University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
A LONG JOURNEY.

On the departure of the main body of the savages, two
of our guard kept their station by us, while the other two
proceeded to remove the wounded Indian into the hut.

They were absent nearly half an hour; and on rejoining
us, I perceived a fresh scalp dangling at the girdle of one
who appeared to be the leader of the four. He slightly
touched it, in a significant way, as he came up; and then
each uttered a long, low, mournful wail.

I concluded from this that their companion had died of
his wounds, and that he had been scalped by his friends,
to prevent such a barbarous trophy falling into the hands
of an enemy.

It is strange what importance the red men of the forest
attach to the small bit of skin growing upon the top of the
head! But such is the disgrace attending the loss of this,
among some of the tribes, that a warrior would much
sooner part with his life; and instances are on record, of
many a daring brave having rushed into the very jaws of
death, to prevent the scalp-lock of a deceased friend becoming
the property of his foe.

The returned savages having remounted their horses,
they arranged themselves, two on either side of us; and the
signal being given to start, away we dashed, in a northerly
direction.

We crossed the creek, which our animals were made to
leap, and away we sped over the plain. It was a glorious

scene, as, all traces of the storm having disappeared, the
round, full moon poured her silvery flood through the blue
arch of heaven down upon the teeming earth.

A ride of some three hours brought us to a small woodland,
which, unlike most we had seen through the day, had
a thick, almost impenetrable undergrowth; and as my beast
and Clara's had showed signs of unusual fatigue during
the last few miles, the Indians concluded on making a halt
here.

Accordingly we all dismounted, and Clara and I were
bound to a couple of saplings, to make sure against our
escape. The Indians then proceeded to start a fire on the
edge of the thicket, so that its light would be thrown far
out upon the prairie, where the horses were allowed to
graze, after first being hoppled to prevent their running
away. They then produced some dried meat, and a kind
of hard cake, made from Indian corn, something like a
tortilla, with which they appeased their hunger, slaking
their thirst with water from a near spring, which one of
the party brought in a small gourd that they carried
with them.

When their own meal was finished, one of them came to
us, and made signs to know if we were hungry. My appetite
had become rather keen from my day's ride, and I
gave an affirmative nod, my head being the only part of
me now at liberty.

“And you must eat also,” I said to Clara, as the Indian
returned to his companions to get us food; “for there
is no knowing when the next meal will be made; and nature
must have sustenance, or you will droop by the way.”

“For this reason,” replied Clara, “I will endeavor to
eat—though I have no appetite.”

On rejoining us, the Indian unbound our hands, and I
had the satisfaction of seeing Clara devour more of the

coarse food than I had expected; while on my part, I made
quite a hearty meal—not so much because I relished the
fare, as because I thought it necessary to keep up my
strength for the trial before me. Water was then given us
from the gourd; after which such alterations were made in
our fastenings, as would enable us to lie down upon the
damp earth.

I confess that my bed was none of the best; nor was my
situation, all things considered, a very agreeable one; but
notwithstanding all this, I gradually fell asleep—and this
the more readily, that one of the savages had intimated by
signs to Clara and myself that we must hold no conversation
with each other.

The last recollections I have of that night, are of seeing
three of our guard stretched out on the earth, within the
firelight, and the fourth keeping watch, leaning against a
tree; and of wondering to myself if poor Clara slept, and
what kind of a fate the great future had in store for us.
With this I gradually closed my eyes; and with these
thoughts, as it were flickering about my brain, I gradually
went off into the land of dreams, and thence passed into
the unconscious state of a deep, heavy sleep.

I slept for several hours; and was finally awakened by
one of my captors, who signified that it was time to resume
our journey. The moon I now perceived was far in the
west, and already the gray light of breaking morn was
mingling with her silver rays.

Clara was already up, and standing near, her soft, blue
eyes fixed upon me with an expression of mournful resignation
that went to my very heart. Her features were very
pale, and I thought I could detect traces of recent tears.

“Have you slept any, Clara?” I inquired, in a tone
which, in spite of myself, was tremulous with deep feeling.

“But little,” she answered; and was about to add

something more, when one of our guard stepping in
between us, and taking hold of her arm, silently pointed
to her horse, which, together with mine, stood bridled and
saddled close by.

In a few minutes we were all under way—the Indians
riding their horses bare-back, and managing them with
halters made of thongs.

For hours we dashed away to the northward, keeping
clear of any thing like a settlement, or even the habitation
of civilized man. This somewhat surprised me; for
I knew there must be several towns and forts above us,
to say nothing of the log-cabins of white settlers scattered
in every direction; but our captors appeared to be perfectly
familiar with their route—which led me to the conclusion
that they knew a way of penetrating low into the
country, perhaps to the very Gulf, without necessarily
coming in contact with their white foes—and that this was
neither the first nor second time the present party had
been over the ground.

For hours, I say, we dashed away in a northerly direction;
and during this time scarcely a word was spoken;
and then only by the leader, who once or twice addressed
his companions, probably to communicate something concerning
the journey.

The sun meantime had risen bright and glorious, and
was now half way to the zenith. My impression concerning
our captors, now that I beheld them by the clear light
of day, was in no degree more favorable than when I had
first seen them by the rays of the moon the night previous.
They were fierce, blood-thirsty looking savages;
and as I gazed upon their half-naked, painted, hideous persons,
I began to wonder why we had been treated with so
much lenity—or why, in fact, we had not been murdered
and scalped at once. But perhaps, I thought to myself—

and the very idea made my blood run cold—we are thus
carefully protected and reserved for more inhuman treatment—that
of dying at the stake by slow tortures.

During the morning's ride, no opportunity was allowed
me of speaking a word to my fair companion. With an
Indian on either side of me, I rode in advance of Clara,
who was guarded in the same way. By turning my head,
I could occasionally catch a glimpse of her sweet features.
Her face was deadly pale, but still exhibited an expression
of mournful resignation. Poor girl! how I pitied her!
and how gladly would I have laid down my life to place
her once more in safety within her father's mansion!

The prairie, which thus far had been nearly as level as
a floor, now began to exhibit a rolling, wave-like surface,
and the vegetation to be less beautiful and luxuriant.
The grass grew taller, and the blades became more sparse,
coarse, and wiry; while the flowers became less and less
frequent, and exhibited far less variety of color.

At length we reached the timber-lands of some river,
the name of which is unknown to me, and plunged into a
deep wood, through which we rode to the bank of the
stream, where our captors made a halt. Here we all dismounted,
and our horses were again allowed to graze upon
a sward that was green and rich, though shadowed with
trees.

The Indians now broke their own fast, and on the same
kind of food they had eaten the night before; and after
they had done, a portion was offered us, which we were
not loth to accept—for our long, weary ride now rendered
even this coarse fare quite palatable.

We remained in this place some two or three hours, and
then resumed our journey—fording the stream, and continuing
on northward, over a hilly, wooded country, till
the sun went down—when our captors, finding our beasts

were the worse for the day's travel, camped for the night,
greatly to our relief and satisfaction, for poor Clara was
so fatigued as scarcely to be able to sit her horse.

But I will not trouble the reader with a detail of our
progress on our long and toilsome journey. One day
went much as another, without the occurrence of any
striking incidents to vary the tiresome monotony. We
were nightly secured against even an attempt at escape,
by being bound, and carefully watched by some one of the
four; and at the break of day each morning we were
obliged to mount our horses and ride whithersoever our
captors willed.

During all this time, Clara and I seldom exchanged
any thing more than looks—for the Indians liked not that
we should converse with each other—and in fact they
spoke but little among themselves.

A week's journey took us far to the northward; and
already we could feel a great change in the temperature—
the air being much cooler and more bracing through the
day, and the nights often so cold as to render a fire indispensable
to comfort. Here, too, we could perceive the
marks of frost, in the variegated hue of the woodlands;
and more than once I felt chilled to the very bone, by cold
blasts that came sweeping down from the far distant mountains,
on whose summits ice and snow hold an eternal
reign.

At length we crossed a large stream—which, from its
peculiar appearance, I am led to think was the Red
River; and two days after this we ascended a steep hill,
and looked down into a deep valley, where, along the
bank of a small stream that flowed through it, we beheld
some fifty Indian huts, being the first habitations of any
kind we had seen since our capture.

The moment the Indians got a full view of their village

—for such it really was—they uttered loud yells of
delight; and three of them darted away, running their
horses as if on a race, leaving the fourth to follow more
leisurely with ourselves. I took advantage of this departure
of the majority of our guard, to ride up to the side
of Clara; and as the only remaining Indian seemed more
interested in watching his companions than us, we improved
the opportunity by exchanging a few words in a
low tone.

“At last, dear Clara,” I said, “I think we have reached
our present destination.”

“Heaven send it be so!” she replied, with a sigh—“for
I am nearly worn out.”

“I am not surprised at it, Clara—but rather, that you
have borne up so well, against so much fatigue and excitement,
and you so delicately framed. I can see but little
change in your appearance, save that exposure has darkened
your complexion, and that you have the forlorn look
of one who labors under grief without hope.”

“I have no hope now,” she replied, mournfully, “save
in the grave.”

“Nay, say not so; while there is life, there always
should be hope; and the same Providence that has seen
fit to place us in our present condition, may yet enable us
to escape, and restore us to our friends.”

“I would I could think such an event might ever be;
but no, no—alas! no—I am doomed!” she mournfully
rejoined. “But now that we are here,” she pursued,
“what think you will be done with us?”

“It is possible we may be well treated and put to ransom,”
I replied, with a view to excite some hope in her
breast, that she might not altogether give way to melancholy.
“You see we have not as yet received any
rougher treatment than our captors may have thought

necessary to secure us against escape; and when the chief
returns, with the Hermit to act as interpreter, I trust I
can make it seem more to his interest and advantage to
let us go, than to keep us prisoners, or put us to death.”

“You say this to me—but do you truly believe yourself
what you say?” cried Clara, quickly, turning full
upon me.

“I believe we shall ultimately escape,” I answered,
somewhat evasively.

“God grant we may!” rejoined Clara, earnestly.
“Oh! my mother! my poor dear mother! could you see
your child now, how it would wring your heart! And
yet,” she quickly added, “I know not that it would add to
her present grief—for even now she is mourning me as
lost—buried in a dark uncertainty—and knows not
whether to weep for my death, or a living woe more
terrible. Oh! what will my friends think of my absence?
how will they bear this cruel stroke of fate? My dear
mother, and father—my dear sister, and brother—shall
these eyes ever behold you again in life? Alas! alas! I
fear they have looked their last upon your dear faces;
and that if ever we meet again, it will be where none do
part. Oh, God! support me! let me not murmur! but
be ever ready to say, `Thy will, not mine, be done!' ”

The hill we were descending was steep, and some parts
of it were heavily wooded; but directly before us, down to
the village, the trees had been felled and burned on the
ground, as the charred remains and blackened stumps
every where proclaimed. Beginning at the village, and
reaching half-way up the hill, was a field of corn, wherein
some ten or a dozen squaws were at work, plucking the
ripened ears. As they heard the shouts of the first party
descending the hill, they stopped their work, and, collecting
together, waited till the horsemen had passed them.

Probably some communication was made to them by the
riders, concerning Clara and myself; for as the mounted
party dashed by them, these squaws set up a series of
screeching yells, and immediately started up the hill to
meet us.

They were a coarse, brutal-looking set; and, if any
thing, more hideous and disgusting in their appearance
than the party of warriors that had made us captives.
They were nearly naked—their only covering being skins
girded around their loins. Unlike their male companions,
their heads were not shaved; and their long, straight,
coarse black hair swept down around their bodies, in some
instances nearly to the ground. They were without paint,
or ornament of any kind; and their filthy, weather-beaten
skins—their flat, broad, unintellectual faces—and their
round, hard, muscular limbs, indicated that theirs had
been a life of toil and drudgery. They were, as I afterward
learned, called Soolepcooms, or Squaw-workers; and
were regarded as immeasurably inferior to the Lendcooms,
or Squaw-wives, whose only duty was to wait upon the
warriors—for the Wepecoolahs, not unlike their more
civilized white neighbors, had established an upper and
lower grade among both sexes.

On meeting us, the Soolepcooms renewed their dismal
screeches; and completely surrounding us, they blocked
our way, stopped our horses, and began to catch hold of
us, in a very rough manner, occasionally turning their
faces up towards us, and grinning savagely, like so many
she-devils.

Clara became alarmed; and as one old hag, seizing her
by the arm, half dragged her from her horse, at the same
time flourishing a knife in a rather dangerous proximity,
she shrieked out:

“Oh! Henry—save me! save me! or I shall be
murdered!”

Before I could act in the matter, however, our Indian
guard, who had been riding apart—and who, on the
approach of the women, had paid no attention to them—
suddenly rushed his horse up to Clara's side, and striking
the aggressor full in the face with the handle of his tomahawk,
laid her senseless on the ground. On seeing this,
the companions of the wounded hag drew back, with howls
of dismay, and we were suffered to proceed without further
molestation.

The Indian now kept his place by the side of Clara, as
if to protect her—but manifested no further interest in
what had happened—not so much as even turning his
head to look after the discomfited Soolepcooms. I had
more curiosity; and turning in my saddle, I beheld the
whole party grouped around the fallen one, some of whom
were stooping down to raise her.

Meantime the three warriors had reached the village—
which, as we could now perceive, was in a state of some
excitement—and our conductor signifying to us that we
should quicken our pace, we did so, and rode down the hill
at a fast gallop.