All remarked the changed aspect and increased gravity of Wingenund;

his manner was indeed gentle and quiet as before, but the death of

his brother, and the responsibility now entrusted to him, added to

other serious matters which occupied his mind, seemed in him to have

annihilated the interval between early youth and ripened manhood. First

to rise before daybreak, and last to lie down at night, he seemed

unconscious of fatigue, and resolved that on this occasion at least

the Delawares should not from his neglect be reminded of the loss that

they had so lately sustained. At night he visited the sentries, and saw

that every one was at his allotted post; and on the march, whenever the

nature of the ground rendered precaution necessary, scouts were sent

forward to examine it, and to guard against ambush or surprise. Every

evening he joined the little party before the tent, and never left it

without wishing his sister (as he still called Prairie–bird) a night of

rest, and asking a blessing from the lips of the Black Father.

The Crows behaved upon this occasion better than had been expected

of them, camping always at a certain distance from the allied party,

and observing faithfully the other conditions of the treaty. The

guide, whom they had supplied, led the way towards the Great Prairie,

by a valley considerably to the northward of that by which they had

entered the mountain region; and Pierre soon perceived that its

eastern termination was at a spot that was easily recognised, by all

experienced trappers, as the “Devil’s Kettle,” owing to the steam that

ascended from a hot–spring, celebrated for its medicinal qualities

among the neighbouring tribes.

Here the fresh horses promised by the Crows were supplied, and an

equal number of those exhausted and incapable of further travel,

were left behind. Nekimi, alone of the whole quadruped band, seemed

insensible alike to the scantiness of pasture, and the heat and

fatigue of the journey. The fair burthen that he bore was as that of a

feather compared to the powerful frame of his former rider when armed

and equipped, and the noble animal seemed desirous of expressing his

gratitude for the change, by rubbing his forehead against Reginald as

he walked before him, or nibbling out of his hand a few young shoots of

alder or willow, that he was now and then fortunate enough to cut by

the half–dried bed of some mountain stream.

In this way they travelled forward without accident or adventure, until

they reached the banks of a river of considerable size, which Pierre

conjectured to be the head–water of the southern fork of the Neosho, or

the Platte; and here they were to complete the terms of the treaty, and

bid adieu to their Upsaroka friends, the opposite banks of the river

not being considered within the limits of their hunting ground.

The ceremonials observed upon this occasion were much the same as

the preceding, with the exception that Bending–willow paid a visit

to Prairie–bird, received from her several presents, drank a cup

of the wonderful black liquor, of which her husband had told her,

namely, coffee sweetened with sugar, and told her fair hostess that

his affections had not as yet strayed to any other of his spouses,—a

fact, the truth of which was attested by her displaying, with the most

ostentatious coquetry, the mirror–backed brush, of which he was more

proud of than of any thing that he possessed.

Besha made himself wonderfully busy during the payment of the presents

due to the Crows; and in one or two instances, when the latter claimed

more than was recorded in Reginald’s memorandum, he stoutly maintained

that the white men were right, and recommended the Crows to withdraw

their pretensions: in so doing, he did not neglect to whisper every now

and then to Baptiste or Pierre, a hint that he intended to be paid for

his disinterested support.

All this was not lost upon White–bull, who, although he could not

understand a word of what passed, felt nevertheless convinced that the

interpreter was playing some under–game. He said nothing, however;

and the distribution was satisfactorily completed, Wingenund and

Reginald adding gratuitously several presents for the chiefs beyond

those promised in the treaty. Besha, to the surprise of many of the

Crows, who knew his avaricious disposition, went away, apparently well

satisfied, with nothing more than a blanket and a knife; but they did

not know that he had privately whispered to Baptiste that he would come

by night to fetch away his stipulated snare of the presents (and that,

too, a lion’s share), as the Crows might be jealous if they saw them,

and might take them from him.

The two parties, having taken their final leave of each other, the task

of guide devolved upon Pierre, who resolved not to cross the Platte

that evening, it being now rather late, but to encamp where they were,

while the Crows returned some dozen miles upon their trail before they

encamped for the night. They had seen enough of the effective force

and discipline of the allied band to deter them from attacking it,

and prudently resolved to return to their own country, with the goods

which they had already acquired, without loss or risk; although it

becomes us, as veracious historians, to state (however little credit

the statement may reflect upon White–bull) that it had been, from

the first, his intention to attack and plunder the party, had their

carelessness or neglect afforded him an opportunity of doing so with

impunity.

Besha, having ascertained the spot selected for the Crow encampment,

lingered behind their line of march, accompanied by the lad before

mentioned, as being his constant attendant, whom he left concealed,

with two of his horses, behind a small hillock beside the trail,

desiring him there to await his return. In order to avoid suspicion,

he continued in the company of White–bull until it was dusk, and

did not leave the camp until an hour later, when he threw a large

dark–coloured blanket over his shoulders, and, slipping away

unperceived, rejoined the lad left in charge of the horses.

Mounting one himself, he desired his companion to follow on the other,

and trotted briskly forward, under the partial light of a young moon,

over the ground which he had carefully noted during the day, until he

reached a spot where the trail approached within a hundred yards of the

banks of the Platte, and where a few alder bushes offered convenient

shelter for the horses. Here the lad was again desired to await his

master’s return; and as the dew began to fall heavy, he was not sorry

that the latter left with him the large dark–coloured blanket above

mentioned.

Besha now pursued his way on foot; and on reaching the outposts of the

allied band found, as had been preconcerted, two of the Delawares,

bearing several large packages, containing the presents and goods

that he had earned in his mixed capacity of diplomatic agent and

interpreter. The packages being inconvenient for the horse–dealer to

carry alone, both on account of their weight and number, he prevailed

upon one of the Delawares to assist him in carrying them to the spot

where he had left the horses. It was only by offering the Indian,

who was no other than Stony–heart, a little bag full of excellent

kinne–kinnik for his pipe, that he prevailed upon him to undertake

this task. But the materials for smoking had become scarce, and it was

an indulgence from which, when within reach, Stony–heart could not

refrain; he accordingly sent back his companion, and telling him that

he would return in the course of an hour or two, set forth with the

horse–dealer on the trail.

We must now see how it fared with the lad left in charge of the horses,

who, being tired with the day’s march, fastened the end of their long

halters to his arm, and, wrapping himself in the blanket, lay down upon

the grass, and soon fell into a comfortable doze. One of the horses,

probably disliking this unusual separation from those with which it

was accustomed at this hour to feed, neighed several times aloud, for

which disturbance of his slumber it received a pull of the halter, and

a muttered execration from the youth, when he again fell into a state

of unconsciousness.

Now it so happened that the neighing of the horse reached other ears

at no great distance, being those of no less a person than the Osage,

who, with his three companions, was on his homeward way, and had on

the preceding day stolen an old canoe that they found on the bank of

the river; and, after patching up a few rents and holes, had embarked

in it, to save themselves a portion of their long foot journey. They

had seen from a distance the moving bands of the white men and of the

Crows, and had hauled their canoe under some alder bushes on the bank,

in order to consult and determine whether they should drop farther down

the river during the night, or, leaving it, strike a more southerly

course.

Whilst holding this consultation, the neighing of Besha’s horse caught

the quick ear of their leader; he listened—and hearing it repeated,

crept towards the spot, followed by his three companions. As soon as

the uncertain light of the moon enabled him to distinguish the two

pack–horses fastened to the sleeping lad, he again crept noiselessly

forward, and, springing upon him, enveloped him in his own blanket,

stuffing the corner of it into his mouth, so that he could neither

struggle nor make any noise.

Leaving one of his men in charge of the horses, he carried the youth

swiftly to the water’s edge where he securely pinioned and gagged him,

not, however, before he had recognised by the moonlight the countenance

of Besha’s attendant. The Osage’s plan was soon formed; for he rightly

conjectured that the horse–dealer was gone upon some errand, from which

he would not return empty handed; and he also owed the horse–dealer a

grudge for having, as he supposed, favoured Wingenund in that eventful

scene which terminated Mahéga’s life.

Stripping the youth of his dark blanket and of the broad–brimmed hat

of Mexican grass that he wore, the Osage put them on himself; and,

taking his seat by the same bush, he held the halters of the horses,

and partially concealing his face in one of the folds of the blanket,

awaited in this disguise the return of the horse–dealer, while his

three companions concealed themselves behind the adjacent bushes.

They had not been very long ensconced before Besha appeared, followed

by the doughty Stony–heart, who muttered to himself as he came that

he would not carry such a load so far again for all the kinne–kinnik

in the camp. The horse–dealer as he drew near gave the usual

signal–whistle for his attendant; and, finding that it was unanswered,

looked towards the spot where he descried the slumbering figure in the

slouched hat and dark blanket; while one of his pack–horses, lately

cast loose, seemed to be deliberately walking off to seek better

pasture. Hastily throwing his own package to the ground, he went to

secure the stray animal, calling at the same time to Stony–heart,

“Kick that sleepy dog till he wakens, that he may come and assist me

with these packs.”

The Delaware, who was not a man of many words, proceeded forthwith

to execute this order, and, without putting down his heavy load,

bestowed a sound kick upon the reclining figure, which, to his infinite

surprise, started instantly to its feet in the shape of a powerful man,

who threw him, encumbered as he was, upon the ground, and successfully

resisted all his violent efforts to extricate himself. While one of the

Osages came to assist in securing the fallen Delaware, the other two

seized the unlucky horse–dealer, just as he was mounting in the hope of

saving himself by flight.

So successfully had the Osages planned and executed this manœuvre, that

in less than five minutes their two last prisoners were laid bound and

pinioned together with the first in the canoe, where the captured bales

and presents were also stowed away, and while one of the Osages took

the horses to a ford not far distant, which had been recently crossed

by a large herd of bison, the remaining three, with their prisoners,

paddled across the river, and then noiselessly along the opposite

bank, until they had reached a deep and winding creek, which fell into

the main river, and which they had noticed by daylight as affording

convenient fuel and shelter. Having pursued their way up the creek

until they considered themselves safe from pursuit, and their fire

from the observation of either encampment, they gathered and lighted a

goodly pile of dry alder–wood, and proceeded deliberately to unpack and

examine the bales and packages, throwing their three pinioned captives

roughly on one side, as being so much live lumber unworthy of their

notice.

The plunder that they found themselves thus suddenly possessed of

exceeded their utmost expectations; and as it contained, amongst other

things, a package of excellent dried meat and the kinne–kinnik, from

which poor Stony–heart had expected so much gratification, they ate

copiously of the former, and smoked copiously of the latter, until they

were in the highest possible state of Osage enjoyment.

It was not long before they were joined by their comrade with the

horses, who received, as soon as he had fastened the latter, his due

share both of the provisions and the plunder; after which they ungagged

the prisoners, at the same time giving them to understand that if they

made the least noise they would be put to death immediately. Indeed,

whether they were noisy or quiet, it seemed by no means improbable that

such might be their fate, for two of the Osages strongly urged the

necessity for so doing, under the plea of self–preservation. The leader

seemed, however, to be of a different opinion, and he had already

established a kind of prescriptive right of command over his comrades.

Having thrown some dry sticks upon the fire to make it blaze, he drew

Stony–heart towards the light, and, as it fell upon his countenance,

enabled him to recognise in his prisoner one of the chief warriors of

the Delaware band.

“Is Stony–heart become a mule,” said he with a grin, “that he carries

bales and blankets upon his back?”

To this taunt Stony–heart did not deign to reply, and a brief

conversation ensued among the Osages; after which their leader came

again to him, and, having searched his dress, satisfied himself that

the Delaware had no other arms with him than a knife and a small pistol

concealed in his belt. The former he left untouched, but the latter he

dipped in the creek until it was thoroughly soaked, and then returned

it to the owner, whom, having now released from his bands, he thus

addressed:

“Stony–heart may return to his people; he is free; and he may tell

Wingenund that the Washashee know how to repay a good deed as well as

to revenge a bad one. Stony–heart may go!”

The Delaware waited no second bidding, but returned with all haste

towards his camp, being obliged to swim the river, and muttering to

himself, after he had crossed it, “I told Baptiste that no good could

ever come of sparing the lives of those Washashee dogs!” Such being the

only gratitude that he either felt or expressed for the clemency that

he had just experienced at their hands!

Soon after his departure, the Osages turned their attention to Besha,

sternly questioning him as to the part he had taken in their late

chief’s dispute with Wingenund; and in spite of all his protestations

of impartiality and innocence, they stripped him of every article of

clothing save his mocassins, and gave him a most severe flogging with

a laryette of bull’s–hide, after which they decamped, leaving him

still pinioned, and writhing with pain, while they carried with them

his attendant, whom they compelled to load and arrange the packs upon

the horses, and to lead the latter for the first dozen miles of their

route; after which they permitted him to return to release his master,

who crawled back with difficulty, before daylight, to the Crow camp,

having reaped the reward of his intrigues, cunning, and avarice, in the

loss of all his presents, two of his best horses, and a flogging, from

the effects of which he suffered for a long time.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SCENE IS SHIFTED TO THE BANKS OF THE MUSKINGUM, AND PRAIRIE–BIRD

RETURNS TO THE HOME OF HER CHILDHOOD.

About two months after the events related in the preceding chapters,

there was an unusual stir and bustle in the town of Marietta, and

half a score of its principal inhabitants were assembled in front of

David Muir’s house, to witness the landing of the crew and passengers

belonging to a large boat that had just arrived at the wooden pier

which projected into the river.

Foremost of a busy group at the water’s edge was the sturdy form of

Gregson the mate, whose orders respecting the bringing–to, and making

fast, were implicitly obeyed; and when at length she was securely

moored alongside the pier, numerous and hearty were the greetings

between those who stepped ashore from her, and the friends from whom

they had been so long severed.

“Bearskin, how are you? my old fresh–water porpoise!” said the mate,

squeezing the hard hand of the Mississippi boatman. “How fares it,

messmate?”

“All right now, my hearty; but we’ve had some foul weather since I saw

you last.”

“Ay, I see!” said the mate, observing the scars upon his old

companion’s face and forehead; “you’ve been snagged, and damaged your

figure–head a bit: never mind that; we’ll have all that yarn out by and

bye over a bottle of David’s best. See, here he comes to welcome you

himself!”

Leaving David Muir and Bearskin to their mutual greetings, the mate

returned to the water–side and lent his powerful assistance to the

landing of the cargo of the heavily–laden boat; and certainly, a

more strange or heterogeneous mixture of animate and inanimate stock

never came out of any vessel since the disembarkation from the ark.

Skins, furs, bows, rifles, moccassins, and Indian curiosities of every

description, were piled near the bows, while in the after–part were

stowed provisions of all kinds, and kegs, which were by no means so

full as they were when the boat left St. Louis.

The appearance, language, and costume of the crew would baffle any

attempt at description, inasmuch as each sunburnt, unshaved individual

composing it, had equipped and attired himself according to his own

fancy, and according to the contents of his remaining wardrobe after

a long sojourn in the western wilderness: and when it is remembered

that these hardy fellows were from all the varied clans and nations

found between the sources and the mouth of the “Father of Waters,” it

is not surprising that their mingled jargon should have struck upon

the ear like the dialects of Babel in the day of its confusion. There

were half–bred Creeks and Cherokees; Canadians, some with no little

admixture of Chippeway blood; others, proud of their pure French

descent: there were also some of the rough boatmen, who had already

migrated to the banks of the Great River, where it washes the western

boundaries of what are now the States of Kentucky and Illinois; and

a raw–boned sinewy fellow, who acted as a sort of second mate, was

giving instructions in broad Scotch, to a dark–eyed and diminutive

individual, who replied to him in bad Spanish. Above the din of all

these multifarious tongues, was heard the shrill and incessant voice of

Monsieur Perrot, who was labouring with indefatigable zeal to collect

his master’s baggage, and to put it safely ashore.

This he was at length enabled to effect with the aid of David Muir and

the mate; after which the articles destined for Mooshanne were piled in

readiness for the waggon which was to convey them, and the remainder

found their way by degrees to their respective destinations.

When at last the good–humoured valet found himself comfortably seated

in the merchant’s parlour with the worthy man himself, Dame Christie,

Jessie, and the mate, for his audience, and a bottle of madeira, with

some fried ham and fresh eggs upon the table, he gave a sigh, the

importance of which was lost upon none of those present, and he looked

from one to the other with the conscious superiority of a man who knows

how much he has to tell.

It is not our province to follow him through the “hair–breadth

‘scapes,” the “moving accidents by flood and field,” with which he set

his astonished hearers “all agape;” the only portion of his narrative

which it concerns us to know, is that which referred to the movements

of Reginald Brandon and the remainder of his party, who might,

according to Monsieur Perrot’s account, be almost daily expected at

Mooshanne, as they had left St. Louis and crossed its ferry with tent,

baggage, and a large cavalcade, on the day of his embarkation in the

great “Batteau.”

It was so long since Monsieur Perrot had tasted any liquid with a

flavour like that of the merchant’s madeira, that he sipped and

talked, talked and sipped, without noting the lapse of time, and the

evening was already far advanced before he thought of rising to take

his departure for Mooshanne; even then, David Muir pressed him so

strongly to remain with him over–night, and continue his journey on

the following morning, that Monsieur Perrot found himself quite unable

to resist accepting the invitation; especially as he thought that

another day or two might probably elapse before the return of Reginald;

and, moreover, the bright eyes of Jessie Muir looked a thousand times

brighter from the contrast that her beauty afforded to the swart dusky

complexions by which he had so lately been surrounded.

Leaving the merry Frenchman, and his still wondering auditors in

David’s parlour, we will proceed without delay to Mooshanne, where

it happened that, about four o’clock on the same afternoon, a single

horseman sprang from the animal that, to judge from its appearance, had

carried him far and fast, and, having rung the door–bell, waited not

for any one to answer it, but walked straight into the vestibule.

The bell was still ringing when the door of the drawing–room was

slightly opened that the blue eyes of Lucy might herself reconnoitre

the new comer; the next moment saw her in her brother’s arms.

“Dear, dear Reginald! ’tis he, ’tis he, indeed!” and she drew him into

the room that her father might share her rapturous joy.

While the colonel pressed his son to his heart in a fond paternal

embrace, Lucy ran up stairs to prepare the more delicate nerves of her

invalid mother for the shock of happiness that awaited her.

Scarcely were these first affectionate greetings exchanged, ere Lucy

inquired with expectant eagerness, “When will they arrive?—how far off

are they, Reginald?”

“They cannot now be long; I think within a couple of hours they must be

here. If I mistake not, Lucy, there is one of the party who begrudged

me not a little my office of _avant–courier_.”

Lucy blushed “celestial rosy red, love’s proper hue,” as she felt

how her heart leaped within her to meet the one to whom her brother

referred; and she hastened away to conceal her mingled confusion and

happiness, in the thousand little details of preparation for her

expected guests.

It may be as well here to mention, that immediately on reaching St.

Louis, Reginald had dispatched a messenger on horseback to his father

with a letter, containing the outline of the events connected with his

western expedition, and informing him of the rescue of Prairie–bird,

and of the attachment that existed between her and himself. He spoke

not of her parentage, further than to say, that she had been carried

off in childhood from her own family, who were of a lineage and descent

altogether unexceptionable; and he entreated and conjured his father

not to entertain, nor pronounce any objection to his proposed alliance,

until he had an opportunity of seeing, hearing, and judging for himself.

Reginald had also insisted upon Ethelston’s abstaining from this

topic in any letter that he might wish to send from St. Louis, and

the colonel had thought it advisable to say nothing to Lucy of her

brother’s attachment, while there remained a doubt of its being

such as he could approve or sanction; so that he had only informed

her that the party would bring back with them Prairie–bird, whom the

young Delaware had mentioned so often as his sister, but who was, in

fact, the daughter of English parents, of the highest respectability;

and that she would be accompanied by Paul Müller, a missionary, whose

reputation for piety and learning was extensively spread, and who had

been, since her residence with the Indians, her instructor and adopted

father.

Lucy’s curiosity to see Prairie–bird had been, since the arrival of

her brother’s letter, extraordinarily excited. Sometimes she fancied

her a half–wild, half–civilized being, clad in a dress of skins, and

speaking broken English. Then again she was puzzled at the remembrance

of the affectionate reverence, almost amounting to worship, with which

Wingenund had spoken of her, and again her calculation was at fault.

Under these doubts and perplexities, she consulted Aunt Mary, and with

her aid and concurrence had prepared for her expected guest a room upon

the ground–floor, that looked upon her own flower–garden. Its furniture

was simple, but exceedingly pretty, being a kind of representation of

a tent, of an octagon shape, and hung with a delicate–coloured pink

chintz.

The view from the windows was lovely; for although the flowery

parterres had lost their brightest summer hues, a few roses still

lingered among them, contrasting with the thousand autumnal colours

that decked the shady mass of distant forests between which and the

flower–garden was seen here and there, through a leafy vista, the

winding course of the Muskingum. Lucy had decked the interior of the

room with all those nameless comforts and luxuries that betoken women’s

affectionate care; several shelves were covered with well–selected

books, and two china baskets upon the table were filled with such

flowers as the indefatigable Aunt Mary had placed there, unconscious

for whom she gathered them.

As soon as Reginald had enjoyed a short interview with his mother,

whose health, though still delicate, had somewhat improved since he had

last seen her, Lucy entered, and taking him by the arm, said, “Come,

Reginald, you must inspect my preparations. See, this is your own room,

which you will find rather more gay than when you left it, as Aunt Mary

would have it new–papered. That beyond is destined, as before, for

Ed—for Ethelston.”

“Has Aunt Mary thought it requisite to new–paper that too, or did it

occur to Miss Lucy without her aunt’s suggestion?”

Lucy punished him with a slight pinch on the arm; and then leading

him down the stairs to the tent apartment, said to him, “Now, Sir,

I will show you what I have prepared for your Indian lady; this is

Prairie–bird’s room.”

The tell–tale blood rushed into Reginald’s bronzed and sunburnt cheek,

as he stood within the room destined to contain his heart’s treasure;

thoughts, far too sweet, and deep, and swift for words, mingled the

past and the future in a delicious dream, as bending over his sister he

kissed her fair forehead, and pressed her in silence to his heart.

With the intuitive quickness of sympathy, Lucy read in that expressive

silence the secret of her brother’s breast; and looking up to him,

half–reproachfully, she said, “Reginald, could not you have trusted

your Lucy so far, as to tell her that Prairie–bird would have a dearer

title to her affections than that of being Wingenund’s sister, or the

child of the missionary’s adoption?”

“Dear Lucy,” replied her brother, with an impressive earnestness, that

re–assured while it awed her, “there has been so much of the mysterious

and merciful working of Providence in the history of Prairie–bird, that

I am sure you will forgive me when I ask you to wait a few hours before

all is explained to you. Meanwhile, receive her, for these few hours,

as a guest; if at the end of them you do not love her as a sister, my

prophetic spirit errs widely of its mark.”

Lucy saw well how deeply her brother’s feelings were moved, and she

prayed inwardly that her expected guest might fulfil his prophecy.

It must be owned, however, that there lurked a doubt in her heart

whether it could be possible that a girl, reared in an Indian camp,

could be to her a sister, or could be worthy of that brother, whom

her fond partiality clothed with attributes beyond those which belong

to ordinary mortals. Her affection for Reginald would not permit her

to let him perceive these doubts; but fearful of betraying them by

her manner, she left him in the room destined for Prairie–bird, while

she hastened to aid the indefatigable Aunt Mary in some of the other

preparations that were going forward; the colonel having given orders

that the whole party, of whatever rank or station, should be hospitably

entertained.

Reginald was no sooner left alone, than casting his eyes around the

room, a sudden idea occurred to him of preparing an agreeable surprise

for his betrothed on her entrance to her new domicile. He remembered

having seen below, in the drawing–room, a Spanish guitar, which he lost

no time in securing; and having taken it from the case, he ascertained

that it was a very fine instrument, and that the strings were in very

tolerable order. He now laid it upon the sofa–table in her room,

placing beside it a slip of paper which he took from his pocket, and

which seemed from its soiled and crumpled condition, to have suffered

not a little from the various wettings to which, during the past months

of travel, it had been exposed. Still he lingered in the room, noting

with satisfaction the various trifling luxuries and comforts which his

sister had prepared for Prairie–bird, when suddenly he caught the sound

of a bugle–note, in which he instantly recognised the signal to be

given by Baptiste of the party’s approach.

How did his heart beat within him as he flew to welcome them! yet were

its throbbing pulsations like the quiet of sleep compared to those of

the maiden, who now drew near the home of her infancy. Ethelston had

leaped to the ground, and half supported her in the saddle with one

hand, while with the other he checked Nekimi, whose impatient neigh

betrayed his remembrance of the corn–bin, and the well–known stall.

“Edward—Edward, I cannot go through this!” said the half–fainting

girl. “My thoughts are all confused—my brain turns round—see there

is the house! I cannot remember it. O, stay a minute—only one minute,

that I may recover myself!”

“Dear Evy!” said her brother, looking up while she leaned

affectionately upon his shoulder, “’tis natural that your thoughts

should be mingled and confused, but let them not be gloomy _now_! The

house is so changed within the last ten years, that had you built it

yourself you could not recognise it in its present state. Already I can

distinguish dear Aunt Mary’s white cap and apron; and Lucy, longing to

embrace a sister; the gray locks of the stately colonel, and one beside

him, who will not be the last to welcome Prairie–bird!”

“I can distinguish nothing, Edward; there is a mist before my eyes: but

it is a mist of love and happiness unspeakable!”

“Courage, dear Evy!” said her brother in a cheering tone, “let them

not think that Prairie–bird draws near with slow, unwilling step, and

that her heart regrets the change from the prairie to the scenes of her

childhood, and the home of her choice!”

“Edward!” said his sister reproachfully, while a tear started in her

eye, and the blood mounted to her temples; then, shaking back the dark

locks from her glowing cheeks, as if she would thereby shake off the

temporary weakness by which she had been overcome, she added, “Remount

your horse; we have yet some hundred feet to go; if Prairie–bird draws

near with slow, unwilling step, it shall be Nekimi’s fault, and not her

own!”

So saying, she shook the loosened rein upon the neck of the fiery

steed, which, bounding forward with a spring that would have unseated a

less practised rider, bore her swiftly to the door, where he stopped,

obedient to her delicate hand, and champed, and frothed, and snorted,

as if proud alike of his burden, and of his own matchless symmetry of

form.

Never had her radiant beauty so thrilled through Reginald’s every nerve

as at this moment, when, lightly touching his proferred arm, she sprang

to the ground; her cheek glowing with agitation, and her eye moistened

by contending emotions, she interchanged with him one silent look of

conscious love, and then turned, with gentle grace, to receive the

greeting of Colonel Brandon.

We have before said that he had been far from pleased with the

contemplated alliance of his son, and had made up his mind to receive

Prairie–bird with cold and studied courtesy, nor to treat her otherwise

than as an ordinary guest, until he should have satisfied himself

respecting her birth and connexions; but, in spite of himself, these

resolutions vanished before the irresistible attractions of her manner

and bearing, so that, instead of only extending his hand, as he had

proposed, he imprinted a parental kiss upon her forehead, saying,

“Welcome, heartily and truly welcome to Mooshanne!”

She tried to speak, but she looked on the half–remembered features of

Reginald’s father, and her collected strength began to fail. At this

moment she was greeted by Lucy, whom she already knew to be the chosen

of her brother’s heart.

“Prairie–bird must learn to love her sister!” whispered she, folding

her in an affectionate embrace.

“_Learn_, Lucy!” replied Prairie–bird, whose tears could no longer be

controlled; “Learn! can a few years have so changed our faces and our

hearts, that Lucy and Evy must now learn to love each other?”

Before the astonished girl could reply, Aunt Mary, darting forward

with frantic haste, exclaimed, “What voice is that?” then catching

Prairie–bird by the arm, examined with wild intensity every line of

her countenance. As she looked, the tears gathered in her own eyes,

her frame trembled with agitation, and she fell upon her neck, saying,

“’Tis she—’tis my poor brother’s long–lost child!”

Lucy’s heart told her that it was so indeed: Colonel Brandon was

overcome with astonishment; but he read in the looks of Reginald and

Ethelston that the lost treasure was restored; and as memory retraced

in the features of Prairie–bird those of his attached and lamented

friend, he too was unmanned; and grasping Ethelston’s hand, wrung it

with an emotion beyond the power of words.

The news spread like wildfire throughout the house, that Captain

Ethelston’s sister was returned; and Lucy was obliged to run with all

speed to her mother’s room to prevent a sudden shock of joy that might

affect her weakly nerves. Is it possible to describe or imagine the

transports of the succeeding hour in that happy circle! or the caresses

showered upon Prairie–bird! What word would the pen or tongue employ?

“Congratulations?” As well might one attempt to represent Niagara by

the water poured from a pitcher!

We will trust that hour to the reader’s heart, and will suppose it

past, and that Lucy, with still tearful eyes, and her arm still round

her recovered sister’s neck, was leading her from the room where she

had just knelt, to receive Mrs. Brandon’s maternal kiss, when in

passing a half–open door, Lucy said, “Evy, that is your brother’s room;

but he is not in it, he is still on the lawn.”

“Oh! I must look into Edward’s room,” exclaimed Prairie–bird;

and opening the door, she entered, followed by Lucy. A rifle, a

fowling–piece, and a fishing–rod stood in one corner; over them were

ranged several pairs of pistols, and two or three cutlasses, apparently

of foreign workmanship; in the opposite corner, near the window, was a

globe, by the side of which stood a case filled with naval charts; on

the other side of the room was ranged a row of shelves well stored with

books, and the writing–table in the centre was covered with papers,

all neatly tied and docketed, as he had left them at his last departure.

Prairie–bird’s eye wandered with a certain degree of interest over

all these indications of her brother’s habits, until it rested upon a

small portrait, hung over the chimney–piece. It represented a man of

middle age and stature, and although the painting was scarcely above

mediocrity as a work of art, the expression of the countenance was

strikingly open and benevolent. Prairie–bird gazed upon it, until she

thought that the mild orbs upon the inanimate canvass returned her

affectionate gaze. With clasped hands and beating heart, she stood

awhile silent, and then sinking on her knees, without removing her eyes

from the object upon which they rested, she murmured, in a whisper

scarcely audible, “My father!”

It was indeed the portrait of his lamented friend, that Colonel Brandon

had kindly placed in Ethelston’s room, a circumstance which had escaped

Lucy’s memory at the moment of her entering it.

Stooping over her kneeling companion, she kissed her forehead, saying,

“Evy, I will leave you for a few minutes to commune with the memory of

the honoured dead; you will find me in the vestibule below.” So saying,

she gently closed the door, and left the room.

In less than a quarter of an hour Prairie–bird rejoined her friend;

and though the traces of recent emotion were still to be observed, she

had recovered her composure, and her countenance wore an expression of

grateful happiness.

“Come, Evy,” said her young hostess, “I must now show you your own

room; the cage is not half pretty enough for so sweet a bird, but it

opens upon the flower–garden; so you can escape when you will, and your

dear good Paul Müller is your next neighbour.”

An exclamation of delight broke from the lips of Prairie–bird as she

entered and looked around the tented apartment, and all its little

comforts, prepared by Lucy’s taste and affection. Fortunately, the

day was beautiful, and the casement–windows being wide open, her eye

caught, beyond the flower–garden, a view of the distant mass of forest,

with its thousand varied autumnal tints, reposing in the golden light

of the declining sun.

“Oh, it is too, too beautiful!” said Prairie–bird, throwing her arms

around Lucy’s neck; “I can scarcely believe that this is not all a

dream!”

“There have indeed been some fairies here, or some such beings as dwell

in dreams, Evy,” said Lucy, whose eyes fell upon the guitar lying on

the table; “for I left this room a short time ago, and this instrument

was not here then. Who can have brought it?—can you play upon it, Evy?”

“A little,” replied Prairie–bird, colouring.

“And see,” continued Lucy, “here is a scrap of paper beside it, so

soiled and dirty that I should have put it in the fire had I seen it

before; do you know the hand–writing, Evy?” As Lucy said this, she

looked archly up in her friend’s face, now glowing with a rosy blush.

“Well, you need not answer, for methinks I know it myself; may I unfold

the paper, and read its contents? What, no answer yet? then I must take

your silence for consent.” Thus saying, she opened the paper, while

Prairie–bird, blushing still more deeply, glanced at it with longing,

but half–averted eyes. “Verses, I declare!” exclaimed Lucy. “Why, Evy,

what magic art have you employed to transform my Nimrod brother, the

wild huntsman of the west, the tamer of horses, and the slayer of deer,

into a poet?”

She then proceeded to read, in a voice of deep feeling, the following

stanzas, which, although without any pretensions to poetical merit

in themselves, found such acceptance with their present warm–hearted

and partial judges, that, at the conclusion of their perusal, the two

girls fell upon each other’s neck, and remained locked in a silent and

affectionate embrace.

_On overhearing Prairie–bird’s Evening Hymn_, “HALLOWED BE

THY NAME.”[92]

“Yes, hallowed be His Holy Name

Who formed thee what thou art!

Whose breath inspired the heav’nly flame

Now kindled in thy heart!

Whose love o’erflowing in thy breast

These vocal raptures stirred—

Whose angels hover round thy nest,

Thou orphan Prairie–bird!

“Methinks, I see that guardian throng

Still mirrored in thy face!

Thy voice hath stol’n their angel–song,

Thy form their angel–grace.

Oh breathe once more that plaintive strain,

Whose every tone and word,

Deep–treasured in my heart and brain

Shall dwell, sweet Prairie–bird!”

_Delaware and Osage Camp,

Tuesday Night._—R. B.

On the following day, the family party at Mooshanne were assembled at

luncheon under a large tree on the banks of the Muskingum, from beneath

the shade of which the gables and irregular chimneys of the house were

seen through occasional openings in Lucy’s shrubbery; while the deep

river flowed silently onward, bearing away in its tranquil course the

leafy tribute of autumn showered upon it by the light breath of the

western wind.

Already had Prairie–bird visited the spot where her father’s house

had stood, the site of which was only to be recognised by a few heaps

of stones and blackened timbers, over which the luxuriant mosses and

lichens with which that region abounds had long since cast their mantle

of green, while a few apple, plum, and peach trees, unprotected by

hedge or fence still showed “where once the garden smiled.”

Colonel Brandon had not thought it advisable to rebuild either the

house or the offices after their destruction by the savages, but had

contented himself with a careful administration of his late friend’s

property, leaving it to his son Edward to choose a site for his

residence at a later period. Neither must it be supposed that our

heroine had omitted to pay a morning visit to Nekimi, who now knew her

voice and obeyed her call like an affectionate and faithful dog. As

soon as she came to the stable, into which he had been turned without

halter or fastening of any kind, the generous animal, after saluting

her with a neigh of recognition, rubbed his broad forehead against her

shoulder, and playfully nibbled the grains off the head of maize which

she held out to him; but even that he did not venture to do until he

had acquired a claim to it by holding one of his feet up and pawing

with it until she let it rest in her delicate hand. It must assuredly

have been by mere accident that Reginald entered while she was thus

employed, and reminded her how he had, with prescient hope, foretold

this very scene amongst the rocky cliffs of the far distant Andes.

Well did Prairie–bird remember the spot, and every syllable of that

prophecy; neither did she affect to have forgotten it, but with a sweet

blush held out one hand to her lover, while the other still played with

the silken tresses of Nekimi’s mane.

What a delightful occupation is it to caress a dumb favourite by the

side of one beloved, when the words of endearing tenderness lavished

on the unconscious pet are the outpourings of a heart sensitively

shrinking from addressing them directly to their real object! And if

it be true, that many a sleek and glossy spaniel has thus received

the caress intended for its owner, how much more natural was it that

Reginald and Prairie–bird should find pleasure in bestowing their

caresses on a noble animal, endeared to them by so many associations;

for while she remembered how often Nekimi had borne him in the chase

and in the fight, he was not likely to forget with how true and

unwearied a step the faithful steed had carried his betrothed over many

hundred miles of mountain and of prairie; and even now, as her hand

rested in his, both by a conscious sympathy thought of Nekimi’s former

generous lord, and breathed a sigh over War–Eagle’s untimely fate.

To return to our party assembled round the luncheon–table under the

venerable tree. The first tumult of joy had subsided, and was succeeded

by a feeling of more assured happiness—“a sober certainty of waking

bliss,” which pervaded every breast. Aunt Mary contemplated her lovely

niece with looks of the fondest affection, recalling in her sweet smile

and in the expression of her features the beloved brother, whose loss

she had with deep but chastened grief for many years deplored; for a

few minutes there was a general silence; one of those pauses in which

each member of the party pondered, as if by a common sympathy, on the

wonderful events which had led to their reunion. Lucy was the first to

break it.

“Reginald,” said she, “you related to us yester–evening the

commencement of your homeward journey, and how the Delaware called

‘Stony–heart’ was permitted by the Osages to return unhurt to your

camp: you must resume the thread of your tale where you left it, and

tell us especially how and where you parted from dear Wingenund, to

whom we all owe a debt of gratitude greater than we can ever pay.”

“That do we indeed, Lucy,” replied her brother, earnestly; “fortunate,

too, is, it that deeds of generous self–devotion like those done by

Wingenund reward themselves, and that a debt of gratitude to one whom

we love is a treasure, not a load upon the breast. You remember how a

writer, who used to be a favourite with you, has expressed it:

‘A grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once

Indebted and discharged.’”

“What a beautiful thought!” exclaimed Prairie–bird, eagerly; “tell me

the book wherein I may find it written. Such a lovely flower as that

cannot surely grow alone; there must be others of similar beauty near

it.”

“There are, indeed; fresh, fragrant, and abundant, as on a western

prairie in June; ‘Paradise Lost’ is the garden wherein they grow; many

of the descriptions contained in it are among the most beautiful in our

language; I hope ere long to read them to and with you, dearest,” he

added in a whisper, intended for her ear alone: “there are some lines

descriptive of Eve as she first appeared to Adam, which always seemed

to me exaggerated, until you taught my eye to see and my heart to feel

their truth.”

With a deep blush Prairie–bird cast her dark eyes upon the ground,

while Reginald continued aloud, again addressing himself to Lucy.

“Our own adventures after we crossed the Platte river are scarcely

worth relating; for although we had a few alarms from wandering

parties of Pawnees, Omahaws, and Dahcotahs, our band was too strong

and too well armed to fear anything from their open attack; and the

ever–watchful care and sagacity of Wingenund left them no chance of

surprising us.

“The warlike spirit and experience of his noble brother seemed to

have descended, like Elijah’s mantle, upon the youth; and feeling the

responsibility that attached to him as leader of the party, he allowed

himself little rest either by day or by night, setting the watches

himself, and visiting them repeatedly at intervals to ascertain that

they were on the alert. He always came to our camp–fire in the evening,

and I observed that he daily became more interested in the conversation

of our worthy friend the missionary, and more anxious to understand

the principles and truths of Christianity; in so doing he was not only

following the bent of his own amiable and gentle disposition, but he

felt a secret pleasure in the remembrance that he was fulfilling the

last wishes of his dying brother. I dare say Paul Müller would now

tell you that he would be thankful indeed if the average of professing

Christians understood and practised the precepts of their creed as

faithfully as Wingenund.”

“That would I in truth, my son,” replied the missionary; “nevertheless

I cannot claim the honour of having been the instrument of the

conversion of the Delaware youth or his brother; it was effected, under

the blessing of Heaven, by the patient, zealous, and affectionate

exertion of Prairie–bird.”

“Nay, my dear father, you do yourself grievous wrong in so speaking,”

said Prairie–bird, reproachfully; “and even were it as you say, to whom

do I owe every thing that I know? whom have I to thank that I was not

left in the dark and hapless condition of the females by whom I have so

long been surrounded?”

The tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke, and she pressed

affectionately to her lips the hand which her adopted father extended

to her.

“Yes, my sister speaks only the truth,” said Ethelston, addressing the

missionary in a voice of deep emotion; “we all feel how far beyond the

power of words we are indebted to you for all that you have done for

her, and we only trust that some opportunity may be afforded us of

showing a deep, sincere, and permanent gratitude that we are unable to

express.”

Colonel Brandon, and every one of the family circle rose, as by a

common impulse, and one by one confirmed by a silent pressure of

the hand, the sentiment expressed by Ethelston. The venerable man,

uncovering his head, and allowing the breeze to waive to and fro his

silver locks, looked for a minute upon the kindred group before him,

and thus addressed them:—

“Think you not, my friends, that this scene, these happy faces, and

this happy home, might well reward any degree or duration of earthly

toil? But toil there has been none, for the teaching and nurture of

this sweet child has been from the first a labour of love; and the only

pain or regret that she has ever caused me, is that which I now feel,

when I recollect, that I must resign her into the hands of her natural

guardians, and return to my appointed task, the occasional troubles of

which will not any more be sweetened by her presence, nor its vexations

be soothed by her affection. Such, however, is the will of Him whom I

serve, and far be it from me to repine.”

“Nay,” interrupted Reginald, eagerly, “you will not leave us yet. After

the fatigues and trials of this summer, you will surely give yourself

some repose.”

“My son, I would gladly dwell awhile in this pleasant and happy

abode; but I must not leave Wingenund to contend unaided against the

difficulties by which his present path will be beset, the doubts and

temptations which may assail him from within, and the sneers or scorn

he may experience from the more proud and violent spirits of his tribe.”

“There is, however, one service that you have promised to render before

you take your departure from Mooshanne. Perhaps there are others here

beside myself who will urge you to its faithful performance.”

This bold speech threw the whole party into momentary confusion.

Prairie–bird, pretending to whisper to the missionary, hid her blushing

face upon his shoulder; the conscious eyes of Ethelston and Lucy met;

while Aunt Mary bestowed upon Colonel Brandon one of those knowing

smiles with which elderly ladies usually think fit to accompany

matrimonial allusions.

The awkwardness was of short duration; for the mutual feelings of the

parties betrothed were no secret to any present; and Reginald was not

of a disposition to endure unnecessary delays; so he drew Prairie–bird

with gentle force towards her brother, and still retaining her hand in

his own, he said, “Ethelston, will you, as guardian of your sister,

consent to my retaining this fair hand? Beware how you reply, lest I

should use my influence against you in a request which you may make to

my father.”

Had Ethelston been ignorant of his sister’s feelings, he might have

read them in the expression of her blushing countenance; but being

already in full possession of them, and meeting a smile of approval

from Colonel Brandon, he placed his sister’s hand within that of

Reginald, saying, “Take her, Reginald, and be to her, as a husband,

true, faithful, and affectionate, as you have been to me as a friend.”

It will not be supposed that Ethelston waited long for the consent of

either her father or brother to his union with Lucy; and Paul Müller

agreed to remain at Mooshanne one week, at the end of which time the

double ceremony was to take place.

While these interesting arrangements were in progress, the noise of

wheels, and the tramp of many horses, announced the approach of a large

party; upon which Colonel Brandon, accompanied by the missionary and

Aunt Mary, went to see who the new comers might be, leaving the two

young couples to follow at their leisure. The Colonel was not long kept

in suspense as to the quality of his visitors, for before reaching

the house, he heard the broad accent of David Muir’s voice addressing

Reginald’s attendant.

“Thank ye, thank ye, Maister Parrot,” for so did he pronounce the

Frenchman’s name; “if ye’ll just haud the uncanny beast by the head,

Jessie can step on the wheel an’ be down in a crack. There, I tauld ye

so; it’s a’ right noo; and Jessie, lass, ye need na’ look sae frighted,

for your new gown’s nae rumpled, an’ Hairy will tak’ the bit parcel

into the house for ye.”

“Indeed, father, I am not frightened,” said Jessie, settling the side

curls under her bonnet upon her glowing cheek, and giving the parcel to

Henry Gregson, whose hands had for the moment encircled her waist as

she jumped from the wheel to the ground. Several vehicles of various

descriptions followed, containing the spoils and baggage brought back

from the prairies, together with Pierre, Bearskin, and all the members

of the party who had accompanied Reginald and Ethelston, and who now

came to offer their congratulation on the events attending their safe

return; for the story of the wonderful restoration of Ethelston’s

sister to her family had already spread throughout the neighbourhood,

receiving, as it went, various additions and embellishments from the

lovers of the marvellous.

Meanwhile, Jessie Muir had gathered from Monsieur Perrot sufficient

information respecting the true state of affairs, to set her mind at

rest with respect to Reginald Brandon’s intentions; and encouraged

by the interest which the Colonel and Lucy had always taken in her

prospects, she felt a secret assurance that they would prove powerful

auxiliaries in advocating the cause of Harry Gregson, and reconciling

her parents to his suit. Neither was she mistaken in her calculation;

for while the preparation for the entertainment of the numerous guests

was going forward, Colonel Brandon, after a brief consultation with

Ethelston, called David Muir aside, and opened to him the subject of

the youth’s attachment to his daughter.

It is difficult to say whether the surprise or the wrath of the

merchant were the greater on hearing this intelligence, which was

not only a death–blow to his own ambitious hopes, but was, in his

estimation, an act of unpardonable presumption on the part of young

Gregson.

“Colonel, ye’re surely no in airnest! it’s no possible! Jessie, come

here, ye hizzie!” said he, stamping with anger, and raising his voice

to a louder pitch.

It happened that Jessie, being engaged in conversation with Monsieur

Perrot, did not hear his call, and the Colonel took the opportunity

of leading him a little further from the house, and entreating his

calm attention to the explanations which he had to give. David walked

on in silence, his face still red with anger, and his heart secretly

trembling within him when he thought of his next interview with Dame

Christie.

The Colonel, who knew both the weak and the good points of his

companion’s character, dexterously availing himself of both, effected

in a few minutes a considerable change in his views and feelings on

the subject. He represented to him that Ethelston would now have a

house and establishment of his own; that his property was already very

considerable, and, with prudent management, would receive gradual

augmentation; and that from his attachment to Gregson, it was his

intention to make the honest mate’s son the managing agent of his

concerns; to facilitate which purpose he, Colonel Brandon, proposed to

advance a few thousand dollars, and to establish the young man in a

suitable house in Marietta.

“David,” continued the Colonel, “you and I have long been acquainted;

and I do not think you ever yet knew me to give you counsel likely to

injure your welfare or your prospects, and you may trust me that I

would not willingly do so now. The young people are attached to each

other; they may certainly be separated by force; but their hearts are

already united. Harry is an honest, industrious, enterprising lad; he

will start in the world with fair prospects; every year will lend him

experience; and as you and I are both of us on the wrong side of fifty,

we may be very glad a few summers hence to rest from active business,

and to have about us those to whom we can entrust our affairs with

well–placed confidence.”

There was much in this speech that tended to soothe, as well as to

convince, the merchant. He was gratified by the familiar and friendly

expressions employed by the Colonel, while his shrewd understanding

took in at a rapid glance the prospective advantages that might accrue

to the agent managing the extensive affairs of the families of Brandon

and Ethelston; added to this, he was at heart a fond and affectionate

father; and the symptoms of irritation began to disappear from his

countenance; yet he scarcely knew how to reply, and before even he

meant to speak, the name of his gude–wife escaped from his lips.

“Leave me to manage Dame Christie,” said the Colonel, smiling.

“Ethelston shall go into Marietta himself, and break the subject to

her, founding his request upon his regard for the elder Gregson, who

has served under him so faithfully ever since his boyhood. Come, my

good friend, let us join the party: I do not press you for any reply

now; but if you should detect a stolen glance of affection between the

young people, do not be angry with Jessie, but think of the day when

you first went forth, dressed in your best, to win a smile from Dame

Christie.”

“Ah, Colonel, ye’re speakin’ of auld lang syne now!” said the merchant,

whose ill–humour was no longer proof against the friendly suggestions

of his patron, though he muttered to himself, in an under–tone, as they

returned towards the house, “I ken now why Maister Hairy was aye sae

fond o’ the store, when the ither lads were fain to win’ awa to hunt in

the woods, or to fish in the river! Weel a weel, he’s a douce callant,

an’ the lassie might aiblins gae farther an’ fair waur!”

The preparations for the entertainment were still in progress, under

the superintendence of Aunt Mary and Monsieur Perrot; the latter having

already doffed his travelling attire, and assumed, in his jacket of

snowy white, the command of the kitchen, when Harry Gregson, who had

opened the Marietta post–bag, put a letter into the hands of Reginald

Brandon, which he instantly knew, by the bold, careless hand–writing,

to be from his uncle Marmaduke. He broke the seal, and read as

follows:—

“Shirley Hall, July 15.

“Dear Reginald,

“I have very lately received your letter, announcing your intention

of making a hunting excursion in the west, in pursuit of bears, elk,

wolves, Indians, and other wild beasts. I hope you’ll come safe back,

with a score or two of their outlandish brushes. After you left me, I

began to feel very uncomfortable, and did not know what was the matter,

for I was cold by night, and sulky and out of sorts by day. Parson

Williams took me in hand; but though we drank many a bottle of old

port together, and played drafts, and attended several road–meetings

(which you know was an amusement I had never tried before), it was all

no use, and I began to think that I was on a down–hill road to the

next world; but, somehow or other, it happened that I dropped in now

and then to the parsonage, and whenever I had talked half an hour with

Margaret (you remember Margaret, the parson’s daughter), I felt in a

better humour with myself and all the world. So matters went on, until

one day I mustered courage to ask her to come up to the hall, and change

her name to Shirley. She did so, and your old uncle writes with the

halter round his neck. When I married, Perkins came down from London

(the son of my father’s solicitor) with a dozen boxes of parchment,

in a post–chaise; and made me sign my name at least a score of times;

after which I desired him to draw up two more deeds for my pleasure.

These were for transferring to yourself, and to your sister, a legacy

left me a few years ago by an old relation whom I had never seen, and

whose money I did not want. The amount is forty thousand pounds; so

there will be twenty thousand pounds apiece for you, and you may set

to work and clear (as you used to call it) an estate as big as the old

county of Warwick. I explained what I was about to Meg, telling her, at

the same time, that it was a debt that I owed you in conscience, having

considered you for so many years as my heir, until her plaguing black

eyes made a fool of me, and threatened me with the prospect of brats of

my own. For this she pulled my ears twice; first for calling her Meg

instead of Greta, by which name she was known at the parsonage; and

secondly, for talking about the brats, a subject which always makes her

cheeks redden. But I had no idea of putting the reins into her hand so

early in the day, and I told her outright, that the first boy should be

called Reginald, to please me; and the second might be called Greto,

to please her; and the third might be called Marmaduke to please the

family: on which, without waiting to hear any more, she bolted, and left

me master of the field. I have just mentioned this, in order that you,

if ever you get into a similar scrape, may know how to behave yourself.

Mr. Perkins has completed his deeds of assignment, and has received my

instructions to transfer the money to America by the next vessel, in

bills upon Messrs. Powell and Co., of Philadelphia; and though I have

more than once found you as proud and as straight–laced as a turkey–cock

where money was concerned, I know that you dare not, you dog!—I say you

dare not refuse, either for yourself or your sister, this token of the

affectionate regard of your uncle,

“MARMADUKE SHIRLEY.”

The flush that came over Reginald’s open countenance as he read this

epistle from his eccentric but warm–hearted relative, did not escape

the watchful eye of Lucy, who was standing near him, and she anxiously

inquired whether it contained any unpleasant intelligence.

“Read it, Lucy, and judge for yourself,” he replied, while he went to

communicate its contents to Colonel Brandon.

We will leave to the reader’s imagination the mirth and festivity

that reigned at Mooshanne during that happy evening; how Pierre,

Baptiste, and Bearskin talked over their adventures of ancient and

of recent date; how David Muir’s grey eye twinkled when he detected

Jessie exchanging a stolen glance with Harry Gregson; how the cheers

rang through the forest when the Colonel proposed the health of

Prairie–bird, the long–lost child of his dearest friend, the bride of

his only son; and how Aunt Mary’s sweetmeats and preserves adorned

her snowy table–cloth; and how Monsieur Perrot had contrived, as if

by magic, to load the hospitable board with every swimming, flying,

and running eatable creature to be found in the neighbourhood, dressed

in every known variety of form. The healths of Ethelston and Colonel

Brandon had not been forgotten; and the latter, observing a shade of

melancholy upon his son’s brow, said to him aloud, “Reginald, you have

not yet given your friends a toast, they claim it of you now.”

Thus addressed, Reginald, reading in the dark eyes of his betrothed,

feelings kindred to his own, said in a voice of deep and undisguised

emotion, “My friends, you will not blame me if I interrupt for a moment

the current of your mirth, but it would be doing equal injustice,

I am sure, to your feelings and to my own, were we to part without

a tribute to the memory of one, now no more, to whose self–devoted

heroism Ethelston owes the life of a sister, and I the dearest treasure

I possess on earth: The memory of my Indian brother, War–Eagle, late

Chief of the Delawares!”

The party rose in silence, every head was uncovered, a tear trembled on

the long lashes of Prairie–bird’s downcast eye, and Baptiste muttered

to himself, yet loud enough to be heard by all present, as he reversed

his glass, “Here’s to the memory of the boldest hand, the fleetest

foot, and the truest heart among the sons of the Lenapé!”

As the day was now drawing to a close, David Muir returned to Marietta,

Ethelston having promised to pay a visit to Dame Christie on the

following day. The merchant was so elated by the day’s festivities,

that he winked his grey twinkling eye at Jessie, forgetting at the

moment that she knew nothing of the conversation that had passed

between the Colonel and himself; and when the youth, in escorting

them homeward, warned David of sundry holes and stumps upon the road,

thereby enabling them to avoid them, he poked his elbow into Jessie’s

side, saying, “He’s a canny lad, yon Hairy Gregson; what think ye,

Jessie?”

She thought that her father was crazy, but she said nothing; and a

certain vague sensation of hope came over her, that all was going more

smoothly for her wishes than she had dared to expect.

For the ensuing week the whole village of Marietta was enlivened by the

preparations for the twofold wedding at Mooshanne; silks, ribbons, and

trinkets without end were bought, and there was not a settlement within

fifty miles in which the miraculous return of Reginald Brandon’s bride

was not the theme of discourse and wonder. Paul Müller became in a few

days so universally beloved at Mooshanne, that all the members of the

family shared in the regret with which Prairie–bird contemplated his

approaching departure; and as they became more intimately acquainted

with him, and drew from him the various information with which his

mind was stored, they no longer marvelled at the education that he had

found means, even in the wilderness, to bestow upon his adopted child.

Colonel Brandon was extremely desirous to make him some present in

token of the gratitude which he, in common with all his family, felt

towards the worthy missionary, and spoke more than once with Reginald

on the subject: but the latter stopped him, saying, “My dear father,

leave us to manage that, we have entered into a secret conspiracy, and

must entreat you not to forbid our carrying it into execution.”

The colonel smiled, and promised obedience, knowing that those in whose

hands the matter rested were more familiar with the good man’s wants

and wishes than he could be himself.

At length the week, long as it may have appeared to Reginald and

Ethelston, passed away. The morning which united them to those whom

they had respectively loved through so many trials and dangers,

arrived; and Paul Müller, having joined the hand of his beloved pupil

to the chosen of her heart, prepared to take his leave, when she knelt

to him for his blessing. With faltering voice and tearful eyes he gave

it; she could not speak, but pointing to a small box that stood upon an

adjoining table, with a letter addressed to him beside it, yielded to

the gentle force with which her bridegroom drew her from the room.

Taking up the letter, the missionary read as follows:—

“Oh, my beloved preceptor and father, let me once again thank you for

all your goodness and affectionate care! for to you, next to my Father

in heaven, do I owe all my present happiness, and all my knowledge of

that Saviour who is my everlasting hope and trust. My heart would sink

under the thought of being separated from you, if I did not know that

you are returning to my dear young brother Wingenund, to guide and

assist him in the good path that he has chosen; tell him again and again

how dearly we all love him, and that day after day, and night after

night, he shall be remembered in his sister’s prayers.

“I am sure you will not forsake him, but will give him your advice in

teaching his Lenapé brothers, who have laid aside the tomahawk, to

cultivate the earth, and to raise corn and other nourishing food for

their little ones. You will also continue your favourite and blessed

work of spreading among them, and the surrounding tribes, the light of

the gospel. Edward and Reginald tell me that for these objects nearest

your heart, gold and silver can be usefully applied, and they desire me

to entreat your acceptance of this box containing a thousand dollars,

one half to be expended as you may think best for spreading Christianity

among our Indian brethren, and the other half in seeds, working–tools,

and other things necessary for Wingenund and those who dwell with him.

“I hope you will come and see us at least once in every year, to tell

us of the health and welfare of Wingenund. If you can bring him with

you, the sight of him will make glad our eyes and hearts.

“Farewell, dear father. Forgive the faults in this letter, remembering

that although I have read so much to you and with you, I have had little

practice in writing, and neither Reginald nor Edward will alter or

correct one word for me; they both smile and say it will do very well;

perhaps it may, for, without it, you know already how dearly you are

loved and honoured by your affectionate and ever grateful,

“PRAIRIE–BIRD.”

SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER.

Supposing the gentle reader to have taken sufficient interest in

Prairie–bird to be desirous of learning something of the after fortunes

of herself and those connected with her, we subjoin a letter which

accidentally came into our possession, and which appears to have been

written a few years subsequent to the date of the conclusion of the

preceding tale.

“St. Louis, June 12th, 18—.

“Dear Ethelston,

“I have just returned from my long–promised visit to Wingenund, whose

village is situated, as you know, not far from the southern banks of the

Missouri, about one hundred miles beyond St. Charles’s. I found there

our respected and venerable friend Paul Müller, whose intercourse with

Wingenund and his band has been for some years almost uninterrupted,

and productive of the most striking improvement, both in the village

itself, and in the character and manners of its inhabitants. Several

small settlements of Delawares are in the neighbourhood, all of whom

acknowledge Wingenund as their chief; and most of them have availed

themselves, more or less, of the teaching of the exemplary missionary.

“The village is situated on the side of a hill, gently sloping to the

south, along the base of which flows a considerable stream, which, after

watering the valley below, falls into the Missouri at a distance of a

few miles. The huts or cottages occupied by the Delawares are built

chiefly of wood; and each having a garden attached to it, they present

a very neat and comfortable appearance. That of Wingenund is larger

than the rest, having on one side a compartment reserved entirely for

the use of the missionary; and on the other a large oblong room, in

which are held their devotional meetings; the latter serves also the

purpose of a school–room for the education of the children. You would be

surprised at the progress made by them, and by many of the adults, in

reading, as well as in agriculture and other useful craft; and I must

own that, when my eye fell upon their ploughs, hammers, saws, chisels,

and other utensils, and then rested on the Bibles, a copy of which is in

every dwelling, I felt a deep and gratifying conviction, that our annual

present to Wingenund has been productive of blessings quite beyond our

most sanguine expectations.

“I need scarcely tell you that his reception of me was that of a man

welcoming a long–absent brother. He fell on my neck, and held me for

some time embraced without speaking; and when he inquired about his

dear sister Olitipa, his voice resumed the soft and almost feminine

tones that I formerly noticed in it, when he was under the influence of

strong emotion. In outward appearance he is much changed since you last

saw him, having grown both in breadth and height; indeed, I am not sure

whether he is not now almost as fine a specimen of his race as was his

noble brother, whom I never can mention or think of without a sigh of

affectionate regret. Yet, in his ordinary bearing, it is evident that

Wingenund, from his peaceful habits and avocations, has lost something

of that free and fearless air that distinguished his warrior brother.

I have learnt, however, from Baptiste (who, as you know, insisted upon

accompanying me on this expedition), that the fire of former days is

subdued, not extinguished within him, as you will perceive from the

following anecdote, picked up by our friend the guide from some of his

old acquaintance in the village.

“It appears that last autumn a band of Indians, who had given up their

lands somewhere near the head waters of the Illinois river, and were

moving westward for a wider range and better hunting–ground, passed

through this district; and seeing the peaceful habits and occupations

of the Delawares settled hereabouts, thought that they might be injured

and plundered with impunity. They accordingly came one night to a small

settlement only a few miles from here, and carried off a few score of

horses and cattle, burning at the same time the dwelling of one of the

Delawares, and killing a young man who attempted to defend his father’s

property. A messenger having brought this intelligence to Wingenund, he

collected a score of his most trusty followers, and taking care that

they were well armed, went upon the trail of the marauders. He soon came

up with them; and their numbers being more than double his own, they

haughtily refused all parley and redress, telling him, that if he did

not withdraw his band they would destroy it, as they had destroyed the

young Delaware and his house on the preceding night.

“This insolent speech, uttered by the leader of the party, a powerful

and athletic Indian, aroused the indignation of Wingenund; his eyes

flashed fire, and his followers saw that the warrior spirit of his early

days was rekindled within him. Ordering them to unsling and level their

rifles, but not to fire until he gave the word, he drew near to the

leader of the party, and in a stern voice desired him to restore the

plunder and give up the murderer of the Delaware youth. The reply was

a shout of defiance; and a blow levelled at his head, which he parried

with his rifle, and, with a heavy stroke from its butt, levelled his

antagonist on the ground; then, swift as a panther’s spring, he leaped

upon the fallen Indian’s chest, and held a dagger to his throat.

“Panic–struck by the discomfiture of their leader, and by the resolute

and determined attitude of the Delawares, the marauders entreated that

his life might be spared, promising to give all the redress required;

and on the same day Wingenund returned to his village, bringing with

him the recovered horses and cattle, and the Indian charged with the

murder, whom he would not allow to be punished according to the Delaware

notions of retributive justice, but sent him to be tried at a circuit

court then sitting near St. Charles’s. This exploit has completely

established our young friend’s authority among his people, some of

whom were, if the truth must be told, rather disposed to despise the

peaceful occupations that he encouraged, and even to hint that his

intercourse with the missionary had quenched all manly spirit within

him. You will be surprised to hear that he has married Lita, who was for

a long while so deeply attached to his brother: even had she been the

wife of the latter, this would have been as conformable to Indian as to

ancient Jewish usage. She now speaks English intelligibly, and asked me

a thousand questions about Prairie–bird. Fortunately, she had chosen

a subject of which I could never weary; and I willingly replied to all

her inquiries: when I told her that her former mistress and favourite

had now three little ones, the eldest of whom was able to run about from

morning till night, and the youngest named Wingenund, after her husband,

tears of joy and of awakened remembrance started in her eyes.

“I understood her silent emotion, and loved her for it. How changed is

her countenance from the expression it wore when I first saw it! Then

it was at one moment wild and sad, like that of a captive pining for

freedom; at the next, dark and piercing, like that of the daughter of

some haughty chief. Now you may read upon her face the gentle feelings

of the placid and contented wife.

“When I left the village, Wingenund accompanied me for many miles;

twice he stopped to take leave of me, when some still unsatisfied

inquiry respecting your Lucy or Prairie–bird rose to his lips, and

again he moved on. I can scarcely remember that he uttered any distinct

profession of his affection for any of us, and yet I saw that his heart

was full; and what a heart it is, dear Edward; fear, and falsehood,

and self, are all alike strangers there! When at length we parted, he

pressed me in silence against his breast, wrung the hand of Baptiste,

and turned away with so rapid a stride, that one who knew him not would

have thought we had parted in anger.

“On reaching the summit of a hill whence I could command a few of

the track that I had followed, I unslung my telescope, and carefully

surveying the prairie to the westward, I could distinguish, at a

distance of several miles, Wingenund seated under a stunted oak with his

face buried in his hands, and in an attitude of deep dejection. I could

scarcely repress a rising tear, for that youth has inherited all the

affection that I felt for him to whom I owe my Evelyn’s life!

“Harry Gregson and his wife are very comfortably settled here, and

appear to be thriving in their worldly concerns. I have been several

times to his counting–house, and, from the returns which he showed me,

your investments in the fur–trade, as well as in land, seemed to have

been most successful.

“Jessie’s looks are not quite so youthful as they were when she was the

belle of Marietta, but she has the beauty of unfailing good–temper,

which we Benedicts prize at a rate unknown to bachelors. Harry has

promised to pay us a visit this autumn; he will be delighted with the

new house that you have built for his father, since his promotion to the

rank of captain.

“Perrot has found so many ‘compatriots’ here, that he chatters from

morning till night; and his wonderful adventures, by ‘flood and field,’

both in Europe and the Western Prairies, have rendered him at once the

lion and the oracle of the tavern at which we lodge.

“Distribute for me, with impartial justice, a thousand loves among the

dear ones in our family circle, and tell Evy that I shall not write

again, as I propose to follow my letter in the course of a few days.

“Now and ever your affectionate brother,

“REGINALD BRANDON.”

THE END.

LONDON:

C. WHITING, BEAUFORT–HOUSE, DUKE–STREET, LINCOLN’S–INN–FIELDS.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It may be necessary to inform some of our English readers, that a

worm fence is a coarse, zigzag railing, common in the new settlements

of America, where timber is plentiful.

[2] _Anglicè_, “Interpreter.”

[3] “Coureur des bois,” an appellation often given to the Canadian and

half–breed woodsmen.

[4] Nekimi is the Delaware for “Thunder.”

[5] In the Delaware language this expression seems applicable to any

large swift animal, as it is given to the elk, the buffalo, &c.

[6] Among the western hunters, any resting–place for the night, or even

where a fire has been made for a midday halt, though it may be by one

individual, is commonly called “a camp.” This must be borne in mind

throughout the following tale.

[7] _Kinne–kinek_ is a mixture made by the Indians from the inner bark

of the willow pounded small, tobacco, and the dried leaves of the

sumach: the flavour of this composition is by no means disagreeable:

the word itself is Delaware, but the mixture is in common use among

many tribes.

[8] The Delawares call themselves Lenni–Lenapé,—“the ancient or

original people.”

[9] _Assiniboins_—“the stone heaters”—a powerful and warlike branch

of the great Dahcotah or Sioux nation.

[10] “By–and–by,” or “soon.”

[11] Tassmanané: a kind of bread made by the Delawares for long

journeys. It is made of maize, powdered very fine, and sweetened with

maple sugar.

[12] “Tah–Delamattenos,”—“No, he is a Wyandot.” This tribe occupied

the region to the north of Ohio, and the north–west of Pennsylvania;

they spoke a dialect of the Iroquois, and are better known by the name

of Hurons; they sometimes hunted with the Delaware, by whom they were

designated as above.

[13] Southern–men—in the Delaware language Cha–oua–no or

Shawano—known to the Americans as “Shawnees.” This powerful tribe

were generally in alliance with the Lenapé, and inhabited the country

on their western frontier. About the time of our tale, they were very

numerous on the banks of the Muskingum and of the Wabash river.

[14] Mengwe, or Mingoes,—the Delaware name for those Indians who

resided chiefly in the northern States of the Union, and who are better

known as the “Iroquois.”

[15] “Master Reginald” might well puzzle the chief, as there is no

letter _r_ in the Delaware language, though some of them contrive to

pronounce it.

[16] “Netis” signifies, in their tongue, “a trusted friend,” “one to

whom _all_ secrets are confided.”

[17] The village was called Gnaden–Hütten—“tents,” or “cabins of

grace.”

[18] Every Indian tribe has its peculiar mark or sign; among all the

nations of the far–west, the Sioux, or Dahcotahs, are designated by

passing the hand across the throat, as if cutting it.

[19] A panther is so called by the western hunters.

[20] In the Western States, the rhododendron is generally called the

laurel.

[21] Alluding again to the massacre of the Moravian Delawares at

“Gnadenhutten.”

[22] Mestang, a horse bred between the wild and the tame breeds: they

are sometimes to be met with among the traders to Santa Fé.

[23] The Pawnee nations have of late years fixed their winter villages

on the banks of the Nebraska, or Platte river, many hundred miles

to the N. W. of the spot named in the text; but at the date of our

narrative they dwelt on the banks of the Konsas, where the ruins of

their principal village are still faintly to be discerned.

[24] The name of Tamenund is doubtless familiar to all Americans who

have taken the slightest interest in the history of the Indian tribes,

as well as to that more numerous class who have read the graphic

and picturesque descriptions penned by the great American novelist:

nevertheless, it may be necessary, for the information of some European

readers, to state that Tamenund was an ancient Lenapé chief, whose

traditionary fame is so great in the tribe, that they have from time

to time given his name to chiefs, and even to white men whom they

desired especially to honour. At the time of the revolutionary war, so

numerous were the traditions and legends respecting this hero, that

he was in some quarters established as the patron saint of America,

under the name of St. Tammany; and hence arose the Tammany societies

and Tammany buildings in various parts of the Union.—See Heckewalder’s

_Historical Account of the Indian Nations_, chap. xl., and _The Last of

the Mohicans_, vol. iii. p. 152, &c.

[25] The tribe called by white men “the Foxes,” who inhabit chiefly the

region between the Upper Mississippi and Lake Michigan.

[26] In describing the manners and distinctions of rank among the

Indians of the Missouri plains, it is necessary to adopt the terms

in common use among the guides and traders, however vague and

unsatisfactory those terms may be. In these tribes the chieftainship

is partly hereditary and partly elective: there is usually one Great

Chief, and there are also chiefs of a second degree, who are chiefs of

different bands in the tribe; next to these in rank are the “Braves,”

the leading warriors of the nation; and in order to be qualified for

admission into this rank, an Indian must have killed an enemy or given

other sufficient evidence of courage and capacity. When a war–council

it held, the opinion of the principal _Brave_ is frequently preferred

before that of the chief.

[27] “Medicine–men.” This term (commonly used by traders among

the Indians beyond the Mississippi) signifies the “priests,”

or “mystery–men,” who are set apart for the celebration of all

religious rites and ceremonies. They are the same class as those who

were described by Charlevoix, and other early French writers, as

“Jongleurs,” because they unite medical practice to their sacerdotal

office, and, more especially in the former, exercise all manner of

absurd mummery. Their dress, character, and habits vary according

to the tribe to which they belong; but they are genuine “Jongleurs”

throughout.

[28] See Schiller’s “Bride of Messina.”

[29] Every warrior belonging to the Lenapé, Saukee, and all the

branches of the great Chippewyan tribe, believes himself to be under

the mysterious guardianship of some spirit, usually represented under

the form of an animal. This is called his “totem,” and is held sacred

by him: thus, a warrior whose totem is a tortoise, or a wolf, or even

a snake, will cautiously abstain from injuring or killing one of those

animals.

[30] _Anglicè_, “the pipe.”

[31] An allusion to the fondness of bears for honey occurs more than

once in this tale, and will be met with in some shape or other in most

works which treat of that animal’s habits and propensities: that such

is the case in Europe, as well as in North America, may be gathered

from the fact that, in the Russian tongue, a bear is called “Med–vede,”

which word is thus formed: _med_, honey; _vede_, who knows: “He who

knows honey.”

[32] The buffalo robes worn by the Osages, as well as by some other

Missouri tribes, are variously ornamented and painted with devices.

Some of these refer to war, some to marriage, some to medicine or

mystery; these last are generally worn at councils, on which occasions

a chief who has some important subject to propose, frequently adds to

the paint on his face some streaks corresponding to the devices on his

buffalo robe.

[33] In the performance of the war–dance among the Indians of the

Missouri, the tread of the dancers is guided by a monotonous chaunt,

sung by some of the Medicine–men, and accompanied by the beat of a

small drum of the rudest construction, and most barren dismal tone. It

is generally nothing more than a dried skin, stretched upon a wooden

frame hollowed out with a knife by the squaws.

[34] The Indian names for the rivers now called “Konsas” and “Osage,”

both of which fall into the Missouri.

[35] _Anglicè_, Long–knives, or Americans.

[36] Mahéga here alludes to that unfortunate era in the history of the

Lenapé, so pathetically described by Heckelwader, when they permitted

themselves to be persuaded by the whites to abandon all their warlike

weapons and pursuits, and following those of agriculture, to leave the

affairs of war entirely to the northern tribes, who guaranteed their

safety. The consequence was such as might have been expected, they were

treated with contumely and injustice; and being compelled at length to

resume those arms to which they had been for sometime unaccustomed,

they suffered repeated defeats and disasters from the “six nations,”

and adjoining tribes.

[37] The Mississippi is so called by the Osages.

[38] After their first meeting, in which Reginald had saved the life

of War–Eagle, the latter had adopted his new friend, not only as a

brother, but as a member of that portion of his tribe who were called

Unâmi, and of which the turtle was the medicine, or sacred symbol;

after the ratification of such a covenant of brotherhood, each party

is, according to Indian custom, solemnly bound to defend the other, on

all occasions, at the risk of his own life.

[39] The Sioux, or Dahcotahs, are so designated by the Missouri tribes.

[40] Wampum, a corruption of the word “wampampea,” small shells strung

together, and used by the Indians for barter among themselves; a belt

of wampum is the emblem of peace, as the hatchet, or tomahawk, is that

of war.

[41] The North Star is often alluded to by the Indian tribes, under

this and other similar denominations.

[42] An expression used by the Canadian hunters for an ambush: the

“câche” is also familiar to all readers of western story, as the place

of deposit for peltries, or stores.

[43] The country of the Stone–eaters, or, as they are called in their

own language, the Assineboins. This is a branch of the Great Sioux

tribe to the northward of the Missouri river; the region is peculiarly

wild and broken, and the Indians inhabiting it are famous for their

pedestrian activity and endurance.

[44] Pommes de prairie are small roots, somewhat resembling white

radishes, that are found in great abundance in the Western wilderness,

being in some places the only esculent vegetable within a range of

several hundred miles: when eaten raw they are tough, tasteless, and

hard of digestion; but if boiled or stewed, are tolerably palatable and

wholesome.

[45] A mixture used for smoking by the Indians of the Missouri; it is

usually composed of tobacco, dried sumach–leaf, and the inner bark of

the white willow, cut small and mixed in nearly equal proportions.

[46] The Indians believe that some persons have the power of injuring,

or even of killing others at a distance of many hundred miles, by

charms and spells: this belief in witchcraft is constantly noticed by

Tanner and others, who have resided long among the Indians, and it

seems to have been especially prevalent among the Oggibeways and other

northern tribes. In illustration of a similar notion in the eastern

hemisphere, see Borrow’s “Zincali, or the Gypsies of Spain,” vol. i.

chap. ix. on the Evil Eye.

[47] This method of baffling pursuit is not unfrequently resorted to by

the Indian marauders. The reader of Shakespeare (and who that can read

is not?) will remember Lear’s—

“It were a delicate stratagem to shoe

A troop of horse with felt!”

[48] One of the most extraordinary specimens of the ingenuity of the

tribes who inhabit the Great Missouri wilderness, and who speak many

languages, so different that they can have with each other no verbal

communication, is the language of Signs, common to them all, by which

Pawnees, Dahcotahs, Osages, Black–feet, Upsarokas, or the Crows and

other Western nations, can understand each other quite sufficiently for

the ordinary purposes of their simple life. The sign for “all right”

is made by holding the hand with the palm downwards, in a horizontal

position, and waving it slowly outwards.

[49] It is well known that every tribe has its separate war–cry; that

of the Dahcotahs resembles the short angry bark of a dog, but they

utter it with a piercing shrillness that renders it terrific in the

extreme.

[50] This exclamation resembles the English word “How–how,” repeated

with a strong aspirate and great rapidity. It seems common to all

Indian nations, for the author has heard it used by many different

tribes, and it is mentioned by Charlevoix as being constantly uttered

by the Natchez, Illinois, and other Indian nations, then dwelling near

the banks of the Mississippi.

[51] Aricará. This tribe is by descent a branch of the great Pawnee

nation, to whose language their own still bears a close resemblance;

they are usually known among western travellers by the name of

Riccarees, and the French call them “Les Ris;” they are a very

predatory, wild, and thievish race.

[52] The Indians in the Missouri constantly carry a short whip of bull

or cow–hide suspended from their wrist, with which, when in pursuit of

buffalo or any other game, they lash their horses most unmercifully.

[53] Upsaroka, the Indian name of the tribe usually designated in Rocky

Mountain travels as the “Crows;” a fierce roving nation, who were

then, as they still are, at deadly enmity with their neighbours the

Black–feet, and agree with them only in the propensity to plunder or

kill white men, whenever opportunity offers.

[54] By this name the milky way is known among some of the Indian

tribes.

[55] Merchant of Venice, act v.

[56] In the travels of Major Long and others, who have described the

Indians of the Far–western prairies, the “brave” who leads a war–party

is usually designated a “partisan.”

[57] It has before been mentioned, that among the roving tribes of the

Great Missourian wilderness every one has its distinctive national

sign: these are well known to each other, and to white men who are

experienced in the life of the Far–west: the sign mentioned in the

text is that adopted by the Upsarokas, as they intend, by the motion

of their extended arms, to imitate the wings of a crow in flight. The

Sioux, Black–feet, Pawnees, Snakes, Aricarás, Comanches, &c., have all

their distinctive national signs; but an enumeration of them would be

tedious, and out of place here.

[58] It is unnecessary to inform the reader that neither the date

nor the description of this solar eclipse is intended to challenge

scientific criticism. Merely the general features are preserved of that

kind of solar eclipse which is termed “annular,” and which takes place

when the eclipse, though central, is not total, on account of the moon

not being near enough to hide the whole of the sun, in which case part

of the latter is seen as a bright ring round the part hidden by the

moon.

[59] When a trail is made by a party on a march, the grass is of course

trodden down in the same direction as that in which they are going. A

party travelling along it from the opposite quarter, are said to take

the back–foot of the trail. The author heard the expression used by an

experienced Western hunter, but is not aware whether it is in common

use; at all events it explains its own meaning significantly enough.

[60] The herbs mingled by the Indians with a small proportion of

tobacco, are frequently of a light and fragrant flavour; sometimes,

too, they have some narcotic properties. In order fully to enjoy their

qualities after the Indian fashion, the smoker must inhale the smoke

by the mouth and expel it through the nostril, in which operation the

nerves and small vessels of the latter experience a pungent sensation,

which some consider highly agreeable, and is not unlike that which is

caused by a pinch of mild or perfumed snuff.

[61] It may well be supposed that the horses used by the Indians on

the prairie are never shod. The palfrey of Olitipa had probably been

procured from some Mexican trader.

[62] Among some of the North American tribes it is the custom for an

Indian entering into a solemn obligation, to place his hand against

the thigh of the party to whom he makes the promise; and this usage

has in several instances been triumphantly quoted by those authors

who have laboured to prove the descent of the North–American Indians

from the lost tribes of Israel: the origin and meaning of the custom,

which is as ancient as the time of Abraham (Gen. xxiv. 2), are both

involved in great obscurity: sundry explanations have been attempted by

learned commentators of different ages and nations; the Jewish writings

of the highest authority, such as the Targum of Jerusalem, and that

of Jonathan Ben Uzziel, derive it from the covenant of Circumcision,

to which they maintain its symbolic analogy by arguments which it is

unnecessary here to produce. Adam Clarke, in his Commentary, leans to

this view, but does not offer any conclusive reasoning in support of

it. Bishop Patrick, following the learned Calmet, describes this usage

as an ancient sign of subjection and homage prevalent throughout the

East; and Locke mentions it as being “practised by some Indians to this

day.”

[63] It is a frequent custom among the Missouri Indians to sketch upon

the interior of a bison–robe the various battles in which they have

fought and conquered.

[64] As the Great Spirit is designated by the Delawares, Chippeways,

Sâkis, and other tribes on this side of the Mississippi by the name

of “Manittó,” or “Manitoo,” familiar to every reader of Transatlantic

travel or romance, so is he known among the Osages, Omahaws, Ioways,

and other Missouri tribes, by the designation of Wah–con–da, or “Master

of Life.”

[65] The various methods of counting adopted by the western tribes are

curious in the extreme; some reckon chiefly by fives, and among these

an expression equivalent to “hands and feet” signifies “twenty;” in one

language the number eight is expressed by a word meaning six with two;

in another by a word signifying ten without two: in fact, some very

interesting illustrations of their language and modes of thought might

be drawn from an accurate investigation of their numerals, but they

would be entirely out of place in a work of fiction.

[66] Tobacco is extremely scarce, and highly valued among the western

tribes; at the close of the last century it was probably unknown among

the Crows, so that we must suppose that the horse–dealer produced this

present from his own stores, and for purposes best known to himself.

[67] Some of the Indian warriors when leading a war–party carry a

shrill whistle, wherewith they direct the movements of their followers.

These whistles vary as to their form and ornament, according to the

tribe to which the leader belongs. Those which the author has seen in

most frequent use were made from the bone of the wild turkey’s leg, and

were fancifully adorned with stained porcupine quills.

[68] It was at one time currently rumoured among the trappers of the

Rocky Mountains, that a Crow warrior had found and killed a white

bison–bull, the skin of which he wore as a robe. The story, whether

true or false, is adopted here, and assigned to the husband of

“Bending–willow.”

[69] “Angry airt,” the quarter whence the angry wind was blowing.

[70] Shelter.

[71] Farm–buildings.

[72] Cry or weep.

[73] Whipped child.

[74] Lark.

[75] Sorrow.

[76] Gossip.

[77] Chatter.

[78] At the date of this tale the use of fire–arms was very little

known among the tribes in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains;

and in most of their languages, to this day, the words by which they

express “a rifle,” signify, usually, “medicine–weapon,” “wonderful

fire–weapon,” “fire–tube,” &c. &c.

[79] The Arkansas.

[80] Small–pox.

[81] It has before been mentioned that the division and notation of

time vary extremely in the Indian tribes; those who have had much

commerce with the whites have coined words answering to what we

denominate hours; but the tribes of the Far–western prairies usually

express the successive periods of the night by resting the cheek upon

the hand in a recumbent posture, and then, holding up the forefinger

and thumb in the form of a crescent, they show, by the number of

motions which they make in pointing to the sky, the number of hours or

watches after nightfall which they wish to indicate.

[82] Xenophon.

[83] To some who have read the descriptions of bear–hunts in Norway and

Russia it may appear neither wonderful nor unusual that a single hunter

should kill a full–grown bear; but it must be borne in mind, that the

bear of the north of Europe bears about the same proportion to a grisly

bear of the Rocky Mountains (_Ursus horribilis_) as a panther does

to a Bengal tiger. The grisly bear is not only the largest and most

ferocious of his species, but his tenacity of life is so remarkable

that he frequently runs a considerable distance and survives some hours

after receiving several balls through the lungs, head, and heart. On

this account it is never safe for the most experienced marksman to

attack him alone, unless there be some tree or place of safety at hand,

for the grisly bear cannot or will not climb a tree; and some idea of

the animal’s strength may be formed from the fact, attested by many

credible witnesses, that, after killing a bison, he will frequently

drag the carcase some distance to his lair. For descriptions and

anecdotes of the grisly bear, see Lewis’s and Clark’s Expedition to

the Rocky Mountains, and Major Long’s ditto. A feat almost similar to

that recorded in the text was performed some years ago by an Iroquois,

one of the last of his tribe, and who, though grievously wounded,

survived. The Author saw this Indian hero arrive at St. Louis in a

canoe, containing only himself and a boy, they having descended the

Missouri for more than 1500 miles in their frail bark; and having

passed in their perilous voyage the villages of Crows, Riccarees,

Sioux, Black–feet, and other predatory tribes.

[84] Of all the Indian nations who inhabit the wild regions near the

base of the Rocky–Mountain range, the most fierce and powerful are

the Black–feet. Few, if any white men have penetrated into the heart

of their country, and returned to tell their tale. Very little is

known, therefore, either of their customs or language: and it may not

be uninteresting for the reader to be informed, that every particular

mentioned respecting them in this volume, was obtained direct from

a French trader, who had been permitted to marry a Black–foot wife,

and had resided nineteen years among them. The construction of their

language is very remarkable, and some account of it would doubtless be

gladly received by philologists; but such a subject cannot be treated

in a work like the present. With respect to the words referred to in

the text it will be seen that they show the synthetic nature of the

language, “nâma” being the root, and signifying a _weapon_. Hence

came “suksinâma,” _rifle_; literally, “heavy weapon;” “saksinâma,”

_pistol_; literally, “light–weapon;” “nahtovinâma,” _wonderful_, or

_medicine–weapon_; and “nitsi–nâma,” literally, _useless weapon_; which

latter name has probably been given to the bow, since the Black–feet

have learnt the superior efficacy of fire–arms.

[85] It may not be generally known to European readers, that the arrows

used by the western Indians are of two sorts. The _hunting arrow_,

which has a head tapering in the form of an acute lozenge, and firmly

secured to the shaft, so as to be easily withdrawn from a wound, and

the war–arrow, sometimes poisoned, but always barbed like a fish–hook,

and having its head so slightly fastened to the shaft, as to remain

infixed in the wound when the wood is pulled out.

[86] The name by which the Black–feet are generally known among

the Crows is “Echipeta.” In their own tongue they call themselves

“Siksikaga;” both words having the signification of Black–feet. They

are divided into three bands, the largest of which is called by the

generic name above mentioned, as being that of the tribe; the other two

bands are called “Piecan” or “Piegan” (the meaning of which word is not

known to the author), and “Ka–in–na,” or “Bloody–men,” which last are

held to be the most fierce and formidable of the three.

[87] The Missouri is here alluded to, the ancient name of which,

“Pekitanoui,” signifies “muddy water” in the language of the Illinois,

once a most powerful tribe, dwelling near its confluence with the

Mississippi. They have since given a name to one of the states of the

Union, but not one of the tribe survives at this day. Some antiquarians

think that they were formerly a branch of the great nation of the

Delawares (a supposition confirmed by the resemblance of their name,

Il–lenni, to that of the Lenni–Lenapé); one half of which remained on

the great prairies bordering the Mississippi, while the other half

overran, and finally occupied, the greater portion of country between

the Ohio and the Atlantic.—See Charlevoix, &c.

[88] These, and many other particulars respecting the Six Nations, the

author had from the lips of a veteran, who was carried off as a child

by the Senecas when they sacked Wyoming. He was adopted into their

tribe, and lived with them the greater part of his life, during a

portion of which he acted for them in the capacity of interpreter and

Indian agent; afterwards he retired to spend a vigorous and green old

age in the western part of the state of New York. He always spoke with

affectionate enthusiasm of his adopted kindred, and it was easy to see

that the white man’s blood in his veins circulated through an Indian

heart. Those who wish to know more of the early history of the Five

Nations are referred to the accurate and interesting account given of

them by Colden.

[89] The Minnetarees.

[90] The celebrated “Lettres Edifiantes.”

[91] In the greater number of the Indian languages known on the North

American continent, the Supreme Being is designated by a name bearing

one of the three following significations:—

1. “Great, or Good Spirit;” such is the “Manitou,” “Manittó,”

“Kitche–Manitou,” &c., of the Delawares, Chippeways, Sâkis,

Pottawatomis, and most of the Algonkin tribes.

2. “The Wonderful, or Wonderful Spirit,” by which name He is designated

among most of the tribes resident on the banks of the Missouri; _e. g._

“Wahcondah” by the Otoes and Omahaws, “Wahcatunca” by the Dahcotahs,

“Ma–na–kôpa” by the Minneterees, &c.

3. “Master of Life,” which is the signification of the name by which

the Almighty is recognised among the Pawnees, and many other numerous

and powerful tribes. The subject is too comprehensive to be more than

briefly alluded to in this place.

[92] See vol. ii. chap. iv. page 81.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Prairie-Bird, by Charles Augustus Murray