I moved forward with as quick a pace as my feeble limbs would permit. I
did not allow myself to meditate. The great object of my wishes was a
dwelling where food and repose might be procured. I looked earnestly
forward, and on each side, in search of some token of human residence;
but the spots of cultivation, the _well-pole_, the _worm fence_,
and the hayrick, were nowhere to be seen. I did not even meet with a
wild hog or a bewildered cow. The path was narrow, and on either side
was a trackless wilderness. On the right and left were the waving
lines of mountainous ridges, which had no peculiarity enabling me to
ascertain whether I had ever before seen them.
At length I noticed that the tracks of wheels had disappeared from the
path that I was treading; that it became more narrow, and exhibited
fewer marks of being frequented. These appearances were discouraging. I
now suspected that I had taken a wrong direction, and, instead of
approaching, was receding from, the habitation of men.
It was wisest, however, to proceed. The road could not but have some
origin as well as end. Some hours passed away in this uncertainty. The
sun rose, and by noonday I seemed to be farther than ever from the end
of my toils. The path was more obscure, and the wilderness more rugged.
Thirst more incommoded me than hunger, but relief was seasonably
afforded by the brooks that flowed across the path.
Coming to one of these, and having slaked my thirst, I sat down upon the
bank, to reflect on my situation. The circuity of the path had
frequently been noticed, and I began to suspect that, though I had
travelled long, I had not moved far from the spot where I had commenced
my pilgrimage.
Turning my eyes on all sides, I noticed a sort of pool, formed by the
rivulet, at a few paces distant from the road. In approaching and
inspecting it, I observed the footsteps of cattle, who had retired by a
path that seemed much beaten: I likewise noticed a cedar bucket, broken
and old, lying on the margin. These tokens revived my drooping spirits,
arid I betook myself to this new track. It was intricate, but, at
length, led up a steep, the summit of which was of better soil than that
of which the flats consisted. A clover-field, and several
apple-trees,--sure attendants of man,--were now discovered. From this
space I entered a corn-field, and at length, to my inexpressible joy,
caught a glimpse of a house.
This dwelling was far different from that I had lately left. It was as
small and as low, but its walls consisted of boards. A window of four
panes admitted the light, and a chimney of brick, well burnt and neatly
arranged, peeped over the roof. As I approached, I heard the voice of
children and the hum of a spinning-wheel.
I cannot make thee conceive the delight which was afforded me by all
these tokens. I now found myself, indeed, among beings like myself, and
from whom hospitable entertainment might be confidently expected. I
compassed the house, and made my appearance at the door.
A good woman, busy at her wheel, with two children playing on the ground
before her, were the objects that now presented themselves. The
uncouthness of my garb, my wild and weatherworn appearance, my fusil and
tomahawk, could not but startle them. The woman stopped her wheel, and
gazed as if a spectre had started into view.
I was somewhat aware of these consequences, and endeavoured to elude
them by assuming an air of supplication and humility. I told her that I
was a traveller, who had unfortunately lost his way and had rambled in
this wild till nearly famished for want. I entreated her to give me some
food; any thing, however scanty or coarse, would be acceptable.
After some pause she desired me, though not without some marks of fear,
to walk in. She placed before me some brown bread and milk. She eyed me
while I eagerly devoured this morsel. It was, indeed, more delicious
than any I had ever tasted. At length she broke silence, and expressed
her astonishment and commiseration at my seemingly-forlorn state, adding
that perhaps I was the man whom the men were looking after who had been
there some hours before.
My curiosity was roused by this intimation. In answer to my
interrogations, she said that three persons had lately stopped, to
inquire if her husband had not met, within the last three days, a person
of whom their description seemed pretty much to suit my person and
dress. He was tall, slender, wore nothing but shirt and trousers, and
was wounded on the cheek.
"What," I asked, "did they state the rank or condition of the person to
be?"
He lived in Solesbury. He was supposed to have rambled in the mountains,
and to have lost his way, or to have met with some mischance. It was
three days since he had disappeared, but had been seen by some one, the
last night, at Deb's hut.
What and where was Deb's hut?
It was a hut in the wilderness, occupied by an old Indian woman, known
among her neighbours by the name of Old Deb. Some people called her
Queen Mab. Her dwelling was eight _long_ miles from this house.
A thousand questions were precluded and a thousand doubts solved by this
information. _Queen Mab_ were sounds familiar to my ears; for they
originated with myself.
This woman originally belonged to the tribe of Delawares, or
Lenni-lennapee. All these districts were once comprised within the
dominions of that nation. About thirty years ago, in consequence of
perpetual encroachments of the English colonists, they abandoned their
ancient seats and retired to the banks of the Wabash and Muskingum.
This emigration was concerted in a general council of the tribe, and
obtained the concurrence of all but one female. Her birth, talents, and
age, gave her much consideration and authority among her countrymen; and
all her zeal and eloquence were exerted to induce them to lay aside
their scheme. In this, however, she could not succeed. Finding them
refractory, she declared her resolution to remain behind and maintain
possession of the land which her countrymen should impiously abandon.
The village inhabited by this clan was built upon ground which now
constitutes my uncle's barnyard and orchard. On the departure of her
countrymen, this female burnt the empty wigwams and retired into the
fastnesses of Norwalk. She selected a spot suitable for an Indian
dwelling and a small plantation of maize, and in which she was seldom
liable to interruption and intrusion.
Her only companions were three dogs, of the Indian or wolf species.
These animals differed in nothing from their kinsmen of the forest but
in their attachment and obedience to their mistress. She governed them
with absolute sway. They were her servants and protectors, and attended
her person or guarded her threshold, agreeably to her directions. She
fed them with corn, and they supplied her and themselves with meat, by
hunting squirrels, raccoons, and rabbits.
To the rest of mankind they were aliens or enemies. They never left the
desert but in company with their mistress, and, when she entered a
farm-house, waited her return at a distance. They would suffer none to
approach them, but attacked no one who did not imprudently crave their
acquaintance, or who kept at a respectful distance from their wigwam.
That sacred asylum they would not suffer to be violated, and no stranger
could enter it but at the imminent hazard of his life, unless
accompanied and protected by their dame.
The chief employment of this woman, when at home, besides plucking the
weeds from among her corn, bruising the grain between two stones, and
setting her snares for rabbits and opossums, was to talk. Though in
solitude, her tongue was never at rest but when she was asleep; but her
conversation was merely addressed to her dogs. Her voice was sharp and
shrill, and her gesticulations were vehement and grotesque. A hearer
would naturally imagine that she was scolding; but, in truth, she was
merely giving them directions. Having no other object of contemplation
or subject of discourse, she always found, in their postures and looks,
occasion for praise, or blame, or command. The readiness with which they
understood, and the docility with which they obeyed, her movements and
words, were truly wonderful.
If a stranger chanced to wander near her hut and overhear her jargon,
incessant as it was, and shrill, he might speculate in vain on the
reason of these sounds. If he waited in expectation of hearing some
reply, he waited in vain. The strain, always voluble and sharp, was
never intermitted for a moment, and would continue for hours at a time.
She seldom left the hut but to visit the neighbouring inhabitants and
demand from them food and clothing, or whatever her necessities
required. These were exacted as her due; to have her wants supplied was
her prerogative, and to withhold what she claimed was rebellion. She
conceived that by remaining behind her countrymen she succeeded to the
government and retained the possession of all this region. The English
were aliens and sojourners, who occupied the land merely by her
connivance and permission, and whom she allowed to remain on no terms
but those of supplying her wants.
Being a woman aged and harmless, her demands being limited to that of
which she really stood in need, and which her own industry could not
procure, her pretensions were a subject of mirth and good-humour, and
her injunctions obeyed with seeming deference and gravity. To me she
early became an object of curiosity and speculation. I delighted to
observe her habits and humour her prejudices. She frequently came to my
uncle's house, and I sometimes visited her: insensibly she seemed to
contract an affection for me, and regarded me with more complacency and
condescension than any other received.
She always disdained to speak English, and custom had rendered her
intelligible to most in her native language, with regard to a few simple
questions. I had taken some pains to study her jargon, and could make
out to discourse with her on the few ideas which she possessed. This
circumstance, likewise, wonderfully prepossessed her in my favour.
The name by which she was formerly known was Deb; but her pretensions to
royalty, the wildness of her aspect and garb, her shrivelled and
diminutive form, a constitution that seemed to defy the ravages of time
and the influence of the elements, her age, (which some did not scruple
to affirm exceeded a hundred years,) her romantic solitude and
mountainous haunts, suggested to my fancy the appellation of _Queen
Mab_. There appeared to me some rude analogy between this personage
and her whom the poets of old time have delighted to celebrate: thou
perhaps wilt discover nothing but incongruities between them; but, be
that as it may, Old Deb and Queen Mab soon came into indiscriminate and
general use.
She dwelt in Norwalk upwards of twenty years. She was not forgotten by
her countrymen, and generally received from her brothers and sons an
autumnal visit; but no solicitations or entreaties could prevail on her
to return with them. Two years ago, some suspicion or disgust induced
her to forsake her ancient habitation and to seek a hew one. Happily she
found a more convenient habitation twenty miles to the westward, and in
a spot abundantly sterile and rude.
This dwelling was of logs, and had been erected by a Scottish emigrant,
who, not being rich enough to purchase land, and entertaining a passion
for solitude and independence, cleared a field in the unappropriated
wilderness and subsisted on its produce. After some time he disappeared.
Various conjectures were formed as to the cause of his absence. None of
them were satisfactory; but that, which obtained most credit was, that
he had been murdered by the Indians, who, about the same period, paid
their annual visit to the _Queen_. This conjecture acquired some
force by observing that the old woman shortly after took possession of
his hut, his implements of tillage, and his corn-field.
She was not molested in her new abode, and her life passed in the same
quiet tenor as before. Her periodical rambles, her regal claims, her
guardian wolves, and her uncouth volubility, were equally remarkable;
but her circuits were new. Her distance made her visits to Solebury more
rare, and had prevented me from ever extending my pedestrian excursions
to her present abode.
These recollections were now suddenly called up by the information of my
hostess. The hut where I had sought shelter and relief was, it seems,
the residence of Queen Mab. Some fortunate occurrence had called her
away during my visit. Had she and her dogs been at home, I should have
been set upon by these ferocious sentinels, and, before their dame could
have interfered, have been, together with my helpless companion, mangled
or killed. These animals never barked: I should have entered unaware of
my danger, and my fate could scarcely have been averted by my fusil.
Her absence at this unseasonable hour was mysterious. It was now the
time of year when her countrymen were accustomed to renew their visit.
Was there a league between her and the plunderers whom I had
encountered?
But who were they by whom my footsteps were so industriously traced?
Those whom I had seen at Deb's hut were strangers to me, but the wound
upon my face was known only to them. To this circumstance was now added
my place of residence and name. I supposed them impressed with the
belief that I was dead; but this mistake must have speedily been
rectified. Revisiting the spot, finding me gone, and obtaining some
intelligence of my former condition, they had instituted a search after
me.
But what tidings were these? I was supposed to have been bewildered in
the mountains, and three days were said to have passed since my
disappearance. Twelve hours had scarcely elapsed since I emerged from
the cavern. Had two days and a half been consumed in my subterranean
prison?
These reflections were quickly supplanted by others. I now gained a
sufficient acquaintance with the region that was spread around me. I was
in the midst of a vale included between ridges that gradually approached
each other, and, when joined, were broken up into hollows and steeps,
and, spreading themselves over a circular space, assumed the appellation
of Norwalk. This vale gradually widened as it tended to the westward,
and was, in this place, ten or twelve miles in breadth. My devious
footsteps had brought me to the foot of the southern barrier. The outer
basis of this was laved by the river; but, as it tended eastward, the
mountain and river receded from each other, and one of the cultivable
districts lying between them was Solesbury, my natal _township_.
Hither it was now my duty to return with the utmost expedition.
There were two ways before me. One lay along the interior base of the
hill, over a sterile and trackless space, and exposed to the encounter
of savages, some of whom might possibly be lurking here. The other was
the well-frequented road on the outside and along the river, and which
was to be gained by passing over this hill. The practicability of the
passage was to be ascertained by inquiries made to my hostess. She
pointed out a path that led to the rocky summit and down to the river's
brink. The path was not easy to be kept in view or to be trodden, but it
was undoubtedly to be preferred to any other.
A route somewhat circuitous would terminate in the river-road.
Thenceforward the way to Solesbury was level and direct; but the whole
space which I had to traverse was not less than thirty miles. In six
hours it would be night, and to perform the journey in that time would
demand the agile boundings of a leopard and the indefatigable sinews of
an elk.
My frame was in a miserable plight. My strength had been assailed by
anguish, and fear, and watchfulness, by toil, and abstinence, and
wounds. Still, however, some remnant was left; would it not enable me to
reach my home by nightfall? I had delighted, from my childhood, in feats
of agility and perseverance. In roving through the maze of thickets and
precipices, I had put my energies, both moral and physical, frequently
to the test. Greater achievements than this had been performed, and I
disdained to be outdone in perspicacity by the lynx, in his sure-footed
instinct by the roe, or in patience under hardship, and contention with
fatigue, by the Mohawk. I have ever aspired to transcend the rest of
animals in all that is common to the rational and brute, as well as in
all by which they are distinguished from each other.