, that,
whenever he should become proprietor of a gold
mine, he would enjoy the luxury of slumber with
similar attendance.
It would be a question worthy the attention of
of the human mind, whether that love of foreigners
which has ever distinguished the American people,
and made them the sport of every idle traveller
who has chanced to linger on our shores, was not
derived from the aborigines. The vanity of showing
off a travelled “lion” at our parties is certainly
not original. If it be not an inherent passion
in the human breast, it has, at least, prevailed
throughout many ages. The desire to behold the
exotic production of a distant clime—to entertain
one who has roamed through latitudes different
from our own, and had hair breadth `scapes, has
long been a distinguishing trait in the domestic
manners of our countrymen; and we are happy
to be able to trace the propensity back to a period
anterior to our existence as a nation. For we do
not set it down among our virtues. Hospitality
may have much to do with keeping it alive, and a
generous love of knowledge may afford it some
nourishment. But we fear that, after all, it rests
upon a solid substratum of vanity, and is cherished
by the oozings of an inquisitive curiosity. The
Illini, however, fared much better in the result of
their attentions to distinguished strangers, than we
who have succeeded and imitated them. They
received the French, with confiding kindness, into
the bosom of their society, and fed them upon the
fat of their land; and the worthy visiters of that
of grateful acknowledgment. We have pursued
a similar course of conduct towards other Europeans,
and have been sadly traduced and ridiculed
for our pains.
Father Francis took an early occasion to say a
word in season to the savages on the great business
of his mission. They heard him with grave respect,
and promised to take the matter into consideration;
but, as their intercourse was conducted
entirely by signs, it is not likely that they were
greatly edified. He showed them a telescope, a
mariner's compass, and a watch, and endeavoured
to explain their several properties; they listened
with attention, offered food to the watch, which
they supposed to be a living animal, looked with
fear at the telescope, and picked the old man's
pocket, while he was lecturing upon natural philosophy.
Upon the whole, the savages showed
great capabilities for the pursuits of civilised life.
Pierre, in the meanwhile, remained an inactive
spectator of these proceedings. The Indians,
with their usual tact, discovered that he occupied
a subordinate place in the mission, which released
them from the necessity of paying public honours.
But his fine figure, his elastic step, and his open
countenance, won their regard, and obtained for
him the most cordial attention. Though he was
not, as they supposed, a chief, or a prophet, they
and perhaps of distinction, in his tribe.
The next morning, the young warriors dispersed
themselves in the neighbouring groves, to paint
their bodies and decorate their heads. This is
one of the most important employments of an
Indian's life. No beau, nor dandy, nor exquisite,
in any part of the world, expends more time in the
laborious duties of the toilet, than is consumed by
the savage in decorating his person. Pierre went
among them, bowing and smiling, in his usual
obliging manner, with his razors, combs, scissors,
and pomatums; and, after exhibiting specimens of
his skill upon himself, prevailed upon some of his
new acquaintances to place themselves under his
hands. He was not only a complete adept in his
own art, but a man of genius, who could adapt its
principles to the circumstances of a new case;
and, directed by the slight observations he had
been enabled to make, painted up some of the
savages, after their own fashion, with peculiar
elegance, and to their entire satisfaction. They
were delighted with his clever and obliging talents.
He exhibited his lancet and tooth-drawers, and
explained their use by significant gestures; and
the Indians, supposing them to be delicate instruments
for torturing prisoners of war, patted him
on the head as a valuable auxiliary. He produced
a pair of foils, and, while he convinced them that
merriment by the contrast of his own dexterity
with the awkwardness of those who were prevailed
upon to oppose him. A pocket mirror, and
some trinkets, which he displayed, won their admiration,
and they soon determined, that, although
Father Francis might be highest in rank, Pierre
was by far the greatest man, and most valuable
acquaintance. Such are the triumphs of genius!
Pierre had ventured upon a delicate experiment,
in which ninety-nine of the most consummately
skilled artists might have failed, where one would
have been successful.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;”
talisman which commanded a brilliant destiny.
In the fulness of his heart he opened a small
package of looking-glasses, which he had brought
for traffic, and distributed them gratuitously
among the warriors, presenting the largest and
most elegant to the chief, who was so much delighted,
that he instantly, with princely liberality,
offered him his daughter in marriage. Happy
Pierre! he was that day the proudest of men, and
the most blissful of barbers.
Pierre had serious scruples whether he should
accept this generous offer; not that he considered
chief great credit for having had the acuteness to
discover his genius, and the magnanimity to know
how to appreciate it. It was a proposal worthy
of both the parties concerned. But it touched his
honour, while it flattered his pride. He had not
forgotten his obligations to Annette—the merry
dark-eyed girl who had given him the first offering
of her young affections. Poor little Annette,
what would she think of it, if he should marry
another lady. He was sure she would never
stand it. The blight of disappointment would
fall upon the warm heart that throbbed so sincerely
for him. “No,” said he to himself, “I
will be true to Annette, be the consequences what
they may; I have promised her my hand, and a
share in my gold mine; and nothing shall ever
induce me to act in a manner unbecoming a
French gentleman.” Having formed this heroic
resolution, he put his hat on one side of his head,
and strutted through the village, with the independent
air of a man who chooses to do as he
pleases, and the self-satisfied countenance of one
who has adopted a virtuous determination.
But Pierre knew little of the frailty of his own
heart. Few of us are aware of the backslidings
of which we may be guilty when there is a lady
in the case. He began to reflect, that the partner
so liberally tendered to his acceptance, was the
not to be picked up every day in the woods of the
new world. He might grow gray before another
sovereign would condescend to invite him into his
family; and, reasoning in his own mind, that the
proposed marriage would make him a prince, and
heir apparent, he began to entertain strong doubts
whether patriotism, and the honour of the French
nation, did not require him to sacrifice his affections
to the glory and advantage of giving a king
to the Illini. Napoleon has since been called
upon to decide a similar question; and Pierre,
though not a great warrior, loved his country and
himself as well as Napoleon. He reflected further,
that the possession of the sovereign power
would be the readiest way to the discovery of the
fountain of rejuvenescence; the gold mines would
all be his own, and he could send Annette a shipload
of the precious metal. Moreover, he had
already discovered, that in the new world it was
the custom for great men to have a plurality of
wives—a custom that seemed to him to be founded
in good sense—and he saw no reason why he
should not comply with it, and, with the first
cargo of gold he should send to France, despatch
an invitation to Annette to share his prosperity
and the happiness of his tawny bride.
When our inclinations prompt us strongly to a
particular line of conduct, it is easy to find reasons
to adopt a theory first, and then to seek out arguments
to support it. Pierre could now find a host
of reasons urging him to instant wedlock with the
Illinois maiden. And not the least were the advantages
which would accrue to Father Francis,
to the church, and to the cause of civilisation.
When he should become a prince, he could take
the venerable priest under his patronage, encourage
the spread of the true faith, cause his subjects
to be civilised, and induce them to dress like Christians
and feed like rational beings. He longed,
with all the zeal of a reformer, to see them powder
their hair, and abstain from the savage practice of
eating roasted puppies.
So he determined to marry the lady; and, having
thus definitely settled the question, thought it
would be proper to take the advice of his spiritual
guide. Father Francis was shocked at the bare
mention of the affair. He admonished Pierre of
the sin of marrying a heathen, and of the wickedness
of breaking his plighted faith; and assured
him, in advance, that such misconduct would bring
down upon him the severe displeasure of the
church. Pierre thanked him with the most humble
appearance of conviction, and forthwith proceeded
to gratify his own inclination—believing
that, in the affair of wedlock, he knew what was
for his own good quite as well as a holy monk,
little about the matter.
On the following morning the marriage took
place, with no other ceremony than the delivery
of the bride into the hands of her future husband.
Pierre was as happy as bridegrooms usually are—
for his companion was a slender, pretty girl, with
a mild black eye and an agreeable countenance.
They were conducted to a wigwam, and installed
at once into the offices of husband and wife, and
into the possession of their future mansion. The
females of the village assembled, and practised a
good many jokes at the expense of the young
couple; and Pierre, as well to get rid of these as
to improve the earliest opportunity of examining
into the mineral treasures of the country, endeavoured,
by signs, to invite his partner to a stroll
—intimating, at the same time, that he would be
infinitely obliged to her if she would have the
politeness to show him a gold mine or two. The
girl signified her acquiescence, and presently stole
away through the forest, followed by the enamoured
hair-dresser.
As soon as they were out of sight of the village,
Pierre offered her his arm, but the arch girl darted
away, laughing, and shaking her black tresses,
which streamed in the air behind her, as she
leaped over the logs and glided through the thickets.
Pierre liked her none the less for this evidence
bride, for whom he began to feel the highest
admiration. Her figure was exquisitely moulded,
and the exercise in which she was now engaged
displayed its gracefulness to the greatest advantage.
There was a novelty, too, in the adventure,
which pleased the gay-hearted Frenchman; and
away they ran, mutually amused and mutually
satisfied with each other.
Pierre was an active young fellow, and, for a
while, followed the beautiful savage with a creditable
degree of speed; but, unaccustomed to the
obstacles which impeded the way, he soon became
fatigued. His companion slackened her pace when
she found him lingering behind; and, when the
thicket was more than usually intricate, kindly
guided him through the most practicable places,
—always, however, keeping out of his reach; and
whenever he mended his pace, or showed an inclination
to overtake her, she would dart away,
looking back over her shoulder, laughing, and
coquetting, and inviting him to follow. For a
time this was amusing enough, and quite to the
taste of the merry barber; but the afternoon was
hot, the perspiration flowed copiously, and he
began to doubt the expediency of having to catch
a wife, or win even a gold mine, by the sweat of
his brow—especially in a new country. Adventurers
to newly discovered regions expect to get
home.
On they went in this manner, until Pierre, wearied
out, was about to give up the pursuit of his
light-heeled bride, when they reached a spot where
the ground gradually ascended, until, all at once,
they stood upon the edge of an elevated and extensive
plain. Our traveller had heretofore obtained
partial glimpses of the prairies, but now saw one
of these vast plains, for the first time, in its breadth
and grandeur. Its surface was gently uneven;
and, as he happened to be placed on one of the
highest swells, he looked over a boundless expanse,
where not a single tree intercepted the prospect
or relieved the monotony. He strained his vision
forward, but the plain was boundless—marking
the curved line of its profile on the far distant
horizon. The effect was rendered more striking
by the appearance of the setting sun, which had
sunk to the level of the farthest edge of the prairie,
and seemed like a globe of fire resting upon the
ground. Pierre looked around him with admiration.
The vast expanse—destitute of trees,
covered with tall grass, now dried by the summer's
heat, and extending, as it seemed to him,
to the western verge of the continent—excited his
special wonder. Little versed in geography, he
persuaded himself that he had reached the western
boundary of the world, and beheld the very spot
terrestrial plane. There was no mistake. He
had achieved an adventure worthy the greatest
captain of the age. His form dilated, and his eye
kindled, with a consciousness of his own importance.
Columbus had discovered a continent, but
he had travelled to the extreme verge of the
earth's surface, beyond which nothing remained
to be discovered. “Yes,” he solemnly exclaimed,
“there is the end of the world! How fortunate
am I to have approached it by daylight, and with
a guide; otherwise, I might have stepped over in
the dark, and have fallen—I know not where!”
The Indian girl had seated herself on the grass,
and was composedly waiting his pleasure, when he
discovered large masses of smoke rolling upward
in the west. He pointed towards this new phenomenon,
and endeavoured to obtain some explanation
of its meaning; but the bride, if she understood
his enquiry, had no means of reply. There is a
language of looks which is sufficient for the purposes
of love. The glance of approving affection
beams expressively from the eye, and finds its way
in silent eloquence to the heart. No doubt that
the pair, whose bridal day we have described, had
already learned, from each other's looks, the confession
which they had no other common language
to convey; but the intercourse of signs can go no
further. It is perfectly inadequate to the interpretation
was unable to explain that singular appearance
which so puzzled her lover. But discovering,
from the direction to which he pointed, that his
curiosity was strongly excited, the obliging girl
rose, and led the way towards the west. They
walked for more than an hour. Pierre insensibly
became grave and silent, and his sympathising
companion unconsciously fell into the same mood.
He had taken her hand, which she now yielded
without reluctance, and they moved slowly, side
by side, over the plain—she with a submissive
and demure air, and he alternately admiring his
beautiful bride, and throwing suspicious glances at
the novel scene around him. The sun had gone
down, the breeze had subsided, and the stillness of
death was hanging over the prairie. Pierre began
to have awful sensations. Though bold and volatile,
a something like fear crept over him, and he
would have turned back; but the pride of a French
gentleman, and a marquis in anticipation, prevented
him. He felt mean—for no man of spirit ever becomes
seriously alarmed without feeling a sense
of degradation. There is something so unmanly
in fear, that, although no bosom is entirely proof
against it, we feel ashamed to acknowledge its
influence even to ourselves. Our hero looked forward
in terror, yet was too proud to turn back.
Superstition was beginning to throw its misty
contrary to the advice of his father confessor, and
was in open rebellion against the church; and he
began to fear that some evil spirit, under the guise
of an Indian maid, was seducing him away to
destruction. At all events, he determined not to
go much further.
The shades of night had begun to close, when
they again ascended one of those elevations which
swells so gradually that the traveller scarcely
remarks them until he reaches the summit, and
beholds, from a commanding eminence, a boundless
landscape spread before him. The veil of
night, without concealing the scene, rendered it
indistinct; the undulations of the surface were no
longer perceptible; and the prairie seemed a perfect
plain. One phenomenon astonished and perplexed
him: before him the prairie was lighted up
with a dim but supernatural brilliancy, like that of
a distant fire, while behind was the blackness of
darkness. An air of solitude reigned over that
wild plain, and not a sound relieved the desolation
of the scene. A chill crept over him as he gazed
around, and not an object met his eye but that
dark maid, who stood in mute patience by his
side, as waiting his pleasure; but on whose features,
as displayed by the uncertain light that
glimmered on them, a smile of triumph seemed to
play. He looked again, and the horizon gleamed
above its dark outline, while heavy, slow moving,
masses of cloud curled upward above it. It was
evidently the intense reflection, and the voluminous
smoke, of a vast fire. In another moment
the blaze itself appeared, first shooting up at one
spot, and then at another, and advancing, until
the whole line of horizon was clothed with flames,
that rolled around, and curled, and dashed upward,
like the angry waves of a burning ocean. The
simple Frenchman had never heard of the fires
that sweep over our wide prairies in the autumn,
nor did it enter into his head that a natural cause
could produce an effect so terrific. The whole
western horizon was clad in fire, and, as far as the
eye could see, to the right and left, was one vast
conflagration, having the appearance of angry
billows of a fiery liquid, dashing against each
other, and foaming, and throwing flakes of burning
spray into the air. There was a roaring sound
like that caused by the conflict of waves. A more
terrific sight could scarcely be conceived; nor
was it singular that an unpractised eye should behold
in that scene a wide sea of flame, lashed into
fury by some internal commotion.
Pierre could gaze no longer. A sudden horror
thrilled his soul. His worse fears were realised
in the tremendous landscape. He saw before him
the lake of fire prepared for the devil and his
he had never doubted; but, heretofore, it
had been a mere dogma of faith, while now it appeared
before him in its terrible reality. He
thought he could plainly distinguish gigantic black
forms dancing in the flames, throwing up their
long misshapen arms, and writhing their bodies
into fantastic shapes. Uttering a piercing shriek,
he turned and fled with the swiftness of an arrow.
Fear gave new vigour to the muscles which had
before been relaxed with fatigue, and his feet, so
lately heavy, now touched the ground with the light
and springy tread of the antelope. Yet, to himself,
his steps seemed to linger, as if his heels
were lead.
The Indian girl clapped her hands and laughed
aloud as she pursued him. That laugh, which, at
an earlier hour of this eventful day, had enlivened
his heart by its joyous tones, now filled him with
terror. It seemed the yell of a demon—the triumphant
scream of hellish delight over the down-fall
of his soul. The dark maid of Illinois, so
lately an object of love, became, to his distempered
fancy, a minister of vengeance—a fallen
angel sent to tempt him to destruction. A supernatural
strength and swiftness gave wings to his
flight, as he bounded away with the speed of the
ostrich of the desert; but he seemed, to himself,
to crawl sluggishly, and, whenever he cast a
was laughing at his heels. He tried to invoke
the saints, but, alas! in the confusion of his mind,
he could not recollect the names of more than
half a dozen, nor determine which was the most
suitable one to be called upon in such an anomalous
case. Arrived at the forest, he dashed headlong
through its tangled thickets. Neither the
darkness, or any obstacle, checked his career; but
scrambling over fallen timber, tearing through
copse and briar, he held his way, bruised and
bleeding, through the forest. At last he reached
the village, staggered into a lodge which happened
to be unoccupied, and sunk down insensible.
The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon
when Pierre awoke. The Indian maid was
bending over him with looks of tender solicitude.
She had nursed him through the silent watches of
the night, had pillowed his head upon the soft plumage
of the swan, and covered him with robes of
the finest fur. She had watched his dreamy sleep
through the long hours, when all others were
sleeping, and no eye witnessed her assiduous care
—had bathed his throbbing temples with water
from the spring, and passed her slender fingers
through his ringlets, with the fondness of a young
and growing affection, until she had soothed the
unconscious object of her tenderness into a calm
repose. It was her first love, and she had given
and all the weakness, of female passion. Under
other circumstances it might long have remained
concealed in her own bosom, and have gradually
become disclosed by the attentions of her lover, as
the flower opens slowly to the sun. But she had
been suddenly called to the discharge of the duties
of a wife; and woman, when appealed to by the
charities of life, gives full play to her affections,
pouring out the treasures of her love in liberal
profusion.
But her tenderness was thrown away upon the
slumbering bridegroom, whose unusual excitement,
both of body and mind, had been succeeded by a
profound lethargy. No sooner did he open his
eyes, than the dreadful images of the night became
again pictured upon his imagination. Even that
anxious girl, who had hung over him with sleepless
solicitude, throughout the night, and still
watched, dejected, by his side, seemed to wear a
malignant aspect, and to triumph in his anguish.
He shrunk from the glance of her eye, as if its
mild lustre would have withered him. She laid
her hand upon his brow, and he writhed as if a
serpent had crawled over his visage. The hope
of escape suddenly presented itself to his mind.
He rose, and rushed wildly to the shore. The
boats were just leaving the bank; his companions
had been grieved at his marriage, and were
but Father Francis, a rigid moralist, and a stern
man, determined not to wait for him a moment,
and the little barks were already shoved into the
stream, when the haggard barber appeared, and
plunged into the water. As he climbed the side
of the nearest boat, he conjured his comrades, in
tones of agony, to fly. Imagining he had discovered
some treachery in their new allies, they
obeyed; the oars were plied with vigour, and the
vessels of the white strangers rapidly disappeared
from the eyes of the astonished Illini, who were as
much perplexed by the abrupt departure, as they
had been by the unexpected visit of their eccentric
guests.
Pierre took to his bed, and remained an invalid
during the rest of the voyage. Nor did he set
his foot on shore again in the new world. One
glance at the lake of fire was enough for him, and
he did not, like Orpheus, look back at the infernal
regions from which he had escaped. The party
descended the Mississippi to the gulf of Mexico,
where, finding a ship destined for France, he took
leave of his companions, from whom he had carefully
concealed the true cause of his alarm. During
the passage across the Atlantic he recovered
his health, and, in some measure, his spirits; but
he never regained his thirst for adventure, his
ambition to be a marquis, or his desire to seek for
no charms to allure him back to the dangerous
wildernesses of the far west. On all these subjects
he remained silent as the grave. One would have
supposed that he had escaped the dominions of
Satan under a pledge of secresy.
A new misfortune awaited him at home, where,
to his infinite mortification, he found Annette married
to a lank, snivelling pastry cook, dispensing
smiles, and pies, and sugar plums, from behind a
counter, and enjoying as much happiness as she
could have tasted in the rank to which he had
once destined her. It was not kind in her to have
jilted Pierre for a pastry cook, when he would not
have jilted her for any thing less than a princess.
Our hero had stuck to his integrity like a gentleman,
until strong temptation overmastered him,
while she had listened to the sugared compliments
of the confectioner, as soon as the back of her
generous lover was turned, and became mistress
of a cake shop, while he was laying plans to make
her a peeress of France, and a princess of Illinois.
Short sighted Annette! to value so slightly the
sincere passion of so munificent a lover! Pierre
received the news of her defection with the composure
of a philosopher—shrugged his shoulders,
snapped his fingers, and resumed his humble occupation.
He was not the man to break his heart
for a trifle; and, after bearing with fortitude the
the infidelity of a light-hearted maiden was not a
thing to grieve over. He lived a barber, and died
a bachelor. When the bloom of youth began to
fade from his cheek, and the acuteness of his sensibilities
became a little blunted—when he saw
his rival, the confectioner, prospering and growing
fat, and the prospect of Annette's becoming a
widow, more and more remote, his reserve wore
away, and he began to relate his adventures to his
customers. He became quite celebrated—as all
Europeans are, who have travelled in America—
many flocked to his shop to hear his interesting
recitals, and the burning lake was added, by common
fame, to the other wonders of the new world.
The Indian maid followed the white stranger to
the shore, and saw him depart, with grief. She
gazed at the receding boats until they turned an
angle of the river, where they vanished for ever
from her view, and then she sat down, and buried
her face in her hands. Her companions, in sympathy
for her feelings, left her alone, and when all
eyes were withdrawn, she gave vent to her feelings,
and wept bitterly over her shame. She had been
betrothed in the face of the whole tribe, and had
been publicly deserted by her lover. He had fled
from her with every appearance of terror and
loathing. She was repudiated under circumstances
of notoriety, which deeply wounded her pride;
to the full extent that maiden delicacy permitted,
was cruelly repaid by insult. Nor was the acuteness
of these feelings at all blunted by the suspicion
that she had been herself an accessory in
producing the melancholy result. Pierre had followed
her to the prairie, in all the joyous hilarity
of an ardent lover—he had fled from her in fear,
and, although the cause of his terror was unknown,
she imputed it to something in her own person or
deportment. There is no anguish which a woman
feels so keenly as the pang of mortified affection—
the conviction that her offered love is spurned—
the virgin shame of having betrayed a preference
for one who does not requite it—the mortification
of attempting and failing to kindle the flame of
love. Woman can bear, and thousands have
borne, the pain of loving without being beloved,
when the secret remains hidden in her own bosom;
but when the husband, or the accepted lover, repels,
or coldly estimates, the warm and frank
avowal of a virtuous passion, he inflicts a wound
which no surgery can heal, he touches one of the
master springs of the heart, with a rudeness that
reaches its vitality and withers it for ever. Woman
can bear pain, or misfortune, with a fortitude
that man may in vain attempt to emulate; but she
has a heart whose sensibilities require a delicate
observance;—she submits to power with humility,
of human nature with resignation—nothing
breaks her heart but insulted love.
For whole days did the Indian maid wander
through the solitary forest, ashamed to return to
the encampment of her tribe. When led back to
her father's lodge, she avoided the society of the
maiden throng, and fled from the young warriors
who would have courted her smiles. She ceased
to be numbered among the dark-eyed beauties of
her tribe; and but a few moons had passed away
since the visit of the white strangers from the land
of the rising sun, when a little hillock, on the summit
of a lonely mound in the prairie, covered the
remains of the beautiful and love stricken Maid of
Illinois.
| Tales of the border | |