CONTAINING A SKETCH OF MOOSHANNE.—REGINALD INTRODUCES HIS SISTER TO
THE TWO DELAWARES.
THE day following that on which the events related in the preceding
pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous,
gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta:
immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their
bearing and appearance, might be easily recognised as leading persons
in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed
country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or
fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat,
and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the
spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and
the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest
in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls,
made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and
having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such
as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to
spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement
had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and
tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this
messenger, who had escaped, was scalped!
We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the
above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news
which created so much excitement.
It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were
riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement
twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a
mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage;
both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a
wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop,
sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club
felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up
to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head
with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow
also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels
were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the
Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his
horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of
his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and
scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several
young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs
successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of
a rivulet falling into the Muskingum; hence all further search proved
unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.
It was long since so daring an outrage had been committed in the
territory; seldom was it that the red–skins would attack white men
in open day, unless they were greatly superior in numbers; but for a
single Indian to fall upon two armed whites, killing one and leaving
the other for dead, almost within call of his friends, was an instance
of audacity to which the oldest hunter could scarcely remember a
parallel: it was evident also that the savage had been aware of a party
of whites being at hand, otherwise he would certainly have shot one
brother before he attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge of
his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a war–club.
Another striking circumstance was the clear evidence afforded that the
killing of the elder Hervey was an act of personal revenge; because the
younger brother when knocked from his horse had fallen helpless at the
Indian’s feet; and the latter, purposely to show that he had spared his
life and scalp, had struck a knife through the lappet of his coat into
the ground, with force enough to bury it up to the haft. Four or five
of the best hunters had recommenced the pursuit; and although they once
struck the trail of a man on foot evidently running from them, they
were again baffled by the river, and returned to the settlement.
Such was the sum of the messenger’s intelligence, which caused, as
can easily be imagined, no little sensation in Marietta and the
neighbouring districts.
“I know some of the worst o’ them red–skin devils,” said a bulky young
man, whose countenance betrayed violent passions, and strong symptoms
of free indulgence in David Muir’s “fire–water;” “tell me what was this
Ingian like?—how did Dick Hervey describe him?”
“He hadn’t over much time to look at him,” said the messenger, “afore
he was sent to sleep; but he says he was a very tall powerful chap,
streaked over the face with black.”
“Was he a young un or an old un?”
“A young un, and active as a deer, or he couldn’t have knocked those
two Herveys off their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob with an
ash plant.”
“I wish I had him here,” said the young giant, shutting a hand as
heavy and large as a shoulder of mutton. “I’d give him a real Kentucky
hug.”
None of the bystanders seemed able to form any guess as to who the
perpetrator of this bold outrage might be. It was resolved, however,
to take all possible measures for his discovery; a meeting of the
principal inhabitants was convened, a description of the Indian’s
person, and of the marks by which Hervey’s horse might be recognised,
was written, and several copies thereof made, and forwarded to the
nearest posts and ferries; at the same time a reward of a hundred
dollars was offered to any person who should discover the offender, and
a hundred more for his seizure, dead or alive.
During the discussion of these and other plans at the meeting, our
old acquaintance David Muir, who felt himself not to be one of the
least important persons present, said, “I’m thinking, gentlemen, it
would be as weel to send a messenger out to Colonel Brandon, wi’ this
intelligence; he kens the Indians as weel’s ony man in this country
side, mayhap he’ll gie us some gude counsel; and, sirs,” added David,
his grey eyes twinkling at his own sagacity, “be sure ye dinna forget
to tak the advice o’ yon lang–headed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian
deevil’s o’ this side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin’ him out, as
sure as twa threes mak sax.”
This was one of the longest orations which David had ever delivered in
public; and both his suggestions being approved, carried _nem. con._,
and the meeting dissolved, David returned to his store with his hands
thrust into his coat–tail pockets, and his countenance big with the
consciousness of having rendered essential service to the territory.
We must now return to Reginald, who, on the morning of this same day,
rose with the sun; and feeling himself nothing the worse from his
slight wounds, or from his diving adventure, sallied forth to see
how Baptiste had provided for Nekimi’s safety and comfort. All means
having failed to entice him into a stable, the hunter had secured him
firmly to an oak, casting down for him abundance both of food and
litter. Reginald approached him, holding in his hand some bread; and
having given the sharp shrill cry (which to Lucy’s great alarm he had
practised more than once in the house), he was agreeably surprised
to perceive that the horse recognised it, and seemed less averse to
his caresses. Having fed him, and carefully observed all the rules
laid down by War–Eagle for gaining his affections, he returned to the
house, and began to collect the various articles which he proposed to
give to his Indian brother; among these was a good Kentucky rifle,
and a handsome buck’s–horn knife for the chief; he selected also a
light fowling–piece, which he had used as a boy, and which he intended
for Wingenund; to these he added several pounds of powder, and a
due proportion of lead; he also threw into the package a few beads
and a large cornelian ring, which had been long the occupant of his
dressing–case.
When he had collected all these together, he gave them to Baptiste,
desiring him to be ready to accompany him to the rendezvous after
breakfast; and having finished his preparations, he knocked at the door
of Lucy’s room, to inquire whether she was ready to preside at the
morning meal.
“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault;
for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and
even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”
“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that
to——“
“Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand
upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do
so again?”
“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come
down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”
In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary;
and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we
will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were
assembled.
It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had
originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions;
but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and
sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he
had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory
for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and
irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns,
and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle
elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound its bubbling
way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling
round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into
the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne”
(signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to
the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort
of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered
somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.
We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the
conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.
“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see
your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”
“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily
walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he
must be still too weak from his wound.”
“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride
Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave
defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may
take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a
coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.
“Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Mary’s and the Colonel’s
permission,” said Reginald, smiling.
Lucy met with no further opposition. Snowdrop was ordered to be
saddled: in a few minutes the happy girl was equipped, and provided
with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty brooch, destined for
her brother’s preserver.
The party now assembled before the door, consisting of Reginald,
Baptiste, and Lucy, mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero slung
his rifle across his shoulders; the sturdy woodsman, besides carrying
his own enormous axe, walked lightly under the two rifles and the other
articles to be presented to the chief, and Wolf played around them his
fantastic and unwieldy gambols.
Cheerful and smiling was the woodland scenery through which they
passed; the dew–drops still glittered in the beams of the morning sun,
and the air was impregnated with the vernal fragrance arising from a
thousand opening buds and blossoms.
“See, Lucy,” said her brother, as he walked by her side, while the
tact of the sturdy hunter kept him a few paces in the rear, “see how
those mischievous squirrels hop and chatter upon the boughs! They seem
to know that your presence is a protection to them.”
“I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot such playful and graceful
animals; you, who have taste enough to admire their beauty, and who can
find sport more worthy of your rifle.”
“It is childish sport, Lucy; yet they are no contemptible additions to
the table; their furs are useful; and there is some skill in shooting
them, that is, in shooting them properly.”
“If I were a man, I would shoot nothing but lions and tigers, buffaloes
or bears!” said his sister.
“A pretty Amazon, truly!” said Reginald, laughing: “yet, methinks your
thoughts are not always so warlike. Come, Lucy, now that we are alone
(for our good Baptiste is out of ear–shot), you need not pout or blush
if I ask you whether Ethelston is expected soon to return?”
“Indeed, I know not, Reginald,” said his sister, blushing, in spite of
his prohibition. “His last letter to the Colonel mentioned something
about privateers and the rupture with France. Papa did not appear
desirous of communicating much upon the subject, so I dropt it.”
“True,” said Reginald; “the French will not soon forget or forgive the
loss of their fine frigate, The Insurgente, which was taken the other
day so gallantly by The Constellation. I doubt not they will endeavour
to cripple our trade in the West Indies. Edward has got a little craft
that can run, if she cannot fight.”
“I am sure Edward will never run if it is possible to fight,” said
Lucy, a little piqued.
“There, again, you speak the truth: it is because his courage is
so tempered by his judgment, that he is fit to be entrusted with
other lives and property than his own: if it is _not_ possible to
fight, he will have sense and skill enough to show the Frenchman his
heels.—By–the–by, Lucy, which vessel is he now commanding?”
Again there was a decided blush, and almost a pout on Lucy’s full lip,
as she said, “You know, brother, that The Adventure and the Pocahuntas
are both in port, and the vessel he is now on board of is the—“
—“Oh! I remember,” said Reginald, laughing; “she was to have been
called the ‘Lucy;’ but Edward did not choose to hear that name in every
common sailor’s and negro’s mouth; so he altered it to The Pride of
Ohio, which means, in his vocabulary, the same thing.”
“I wish,” said Lucy, “there was any Mary, or Charlotte, or Catherine,
or any other name under the sun, about which I could tease you! Have a
little patience, Mr. Reginald; my turn will come; you shall see what
mercy I will show you then!”
Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest with each other until
they reached the spot appointed for the interview. As they had arrived
rather before the time, they imagined that the War–Eagle had not yet
come; but Baptiste, putting his finger to his mouth, blew a long shrill
signal whistle, and in a few minutes the chief appeared, accompanied by
Wingenund. As they emerged from the forest, and approached, Reginald
looked at his sister to see the effect produced by their appearance;
for the chief was dressed in a manner calculated to display his noble
figure and countenance to better advantage than on the preceding day.
His long black hair was parted on his forehead, and gathered into
a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made from the fur of the white
weasel, and surmounted by an eagle’s feather. It seemed that his vow
of war and revenge was for the time cancelled; for the lines of black
paint which had disfigured his visage were removed, and the commanding
form and features were not marred by any grotesque or fanciful attire.
His brawny neck was bare, and a portion of his bold, open chest
appeared beneath the light hunting–shirt, which was his only upper
vesture. The ponderous war–club was still at his girdle, but the scalp
had disappeared; and his light, free step upon the grass was like that
of a young elk on the prairie.
The dress of Wingenund was unaltered. He was still very weak from
the loss of blood, and the pain consequent upon his wound; his arm
rested in a sling, made from the plaited bark of elm: and the air of
languor cast over his countenance by sleeplessness and suffering, gave
additional effect to the delicacy of his features, and the deep dark
lustre of his eyes.
“Our new brother is indeed a fine looking creature!” said Lucy,
as War–Eagle drew near. “What a haughty step and bearing he has!
Wingenund looks too gentle to be an Indian!”
“He is as brave as gentle, Lucy: look at his arm!” and, as she did look
at the wounded limb, she remembered that only yesterday it had saved
her brother’s life.
The greeting between Reginald and the two Indians was affectionate
and cordial: he then presented his sister to them both in turn.
The chieftain placing his hand upon his heart, fixed upon her that
penetrating look with which he had before scrutinised her brother: it
was not the bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but the child of
nature reading, after his own fashion, a page in her book.
“War–Eagle,” said Lucy to him, in her own gentle tone of voice, “I know
all that passed yesterday, and you are now my brother!”
As she pronounced his name in English, a gleam shot from his eye, and
a perceptible and sudden change came over his countenance: it seemed
produced by some unexpected association; and Lucy was surprised at the
deep pathos of his voice, as he replied, “The Great Spirit has made the
sun to shine upon my white brother’s path! His heart is brave; his arm
is strong; and his sister is like a flower of the prairie!—her voice
comes upon the ear like a pleasant dream!” These last words he spoke
rather to himself than addressing those around him.
Lucy was not displeased with the Indian’s compliment, and was about to
speak to Wingenund, when Reginald said aloud, “Come, let us withdraw
among those thick trees; we have many things to talk about.” His
proposal being assented to, the whole party were soon re–assembled
under a branching oak, screened from the public track by a thicket of
rhododendron.
While they were effecting this manœuvre, the guide took an opportunity
of interchanging a few sentences with the War–Eagle; the result of
which was apparently satisfactory to the honest woodsman, for his face
instantly resumed its usual frank and careless expression.
“Lucy,” said her brother, “as you have thought proper to accompany me
here, you must play your part as Queen of the Feast. I hope my brothers
will value these baubles more from your hands than from mine.” Thus
instructed, Lucy opened the canvasss package, which the guide had
hitherto carried, and presenting the large rifle to the chief, she said
to him:
“War–Eagle, your brother and your white sister give you this rifle, as
a mark of their friendship; and with it they give you powder and lead
enough to shoot all the deer and bears in the territory.”
The chief placed her hand and her brother’s both upon his heart,
saying, “War–Eagle thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you, and guard
your path!”
He then poised and examined the rifle, which was a piece of no ordinary
beauty and excellence; while Baptiste whispered to him, in his own
language, “It is loaded.”
Lucy then turned to Wingenund, and, presenting him with the lighter
fowling–piece, said to him, “With this, a sister thanks Wingenund for a
brother’s life.”
The boy cast his eyes modestly to the ground, saying, “Wingenund is
too happy. War–Eagle will tell his name to the braves in council. The
sister of Netis is good to him; Wingenund is ready to die!”
“Indeed,” said Lucy to the guide, “I fear he is very faint and ill; ask
the chief how he passed the night!”
“Wingenund is not ill,” said the boy, with a smile; “he is very happy.”
Meanwhile Baptiste, having conferred with the chief, replied, “Why,
Miss Lucy, the wound was a very bad ‘un, and he lost a power o’ blood;
once or twice in the night, War–Eagle thought he might not get over it;
but he is better now, and though unable to bear much fatigue, he is a
hardy young plant, and will take as much killing as an eel.”
“Come, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “I know you put something to eat and
drink into that sack with the ammunition: War–Eagle must feast with us
to–day.”
The guide opening his capacious wallet, drew from it a venison pasty,
some bread, and a couple of bottles of Madeira. Lucy declined taking
more than a crust of bread, merely tasting the wine to the health of
the hunters. Wingenund was equally abstemious, and sat a little apart
with his new sister; while Reginald, Baptiste, and the Chief made a
more substantial luncheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald, how he
liked the wine, replied carelessly, “Good.” But it was evident that he
drank it rather from courtesy than because it pleased his palate.
Reginald now desired the guide to speak to the War–Eagle in his own
tongue, and to gather from him all the requisite particulars for his
joining the Delawares in their summer–hunt beyond the Mississippi. He
had long been anxious to visit some of those scenes which Baptiste had
so often described; and his father having expressed a wish that he
should go to St. Louis on some business connected with his investments
in the fur–trade, he thought that so fair an opportunity ought not to
be lost.
While the guide and the chief conversed in a low and earnest tone
of voice, and Reginald listened with an idle curiosity, imagining
now and then that he could catch their meaning, Lucy became much
interested in her conversation with Wingenund: she was surprised at
his intelligence, and proficiency in English, and was touched by the
melancholy expression of his countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes.
As she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively placed his finger on
her arm, then raised it to his own lips, as a sign to her to be silent;
then creeping two or three yards from the party, he threw himself
full length upon the grass with his ear to the ground. Lucy listened
attentively, but could hear nothing but the gentle breeze stirring the
leaves, and the regular sound of Snowdrop’s teeth as he nibbled the
young grass.
The three hunters were still busy with their arrangements for the
summer, when Wingenund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an almost
imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a small serpent. Instantly, as if
by instinct, the War–Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked inquiringly on
the intelligent countenance of the boy.
“Wingenund hears men and horses,” was the short reply.
Baptiste strained his practised ears to the utmost, as did Reginald,
without success. Even War–Eagle seemed for a moment unable to catch the
sound. He then whispered to Reginald, “Wingenund speaks truth, there
are men—not a few.”
Several minutes elapsed before our hero and the guide could distinguish
the tramp of horses and the voices of men speaking angrily.
Our hero and his party being effectually screened from view by the
dense _laurel_[20] thicket, could listen unobserved to the conversation
of those who were approaching; and the following expressions delivered
in a loud and authoritative tone, at once attracted and absorbed their
attention: “It is impossible that the fellow should escape, we have
scouts out in every direction. There can be no doubt that the camp
which we have just found in the woods is the one where he passed the
night with other red–skins, for the embers are still warm. Dickenson
and Brown are gone south towards Marietta; Henderson and his party are
tracking the prairies to the north: it is impossible he should long
escape; and young Hervey thinks he should know him anywhere!”
While the person who appeared to be the leader of the unseen party
was thus speaking, War–Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund,
to which the intelligent youth only replied by a look; the chief then
conversed apart, in a low earnest voice, with the guide, who ended by
grasping his hand, and saying, in the Delaware tongue, “Grande–Hâche
will do it at the risk of his life.”
The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with calm dignity, he
tightened the belt at his waist, to which he hung his newly acquired
knife and ammunition; and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his
left arm, he said to Reginald, “War–Eagle must leave his brother Netis;
Grande–Hâche will tell him all; before two moons have passed, Netis
will come to hunt the bison with his brother; and he shall smoke with
the braves of the Lenapé.”
“He will,” replied Reginald, warmly pressing his hand, and at the same
time passing the cornelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chief.
“If the Great Spirit gives him life, he will come and hunt, and smoke
with his Lenapé brother.”
The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from his head the eagle feather
which was passed through his hair, and which was quaintly stained, and
ornamented with porcupine quills: offering it gracefully to her, he
said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle wishes happiness to
the ‘pale flower of Mooshanne;’ many braves have tried to pluck this
feather from his head; no Dahcotah nor Pawnee has touched it and lived!
The Sister of Netis may fasten it in her hair—let none but a brave
warrior raise his eyes to it there.”
[Illustration: WINGENUND AND LUCY P. 71]
“Thank you, dear War–Eagle,” said Lucy, kindly; “I promise you it shall
never be touched by an unworthy hand; and do you take this string of
red beads,” giving him at the same time a coral necklace, “and wear it
for the sake of your white sister.”
The chief received this gift with evident pleasure; and waving his hand
in adieu, whispering at the same time one parting word to Wingenund,
he strode leisurely away, and was soon lost in the deep glades of the
forest.