“The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill” _Irish Song._
WHILE the Indians were actively pursuing their sports on the lake,
shooting wild fowl, and hunting and fishing by torch-light, so exciting
was the amusement of watching them, that the two lads, Hector and Louis,
quite forgot all sense of danger, in the enjoyment of lying or sitting
on the brow of the mount near the great ravine, and looking at their
proceedings. Once or twice the lads were near betraying themselves to
the Indians, by raising a shout of delight, at some skilful manoeuvre
that excited their unqualified admiration and applause.
At night, when the canoes had all retired to the camp on the north
shore, and all fear of detection had ceased for the time, they lighted
up their shanty fire, and cooked a good supper, and also prepared
sufficiency of food for the following day. The Indians remained for a
fortnight; at the end of that time Indiana, who was a watchful spy on
their movements, told Hector and Louis that the camp was broken up, and
that the Indians had gone up the river, and would not return again for
some weeks. The departure of the Indians was a matter of great rejoicing
to Catharine, whose dread of these savages had greatly increased since
she had been made acquainted with the fearful deeds which Indiana had
described; and what reliance could she feel in people who regarded deeds
of blood and vengeance as acts of virtuous heroism?
Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians had passed within a
short distance of their dwelling; but they were in full chase of a bear,
which had been seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat, and they
had been too intent upon their game to notice the shanty, or had taken
it for the shelter of some trapper if it had been seen, for they never
turned out of their path, and Catharine, who was alone at the time,
drawing water from the spring, was so completely concealed by the high
bank above her, that she had quite escaped their notice. Fortunately,
Indiana gave the two boys a signal to conceal themselves when she saw
them enter the ravine; and effectually hidden among the thick grey
mossy trunks of the cedars at the lake shore, they remained secure from
molestation, while the Indian girl dropped noiselessly down among the
tangled thicket of wild vines and brushwood, which she drew cautiously
over her, and closed her eyes, lest, as she naively remarked, their
glitter should be seen and betray her to her enemies.
It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor wanderers, whose terrors
were more excited on behalf of the young Mohawk than for themselves, and
they congratulated her on her escape with affectionate warmth.
“Are my white brothers afraid to die?” was the young squaw’s
half-scornful reply. “Indiana is the daughter of a brave; she fears not
to die?”
The latter end of September, and the first week in October, had been
stormy and even cold. The rainy season, however, was now over; the
nights were often illuminated by the Aurora borealis, which might be
seen forming an arch of soft and lovely brightness over the lake, to the
north and north-eastern portions of the horizon, or shooting upwards,
in ever-varying shafts of greenish light, now hiding, now revealing the
stars, which shone with softened radiance through the silvery veil
that dimmed their beauty. Sometimes for many nights together the same
appearance might be seen, and was usually the forerunner of frosty
weather, though occasionally it was the precursor of cold winds, and
heavy rains.
The Indian girl regarded it with superstitious feelings, but whether as
an omen for good or ill, she would not tell. On all matters connected
with her religions notions she was shy and reserved, though occasionally
she unconsciously revealed them. Thus the warnings of death or
misfortunes were revealed to her by certain ominous sounds in the woods,
the appearance of strange birds or animals, or the meanings of others.
The screeching of the owl, the bleating of the doe, or barking of the
fox, were evil auguries, while the flight of the eagle and the croaking
of the raven were omens of good. She put faith in dreams, and would
foretel good or evil fortune from them; she could read the morning and
evening clouds, and knew from various appearances of the sky, or
the coming or departing of certain birds or insects, changes in the
atmosphere. Her ear was quick in distinguishing the changes in the
voices of the birds or animals; she knew the times of their coming and
going, and her eye was quick to see as her ear to detect sounds. Her
voice was soft, and low, and plaintive, and she delighted in imitating
the little ballads or hymns that Catharine sung; though she knew nothing
of their meaning, she would catch the tunes, and sing the song with
Catharine, touching the hearts of her delighted auditors by the melody
and pathos of her voice.
The season called Indian summer had now arrived: the air was soft
and mild, almost oppressively warm; the sun looked red as though seen
through the smoke clouds of a populous city. A soft blue haze hung on
the bosom of the glassy lake, which reflected on its waveless surface
every passing shadow, and the gorgeous tints of its changing woods on
shore and island. Sometimes the stillness of the air was relieved by a
soft sighing wind, which rustled the dying foliage as it swept by.
The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian tribes. It is during this
season that they hunt and shoot the wild fowl that come in their annual
flights to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers; it is then
that they gather in their rice, and prepare their winter stores of meat,
and fish, and furs. The Indian girl knew the season they would resort
to certain hunting grounds. They were constant, and altered not their
customs; as it was with their fathers, so it was with them.
Louis had heard so much of the Otonabee river from Indiana, that he was
impatient to go and explore the entrance, and the shores of the lake on
that side, which hitherto they had not ventured to do for fear of being
surprised by the Indians. “Some fine day,” said Louis, “we will go out
in the canoe, explore the distant islands, and go up the river a little
way.”
Hector advised visiting all the islands by turns, beginning at the
little islet which looks in the distance like a boat in full sail; it is
level with the water, and has only three or four trees upon it. The name
they had given to it was “Ship Island.” The Indians have some name
for it which I have forgotten; but it means, I have been told, “Witch
Island.” Hector’s plan met with general approbation, and they resolved
to take provisions with them for several days, and visit the islands and
go up the river, passing the night under the shelter of the thick trees
on the shore wherever they found a pleasant halting-place.
The weather was mild and warm, the lake was as clear and calm as a
mirror, and in joyous mood our little party embarked and paddled up the
lake, first to Ship Island, but this did not detain them many minutes;
they then went to Grape Island, which they so named from the abundance
of wild vines, now rich with purple clusters of the ripe grapes,--tart,
but still not to be despised by our young adventurers; and they brought
away a large birch basket heaped up with the fruit. “Ah, if we had but
a good cake of maple sugar, now, to preserve our grapes with, and make
such grape jelly as my mother makes!” said Louis.
“If we find out a sugar-bush we will manage to make plenty of sugar,”
said Catharine; “there are maples not two hundred yards from the shanty,
near the side of the steep bank to the east. You remember the pleasant
spot which we named the Happy Valley, _[FN: A lovely valley to the
east of Mount Ararat, now belonging to a worthy and industrious family
of the name of Brown. I wish Hector could see it as it now is,--a
cultivated fertile farm.]_ where the bright creek runs, dancing along so
merrily, below the pine-ridge?”
“Oh, yes, the same that winds along near the foot of Bare-hill, where
the water-cresses grow.”
“Yes, where I gathered the milk-weed the other day.”
“What a beautiful pasture-field that will make, when it is cleared!”
said Hector, thoughtfully.
“Hector is always planning about fields, and clearing great farms,”
said Louis, laughing. “We shall see Hec a great man one of these days; I
think he has in his own mind brushed, and burned, and logged up all the
fine flats and table-land on the plains before now, ay, and cropped it
all with wheat, and peas, and Indian corn.”
“We will have a clearing and a nice field of corn next year, if we
live,” replied Hector; “that corn that we found in the canoe will be a
treasure.”
“Yes, and the corn-cob you got on Bare-hill,” said Catherine. “How lucky
we have been! We shall be so happy when we see our little field of corn
flourishing round the shanty! It was a good thing, Hec, that you went
to the Indian camp that day, though both Louis and I were very miserable
while you were absent; but you see, God must have directed you, that the
life of this poor girl might be saved, to be a comfort to us. Everything
has prospered well with us since she came to us. Perhaps it is
because we try to make a Christian of her, and so God blesses all our
endeavours.”
“We are told,” said Hector, “that there is joy with the angels of God
over one sinner that repenteth; doubtless, it is a joyful thing when
the heathen that knew not the name of God are taught to glorify his holy
name.”
Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcupine; she declared that
she should have plenty of quills for edging baskets and mocassins;
beside, she said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector looked
with a suspicious eye upon the little animal, doubting the propriety of
eating its flesh, though he had learned to eat musk rats, and consider
them good meat, baked in Louis’s Indian oven, or roasted on a forked
stick, before the fire. The Indian porcupine is a small animal, not a
very great deal larger than the common British hedgehog; the quills,
however, are longer and stronger, and varied with alternate clouded
marks of pure white and dark brownish grey; they are minutely barbed, so
that if one enters the flesh it is with difficulty extracted, but will
work through of itself in an opposite direction, and can then be easily
pulled out. Dogs and cattle often suffer great inconvenience from
getting their muzzles filled with the quills of the porcupine,
the former when worrying the poor little animal, and the latter by
accidentally meeting a dead one among the herbage; great inflammation
will sometimes attend the extraction. Indians often lose valuable hounds
from this cause. Beside porcupines, Indiana told her companions, there
were some fine butter-nut trees on the island, and they could collect a
bag full in a very short time. This was good news, for the butter-nut
is sweet and pleasant, almost equal to the walnut, of which it is a
species. The day was passed pleasantly enough in collecting nuts and
grapes; but as this island did not afford any good cleared spot for
passing the night, and, moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several
of which made their appearance among the stones near the edge of the
water, they agreed by common council to go to Long Island, where Indiana
said there was an old log-house, the walls of which were still standing,
and where there was dry moss in plenty, which would make them a
comfortable bed for the night. This old log-house she said had been
built, she heard the Indians say, by a French Canadian trapper, who
used to visit the lake some years ago; he was on friendly terms with the
chiefs, who allowed him many privileges, and he bought their furs, and
took them down the lake, through the river Trent, to some station-house
on the great lake. They found they should have time enough to land and
deposit their nuts and grapes and paddle to Long Island before sunset.
Upon the western part of this fine island they had several times landed
and passed some hours, exploring its shores; but Indiana told them, to
reach the old log-house they must enter the low swampy bay to the east,
at an opening which she called Indian Cove. To do this required some
skill in the management of the canoe, which was rather over-loaded for
so light a vessel; and the trees grew so close and thick that they had
some difficulty in pushing their way through them without injuring its
frail sides. These trees or bushes were chiefly black elder, high-bush
cranberries, dogwood, willows, and, as they proceeded further, and there
was ground of a more solid nature, cedar, poplar, swamp oak, and soft
maple, with silver birch and wild cherries. Long strings of silvery-grey
tree-moss hung dangling over their heads, the bark and roots of the
birch and cedars were covered with a luxuriant growth of green moss, but
there was a dampness and closeness in this place that made it far from
wholesome, and the little band of voyagers were not very sorry when the
water became too shallow to admit of the canoe making its way through
the swampy channel, and they landed on the banks of a small circular
pond, as round as a ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees, hoary
with moss and lichens; large water-lilies floated on the surface of
this miniature lake, and the brilliant red berries of the high-bush
cranberry, and the purple clusters of grapes, festooned the trees.
“A famous breeding place this must be for ducks,” observed Louis.
“And for flowers,” said Catharine, “and for grapes and cranberries.
There is always some beauty or some usefulness to be found, however
lonely the spot.”
“A fine place for musk-rats, and minks, and fishes,” said Hector,
looking round. “The old trapper knew what he was about when he made his
lodge near this pond. And there, sure enough, is the log-hut, and not
so bad a one either,” and scrambling up the bank he entered the deserted
little tenement, well pleased to find it in tolerable repair. There were
the ashes on the stone hearth, just as it had been left years back by
the old trapper; some rough hewn shelves, a rude bedstead of cedar poles
still occupied a corner of the little dwelling; heaps of old dry moss
and grass lay upon the ground; and the little squaw pointed with one of
her silent laughs to a collection of broken egg-shells, where some wild
duck had sat and hatched her downy brood among the soft materials which
she had found and appropriated to her own purpose. The only things
pertaining to the former possessor of the log-hut were an old, rusty,
battered tin pannikin, now, alas! unfit for holding water; a bit of a
broken earthen whisky jar; a rusty nail, which Louis pounced upon, and
pocketed, or rather pouched,--for he had substituted a fine pouch of
deer-skin for his worn-out pocket; and a fishing-line of good stout
cord, which was wound on a splinter of red redar, and carefully stuck
between one of the rafters and the roof of the shanty. A rusty but
efficient hook was attached to the line, and Louis, who was the finder,
was quite overjoyed at his good fortune in making so valuable an
addition to his fishing-tackle. Hector got only an odd worn-out
mocassin, which he chucked into the little pond in disdain; while
Catharine declared she would keep the old tin pot as a relic, and
carefully deposited it in the canoe.
As they made their way into the interior of the island, they found that
there were a great many fine sugar maples which had been tapped by some
one, as the boys thought, by the old trapper; but Indiana, on examining
the incisions in the trees, and the remnants of birch-bark vessels that
lay mouldering on the earth below them, declared them to have been the
work of her own people; and long and sadly did the young girl look
upon these simple memorials of a race of whom she was the last living
remnant. The young girl stood there in melancholy mood, a solitary,
isolated being, with no kindred tie upon the earth to make life dear to
her; a stranger in the land of her fathers, associating with those whose
ways were not her ways, nor their thoughts her thoughts; whose language
was scarcely known to her, whose God was not the God of her fathers.
Yet the dark eyes of the Indian girl were not dimmed with tears as she
thought of these things; she had learned of her people to suffer, and be
still.
Silent and patient she stood, with her melancholy gaze bent on the
earth, when she felt the gentle hand of Catharine laid upon her arm, and
then kindly and lovingly passed round her neck, as she whispered,--
“Indiana, I will be to you as a sister, and will love you and cherish
you, because you are an orphan girl, and alone in the world; but God
loves you, and will make you happy. He is a Father to the fatherless,
and the Friend of the destitute, and to them that have no helper.”
The words of kindness and love need no interpretation; no book-learning
is necessary to make them understood. The young, the old, the deaf, the
dumb, the blind, can read this universal language; its very silence is
often more eloquent than words--the gentle pressure of the hand, the
half-echoed sigh, the look of sympathy will penetrate to the very heart,
and unlock its hidden stores of human tenderness and love. The rock
is smitten and the waters gush forth, a bright and living stream, to
refresh and fertilize the thirsty soul. The heart of the poor mourner
was touched; she bowed down her head upon the hand that held her so
kindly in its sisterly grasp, and wept soft sweet human tears full of
grateful love, while she whispered, in her own low plaintive voice, “My
white sister, I kiss you in my heart; I will love the God of my white
brothers, and be his child.”
The two friends now busied themselves in preparing the evening meal:
they found Louis and Hector had lighted up a charming blaze on the
desolate hearth. A few branches of cedar twisted together by Catharine,
made a serviceable broom, with which she swept the floor, giving to the
deserted dwelling a neat and comfortable aspect; some big stones were
quickly rolled in, and made to answer for seats in the chimney corner.
The new-found fishing-line was soon put into requisition by Louis, and
with very little delay a fine dish of black bass, broiled on the coals,
was added to their store of dried venison and roasted bread-roots,
which they found in abundance on a low spot on the island. Grapes and
butternuts which Hector cracked with stones by way of nut-crackers,
finished their sylvan meal. The boys stretched themselves to sleep on
the ground, with their feet, Indian fashion, to the fire; while the two
girls occupied the mossy couch which they had newly spread with fragrant
cedar and hemlock boughs.
The next island that claimed their attention was Sugar-Maple Island,
_[FN: Sugar Island, a charming object from the picturesque cottage
of Alfred Hayward, Esq.]_ a fine, thickly-wooded island, rising with
steep rocky banks from the water. A beautiful object, but too densely
wooded to admit of our party penetrating beyond a few yards of its
shores.
The next island they named the Beaver, _[FN: The Beaver, commonly
called Sheep Island, from some person having pastured a few sheep upon
it some few years ago. I have taken the liberty of preserving the name,
to which it bears an obvious resemblance; the nose of the Beaver lies
towards the west, the tail to the east. This island is nearly opposite
to Gore’s Landing, and forms a pleasing object from the windows and
verandah of Claverton, the house of my esteemed friend, William Falkner,
Esq., the Patriarch of the Plains, as he has often been termed; one of
the only residents on the Rice Lake plains for many years; one of the
few gentlemen who had taste enough to be charmed with this lovely tract
of country, and to appreciate its agricultural resources, which, of
late, have been so fully developed.]_ from its resemblance in shape to
that animal. A fine, high, oval island beyond this they named Black
Island, _[FN: Black Island, the sixth from the head of the lake; an
oval island, remarkable for its evergreens.]_ from its dark evergreens;
the next was that which seemed most to excite the interest of their
Indian guide, although but a small stony island, scantily clothed
with trees, lower down the lake. This place she called Spooke Island,
_[FN: Appendix H.]_ which means in the Indian tongue, a place for
the dead; it is sometimes called Spirit Island, and here, in times past,
used the Indian people to bury their dead. The island is now often the
resort of parties of pleasure, who, from its being grassy and open, find
it more available than those which are densely wooded. The young Mohawk
regarded it with feelings of superstitious awe, and would not suffer
Hector to land the canoe on its rocky shores.
“It is a place of spirits,” she said; “the ghosts of my fathers will be
angry if we go there.” Even her young companions felt that, they were
upon sacred ground, and gazed with silent reverence upon the burial
isle.
Strongly imbued with a love of the marvellous, which they had derived
from their Highland origin, Indiana’s respect for the spirits of her
ancestors was regarded as most natural, and in silence, as if fearing to
disturb the solemnity of the spot, they resumed their paddles, and after
awhile reached the mouth of the river Otonabee, which was divided into
two separate channels by a long, low point of swampy land covered with
stunted, mossy bushes and trees, rushes, driftwood, and aquatic plants.
Indiana told them this river flowed from the north, and that it was many
days’ journey up to the lakes; to illustrate its course, she drew with
her paddle a long line with sundry curves and broader spaces, some
longer, some smaller, with Bays and inlets, which she gave them to
understand were the chain of lakes that she spoke of. There were
beautiful hunting grounds on the borders of these lakes, and many fine
water-falls and rocky islands; she had been taken up to these waters
during the time of her captivity. The Ojebwas, she said, were a branch
of the great Chippewa nation, who owned much land and great waters
thereabouts.
Compared with the creeks and streams that they had seen hitherto, the
Otonabee appeared a majestic river, and an object of great admiration
and curiosity, for it seemed to them as if it were the high road leading
up to an unknown far-off land--a land of dark, mysterious, impenetrable
forests,--flowing on, flowing on, in lonely majesty, reflecting on its
tranquil bosom the blue sky, the dark pines, and grey cedars,--the pure
ivory water-lily, and every passing shadow of bird or leaf that flitted
across its surface--so quiet was the onward flow of its waters.
A few brilliant leaves yet lingered on the soft maples and
crimson-tinted oaks, but the glory of the forest had departed; the
silent fall of many a sear and yellow leaf told of the death of summer
and of winter’s coming reign. Yet the air was wrapt in a deceitful
stillness; no breath of wind moved the trees or dimpled the water.
Bright wreaths of scarlet berries and wild grapes hung in festoons among
the faded foliage. The silence of the forest was unbroken, save by the
quick tapping of the little midland wood-pecker, or the shrill scream
of the blue jay; the whirring sound of the large white and grey duck,
(called by the frequenters of these lonely waters the whistle-wing,) as
its wings swept the waters in its flight; or the light dripping of the
paddle;--so still, so quiet was the scene.
As the day was now far advanced, the Indian girl advised them either
to encamp for the night on the river bank, or to use all speed in
returning. She seemed to view the aspect of the heavens with some
anxiety. Vast volumes of light copper-tinted clouds were rising, the
sun seen through its hazy veil looked red and dim, and a hot sultry air
unrelieved by a breath of refreshing wind oppressed our young voyagers;
and though the same coppery clouds and red sun had been seen for several
successive days, a sort of instinctive feeling prompted the desire
in all to return; and after a few minutes’ rest and refreshment, they
turned their little bark towards the lake; and it was well that they did
so: by the time they had reached the middle of the lake, the stillness
of the air was rapidly changing. The rose-tinted clouds that had lain so
long piled upon each other in mountainous ridges, began to move upwards,
at first slowly, then with rapidly accelerated motion. There was a
hollow moaning in the pine tops, and by fits a gusty breeze swept
the surface of the water, raising it into rough, short, white-crested
ridges.
These signs were pointed out by Indiana as the harbinger of a rising
hurricane; and now a swift spark of light like a falling star glanced on
the water, as if there to quench its fiery light. Again the Indian girl
raised her dark hand and pointed to the rolling storm-clouds, to the
crested, waters and the moving pine tops; then to the head of the
Beaver Island--it was the one nearest to them. With an arm of energy she
wielded the paddle, with an eye of fire she directed the course of their
little vessel, for well she knew their danger and the need for straining
every nerve to reach the nearest point of land. Low muttering peals of
thunder were now heard, the wind was rising with electric speed. Away
flew the light bark, with the swiftness of a bird, over the water; the
tempest was above, around and beneath. The hollow crash of the forest
trees as they bowed to the earth could be heard, sullenly sounding
from shore to shore. And now the Indian girl, flinging back her black
streaming hair from her brow, knelt at the head of the canoe, and with
renewed vigour plied the paddle. The waters, lashed into a state of
turbulence by the violence of the storm, lifted the canoe up and down,
but no word was spoken--they each felt the greatness of the peril, but
they also knew that they were in the hands of Him who can say to the
tempest-tossed waves, “Peace, be still,” and they obey Him.
Every effort was made to gain the nearest island; to reach the mainland
was impossible, for the rain poured down a blinding deluge; it was with
difficulty the little craft was kept afloat, by baling out the water; to
do this, Louis was fain to use his cap, and Catharine assisted with the
old tin-pot which she had fortunately brought from the trapper’s shanty.
The tempest was at its height when they reached the nearest point of
the Beaver, and joyful was the grating sound of the canoe as it was
vigorously pushed up on the shingly beach, beneath the friendly shelter
of the overhanging trees, where, perfectly exhausted by the exertions
they had made, dripping with rain and overpowered by the terrors of the
storm, they threw themselves on the ground, and in safety watched its
progress--thankful for an escape from such imminent peril.
Thus ended the Indian summer--so deceitful in its calmness and its
beauty. The next day saw the ground white with snow, and hardened into
stone by a premature frost. Our poor voyagers were not long in quitting
the shelter of the Beaver Island, and betaking them once more to their
ark of refuge--the log-house on Mount Ararat.
The winter, that year, set in with unusual severity some weeks sooner
than usual, so that from the beginning of November to the middle of
April the snow never entirely left the ground. The lake was soon covered
with ice, and by the month of December it was one compact solid sheet
from shore to shore.