THE CLAIM.
We will now leave our three travellers for a while, and employing our
privilege of narrator, transfer the scene of our story a few hundred
miles away, to a rich and verdant valley of the Upper Missouri, that
majestic river, with its bright and limpid waters, on the banks of which
now stand so many flourishing towns and villages, and which magnificent
steamboats furrow in every direction, but which, at the period when our
story opens, was almost unknown, and only reflected in the mirror of its
waters the lofty and thick frondage of the gloomy and mysterious virgin
forests that covered its banks.
At the extremity of a fork, formed by two rather large affluents of the
Missouri, stretches out a vast valley, bordered on one side by abrupt
mountains, and on the other by a long line of wooded hills.
This valley, almost entirely covered with thick forests, full of game of
every description, was a favourite gathering-place of the Pawnee
Indians, a numerous tribe of whom, the Snakes, had established their
abode in the angle of the fork, in order to be nearer their
hunting-grounds. The Indian village was rather large, for it counted
nearly three hundred and fifty fires, which is enormous for Redskins,
who usually do not like to collect in any considerable number, through
fear of suffering from famine. But the position of the village was so
well chosen, that in this instance the Indians had gone out of their
usual course; in fact, on one side the forest supplied them with more
game than they could consume; on the other, the river abounded with
deliciously tasted fish of every description; while the surrounding
prairies were covered throughout the year with a tall close grass, that
supplied excellent pasturage for their horses.
For several centuries the Snake Pawnees had been settled in this happy
valley, which, owing to its sheltered position on all sides, enjoyed a
soft climate, exempt from those great atmospheric perturbations which so
frequently disturb the high American latitudes. The Indians lived there
quiet and unknown, occupying themselves with hunting and fishing, and
sending annually small bodies of their young men to follow the
war-trail, under the most renowned chiefs of the nation.
All at once this peaceful existence was hopelessly disturbed; murder and
arson spread like a sinister winding-sheet over the valley; the village
was utterly destroyed, and the inhabitants were pitilessly massacred.
The North Americans had at length gained knowledge of this unknown Eden,
and, in their usual way announced their presence on this remote nook of
earth, and their taking possession of it by theft, rapine, and
assassination.
We will not repeat here the story Black-deer told the Canadian, but
confine ourselves to the assertion that it was in every point true, and
that the Chief, in telling it, far from rendering it more gloomy by
emphatic exaggeration, had, on the contrary, toned it down with uncommon
justice and impartiality.
We will enter this valley three months after the arrival of the
Americans which proved so fatal to the Redskins, and describe, in a few
words, the way in which they formerly had established themselves on the
territory from which they so cruelly expelled the legitimate owners.
Hardly had they become uncontested owners of the soil, than they
commenced what is called a clearing.
The government of the United States had, about forty years ago, and
probably still has, a habit of requiting the services of old officers,
by making them concessions of land on those frontiers of the Republic
most threatened by the Indians. This custom had the double advantage of
gradually extending the limits of the American territory by driving back
the Indians into the desert, and of not abandoning in their old days
soldiers who during the greater portion of their life had shed their
blood nobly for their country.
Captain James Watt was the son of an officer who distinguished himself
in the war of Independence. Colonel Lionel Watt, aide-de-camp to
Washington, had fought by the side of that celebrated founder of the
Republic in all the battles against the English. Seriously wounded at
the siege of Boston, he had been, to his great regret, compelled to
retire into private life; but, faithful to his principles, so soon as
his son James reached his twentieth year, he made him take his place
under the flag.
At the period when we bring him on the scene, James Watt was a man of
about five-and-forty, although he appeared at least ten years older,
owing to the incessant fatigue of the exacting profession in which his
youth had been passed.
He was a man of five feet eight, powerfully built, with broad shoulders,
dry, muscular, and endowed with an iron health; his face, whose lines
were extremely rigid, was imprinted with that expression of energetic
will, blended with carelessness, which is peculiar to those men whose
existence has been only one continual succession of dangers surmounted.
His short grey hair, his bronzed complexion, black and piercing eyes,
his well-chiselled mouth, gave his face an expression of inflexible
severity, which was not deficient in grandeur.
Captain Watt, who had been married for two years past to a charming
young lady he adored, was father of two children, a son and daughter.
His wife, Fanny by name, was a distant relation of his. She was a
brunette, with exquisite blue eyes, and was most gentle and modest.
Although much younger than her husband, for she was not yet
two-and-twenty, Fanny felt for him the deepest and sincerest affection.
When the old soldier found himself a father, and began to experience the
intimate joys of a family life, a revolution was effected in him; he
suddenly took a disgust to his profession, and only desired the tranquil
joys of home.
James Watt was one of those men with whom it is only one step from the
conception to the execution of a plan. Hence, no sooner had the idea of
retiring from the service occurred to him than he at once carried it
out, resisting all the objections and remonstrances his friends raised.
Still, although the Captain was inclined to retire into private life, he
did not mean to put off military harness and assume a citizen's coat.
The monotonous life of Union towns had nothing very seductive for an old
soldier, for whom excitement and movement had been the normal condition
almost from his birth.
Consequently, after ripe reflection, he stopped half way, which, in his
opinion, would remedy the excessive simplicity and peace a citizen life
might have for him.
This was to be effected by asking for a claim on the Indian border,
clearing it with the help of his servants, and living there happy and
busy, like a mediæval lord among his vassals.
This idea pleased the Captain the more, because he fancied that in this
way he should still be serving his country, as he would lay the
foundation of future prosperity, and develop the first traces of
civilization in a district still given up to all the horrors of
barbarity.
The Captain had long been engaged with his company in defending the
frontier of the Union against the incessant depredations of the
Redskins, and preventing their incursions; hence he had a
knowledge--superficial it is true, but sufficient--of Indian manners,
and the means he must employ not to be disturbed by these restless
neighbours.
During the course of the numerous expeditions which the service had
compelled him to make, the Captain had visited many fertile valleys,
and many territories, the appearance of which had pleased him; but there
was one above all, the memory of which had been obstinately engraved on
his mind--a delicious valley he had seen one day as in a dream, after a
hunting expedition, made in company of a wood-ranger--an excursion which
lasted three weeks, and had insensibly taken him further into the desert
than ever civilized man had gone before.
Though he had not seen this valley again for more than twenty years, he
remembered it as if he had seen it but yesterday--recalling it, as it
were, in its minutest details. And this obstinacy of his memory in
constantly bringing before him this nook of earth, had ended by
affecting the Captain's imagination to such a degree, that when he
resolved to leave the service and ask for a claim, it was to this place
and no other that he was determined to go.
James Watt had numerous friends in the offices of the Presidency;
besides, the services of his father and himself spoke loudly in his
favour: hence he experienced no difficulty in obtaining the claim he
requested.
Several plans were shewn him, drawn up by order of government, and he
was invited to select the territory that suited him best.
But the Captain had chosen the one he wanted long before; he rejected
the plans shewn him, produced from his pocket a wide slip of tanned elk
hide, unrolled it, and shewed it to the Commissioner of Claims, telling
him he wanted this, and no other.
The Commissioner was a friend of the Captain, and could not refrain from
a start of terror on hearing his request.
This claim was situated in the heart of the Indian territory, more than
four hundred miles from the American border. The Captain wished to
commit an act of madness, of suicide; it would be impossible for him to
hold his ground among the warlike tribes that would surround him on all
sides; a month would not elapse ere he would be piteously massacred, as
must be his family and those servants who were mad enough to follow him.
To all these objections, which his friend piled up one atop of the
other, in order to make him change his opinion, the Captain only replied
by a shake of the head, accompanied by a smile, which proved that his
mind was irrevocably made up.
At length, the Commissioner being driven into his last intrenchments,
told him point-blank that it was impossible to grant him this claim, as
the territory belonged to the Indians, and, moreover, a tribe had built
its village there since time immemorial.
The Commissioner had kept this argument to the last, feeling convinced
that the Captain could find no answer, and would be compelled to change,
or, at least, modify his plans.
He was mistaken; the worthy Commissioner was not so well acquainted with
his friend's character as he might fancy.
The latter, not at all affected by the triumphant gesture with which the
Commissioner concluded his speech, coolly drew from another pocket a
second slip of tanned deer-hide, which he handed his friend, without
saying a word.
The latter took it with an inquiring glance, but the Captain merely
nodded to him to look at it.
The Commissioner unrolled it with marked hesitation; from the old
soldier's behaviour he suspected that this document contained a
peremptory answer.
In fact, he had scarce looked at it, ere he threw it on the table with a
violent movement of ill humour.
This slip of deer-skin contained the sale of the valley and the
surrounding territory made by Itsichaichè or Monkey-face, one of the
principal sachems of the Snake Pawnees, in his name and that of the
other chiefs of the nation, in exchange for fifty muskets, fourteen
dozen scalping-knives, sixty pounds of gunpowder, sixty pounds of
bullets, two barrels of whisky, and twenty-three complete militia
uniforms.
Each of the chiefs had placed his hieroglyphic at the foot of the deed,
beneath that of Monkey-face.
We will say at once that this deed was false, and the Captain in the
affair was the perfect dupe of Monkey-face.
This chief, who had been expelled from the tribe of Snake Pawnees for
various causes, as we shall reveal at the proper moment, had forged the
deed, first to rob the Captain, and next to avenge himself on his
countrymen; for he knew perfectly well that if the Captain received
authority from his government he would seize the valley, whatever the
consequences of this spoliation might be. The only condition the Captain
made was, that the Redskin should act as his guide, which he consented
to do without any hesitation.
When the deed of sale was laid before him, the Commissioner was forced
to confess himself beaten, and _nolens volens_ grant the authority so
obstinately solicited by the Captain.
When all the documents were duly registered, signed, and sealed, the
Captain began his preparations for departure without further delay.
Mrs. Watts loved her husband too well to offer any objections to the
execution of his plans. Brought up herself on a clearing at no great
distance from the Indian border, she had become familiarized with the
savages, whom the habit of constantly seeing caused her no longer to
fear them; besides, she cared little where she lived, so long as she had
her husband by her side.
Quite calm as regarded his wife, the Captain therefore set to work with
all that feverish activity which distinguished him.
America is a land of prodigies; it is, perhaps, the only country in the
world where it is possible to find between to-day and the morrow the men
and things indispensable for carrying out the maddest and most eccentric
projects.
The Captain did not deceive himself in the slightest as to the probable
consequences of the resolution he had formed; hence he wished, as far as
was possible, to guard against any eventualities, and ensure the
security of the persons who would accompany him to his claim, the first
among these being his wife and children.
His selection, however, did not take him long: among his old comrades
many wished for nothing better than to follow him, at the head of them
being an old sergeant of the name of Walter Bothrel, who had served
under him for more than fifteen years, and who, at the first news of his
Chief's retirement, went to him and said that as his Captain was leaving
the service, he did not care to remain in it, and the only favour he
asked was leave to accompany him wherever he went.
Bothrel's offer was gladly accepted by the Captain, for he knew the
value of the sergeant, who was a sort of bull-dog for fidelity, a man
of tried courage, and one on whom he could entirely count.
To the sergeant Captain Watt entrusted the duty of enrolling the
detachment of hunters he intended to take with him, in order to defend
the new colony, if the Redskins took it into their head to attack it.
Bothrel carried out his instructions with the intelligent consciousness
he displayed in all matters, and he soon found in the Captain's own
company thirty resolute and devoted men, only too glad to follow the
fortunes of their ex-Chief, and attach themselves to him.
On his side, the Captain had engaged some fifteen workmen of every
description, blacksmiths, carpenters, &c., who signed an undertaking to
serve him five years, after which they would become tenants at a small
rental of farms the Captain would give them, and which would become
their own property on the expiration of a further term of years.
All the preparations being at length terminated, the colonists,
amounting to fifty men, and about a dozen females, at length set out for
the claim in the middle of May, taking with them a long pile of waggons
loaded with stores of every description, and a large herd of cattle,
intended to provision the colony, as well as for breeding purposes.
Monkey-face acted as guide, as had been arranged. To do the Indian the
justice due to him, we will say that he conscientiously performed the
duty he undertook; and that during a journey of nearly three months
across a desert infested by wild beasts and traversed in every direction
by Indian hordes, he managed to save those he led from the majority of
the dangers that menaced them at each step.