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OAK OPENINGS
By James Fennimore Cooper
PREFACE.
It ought to be matter of surprise how men live in the midst of marvels,
without taking heed of their existence. The slightest derangement of
their accustomed walks in political or social life shall excite all
their wonder, and furnish themes for their discussions, for months;
while the prodigies that come from above are presented daily to their
eyes, and are received without surprise, as things of course. In a
certain sense, this may be well enough, inasmuch as all which comes
directly from the hands of the Creator may be said so far to exceed the
power of human comprehension, as to be beyond comment; but the truth
would show us that the cause of this neglect is rather a propensity to
dwell on such interests as those over which we have a fancied control,
than on those which confessedly transcend our understanding. Thus is it
ever with men. The wonders of creation meet them at every turn, without
awakening reflection, while their minds labor on subjects that are not
only ephemeral and illusory, but which never attain an elevation higher
than that the most sordid interests can bestow.
For ourselves, we firmly believe that the finger of Providence is
pointing the way to all races, and colors, and nations, along the path
that is to lead the east and the west alike to the great goal of
human wants. Demons infest that path, and numerous and unhappy are
the wanderings of millions who stray from its course; sometimes in
reluctance to proceed; sometimes in an indiscreet haste to move faster
than their fellows, and always in a forgetfulness of the great rules of
conduct that have been handed down from above. Nevertheless, the main
course is onward; and the day, in the sense of time, is not distant,
when the whole earth is to be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, “as
the waters cover the sea.”
One of the great stumbling-blocks with a large class of well-meaning,
but narrow-judging moralists, are the seeming wrongs that are permitted
by Providence, in its control of human events. Such persons take a
one-sided view of things, and reduce all principles to the level of
their own understandings. If we could comprehend the relations which the
Deity bears to us, as well as we can comprehend the relations we bear
to him, there might be a little seeming reason in these doubts; but when
one of the parties in this mighty scheme of action is a profound mystery
to the other, it is worse than idle, it is profane, to attempt to
explain those things which our minds are not yet sufficiently cleared
from the dross of earth to understand. Look at Italy, at this very
moment. The darkness and depression from which that glorious peninsula
is about to emerge are the fruits of long-continued dissensions and an
iron despotism, which is at length broken by the impulses left behind
him by a ruthless conqueror, who, under the appearance and the phrases
of Liberty, contended only for himself. A more concentrated egotism than
that of Napoleon probably never existed; yet has it left behind it seeds
of personal rights that have sprung up by the wayside, and which are
likely to take root with a force that will bid defiance to eradication.
Thus is it ever, with the progress of society. Good appears to arise
out of evil, and the inscrutable ways of Providence are vindicated by
general results, rather than by instances of particular care. We leave
the application of these remarks to the intelligence of such of our
readers as may have patience to peruse the work that will be found in
the succeeding pages.
We have a few words of explanation to say, in connection with the
machinery of our tale. In the first place, we would remark, that the
spelling of “burr-oak,” as given in this book, is less our own than
an office spelling. We think it should be “bur-oak,” and this for the
simple reason, that the name is derived from the fact that the acorn
borne by this tree is partially covered with a bur. Old Sam Johnson,
however, says that “burr” means the lobe, or lap of the ear; and those
who can fancy such a resemblance between this and the covering of our
acorn, are at liberty to use the two final consonants. Having commenced
stereotyping with this supernumerary, for the sake of uniformity that
mode of spelling, wrong as we think it, has been continued through-out
the book.
There is nothing imaginary in the fertility of the West. Personal
observation has satisfied us that it much surpasses anything that exists
in the Atlantic States, unless in exceptions, through the agency of
great care and high manuring, or in instances of peculiar natural soil.
In these times, men almost fly. We have passed over a thousand miles of
territory within the last few days, and have brought the pictures at the
two extremes of this journey in close proximity in our mind's eye. Time
may lessen that wonderful fertility, and bring the whole country more
on a level; but there it now is, a glorious gift from God, which it
is devoutly to be wished may be accepted with due gratitude and with
a constant recollection of his unwavering rules of right and wrong, by
those who have been selected to enjoy it.
June, 1848.
THE OAK OPENINGS.
CHAPTER I.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day,
From every opening flower.
WATTS' HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.
We have heard of those who fancied that they beheld a signal instance
of the hand of the Creator in the celebrated cataract of Niagara. Such
instances of the power of sensible and near objects to influence certain
minds, only prove how much easier it is to impress the imaginations
of the dull with images that are novel, than with those that are less
apparent, though of infinitely greater magnitude. Thus it would seem to
be strange indeed, that any human being should find more to wonder at
in any one of the phenomena of the earth, than in the earth itself; or
should especially stand astonished at the might of Him who created the
world, when each night brings into view a firmament studded with other
worlds, each equally the work of His hands!
Nevertheless, there is (at bottom) a motive for adoration, in the study
of the lowest fruits of the wisdom and power of God. The leaf is as
much beyond our comprehension of remote causes, as much a subject of
intelligent admiration, as the tree which bears it: the single tree
confounds our knowledge and researches the same as the entire forest;
and, though a variety that appears to be endless pervades the world,
the same admirable adaptation of means to ends, the same bountiful
forethought, and the same benevolent wisdom, are to be found in the
acorn, as in the gnarled branch on which it grew.
The American forest has so often been described, as to cause one
to hesitate about reviving scenes that might possibly pall, and in
retouching pictures that have been so frequently painted as to be
familiar to every mind. But God created the woods, and the themes
bestowed by his bounty are inexhaustible. Even the ocean, with its
boundless waste of water, has been found to be rich in its various
beauties and marvels; and he who shall bury himself with us, once more,
in the virgin forests of this widespread land, may possibly discover new
subjects of admiration, new causes to adore the Being that has brought
all into existence, from the universe to its most minute particle.
The precise period of our legend was in the year 1812, and the season
of the year the pleasant month of July, which had now drawn near to its
close. The sun was already approaching the western limits of a wooded
view, when the actors in its opening scene must appear on a stage that
is worthy of a more particular description.
The region was, in one sense, wild, though it offered a picture that
was not without some of the strongest and most pleasing features of
civilization. The country was what is termed “rolling,” from some
fancied resemblance to the surface of the ocean, when it is just
undulating with a long “ground-swell.”
Although wooded, it was not, as the American forest is wont to grow,
with tail straight trees towering toward the light, but with intervals
between the low oaks that were scattered profusely over the view, and
with much of that air of negligence that one is apt to see in grounds
where art is made to assume the character of nature. The trees, with
very few exceptions, were what is called the “burr-oak,” a small
variety of a very extensive genus; and the spaces between them, always
irregular, and often of singular beauty, have obtained the name of
“openings”; the two terms combined giving their appellation to this
particular species of native forest, under the name of “Oak Openings.”
These woods, so peculiar to certain districts of country, are not
altogether without some variety, though possessing a general character
of sameness. The trees were of very uniform size, being little taller
than pear-trees, which they resemble a good deal in form; and having
trunks that rarely attain two feet in diameter. The variety is produced
by their distribution. In places they stand with a regularity resembling
that of an orchard; then, again, they are more scattered and less
formal, while wide breadths of the land are occasionally seen in which
they stand in copses, with vacant spaces, that bear no small affinity to
artificial lawns, being covered with verdure. The grasses are supposed
to be owing to the fires lighted periodically by the Indians in order to
clear their hunting-grounds.
Toward one of these grassy glades, which was spread on an almost
imperceptible acclivity, and which might have contained some fifty or
sixty acres of land, the reader is now requested to turn his eyes. Far
in the wilderness as was the spot, four men were there, and two of them
had even some of the appliances of civilization about them. The woods
around were the then unpeopled forest of Michigan; and the small winding
reach of placid water that was just visible in the distance, was an
elbow of the Kalamazoo, a beautiful little river that flows westward,
emptying its tribute into the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. Now, this
river has already become known, by its villages and farms, and railroads
and mills; but then, not a dwelling of more pretension than the wigwam
of the Indian, or an occasional shanty of some white adventurer,
had ever been seen on its banks. In that day, the whole of that fine
peninsula, with the exception of a narrow belt of country along the
Detroit River, which was settled by the French as far back as near the
close of the seventeenth century, was literally a wilderness. If a white
man found his way into it, it was as an Indian trader, a hunter, or an
adventurer in some other of the pursuits connected with border life and
the habits of the savages.
Of this last character were two of the men on the open glade just
mentioned, while their companions were of the race of the aborigines.
What is much more remarkable, the four were absolutely strangers to each
other's faces, having met for the first time in their lives, only an
hour previously to the commencement of our tale. By saying that they
were strangers to each other, we do not mean that the white men were
acquaintances, and the Indians strangers, but that neither of the four
had ever seen either of the party until they met on that grassy glade,
though fame had made them somewhat acquainted through their reputations.
At the moment when we desire to present this group to the imagination of
the reader, three of its number were grave and silent observers of
the movements of the fourth. The fourth individual was of middle size,
young, active, exceedingly well formed, and with a certain open
and frank expression of countenance, that rendered him at least
well-looking, though slightly marked with the small-pox. His real name
was Benjamin Boden, though he was extensively known throughout the
northwestern territories by the sobriquet of Ben Buzz--extensively as
to distances, if not as to people. By the voyageurs, and other French
of that region, he was almost universally styled le Bourdon or the
“Drone”; not, however, from his idleness or inactivity, but from the
circumstances that he was notorious for laying his hands on the
products of labor that proceeded from others. In a word, Ben Boden was
a “bee-hunter,” and as he was one of the first to exercise his craft in
that portion of the country, so was he infinitely the most skilful and
prosperous. The honey of le Bourdon was not only thought to be purer and
of higher flavor than that of any other trader in the article, but it
was much the most abundant. There were a score of respectable families
on the two banks of the Detroit, who never purchased of any one else,
but who patiently waited for the arrival of the capacious bark canoe of
Buzz, in the autumn, to lay in their supplies of this savory nutriment
for the approaching winter. The whole family of griddle cakes, including
those of buckwheat, Indian rice, and wheaten flour, were more or less
dependent on the safe arrival of le Bourdon, for their popularity and
welcome. Honey was eaten with all; and wild honey had a reputation,
rightfully or not obtained, that even rendered it more welcome than that
which was formed by the labor and art of the domesticated bee.
The dress of le Bourdon was well adapted to his pursuits and life. He
wore a hunting-shirt and trousers, made of thin stuff, which was dyed
green, and trimmed with yellow fringe. This was the ordinary forest
attire of the American rifleman; being of a character, as it was
thought, to conceal the person in the woods, by blending its hues with
those of the forest. On his head Ben wore a skin cap, somewhat smartly
made, but without the fur; the weather being warm. His moccasins were
a good deal wrought, but seemed to be fading under the exposure of many
marches. His arms were excellent; but all his martial accoutrements,
even to a keen long-bladed knife, were suspended from the rammer of his
rifle; the weapon itself being allowed to lean, in careless confidence,
against the trunk of the nearest oak, as if their master felt there was
no immediate use for them.
Not so with the other three. Not only was each man well armed, but each
man kept his trusty rifle hugged to his person, in a sort of jealous
watchfulness; while the other white man, from time to time, secretly,
but with great minuteness, examined the flint and priming of his own
piece.
This second pale-face was a very different person from him just
described. He was still young, tall, sinewy, gaunt, yet springy and
strong, stooping and round-shouldered, with a face that carried a very
decided top-light in it, like that of the notorious Bardolph. In short,
whiskey had dyed the countenance of Gershom Waring with a tell-tale
hue, that did not less infallibly betray his destination than his speech
denoted his origin, which was clearly from one of the States of New
England. But Gershom had been so long at the Northwest as to have
lost many of his peculiar habits and opinions, and to have obtained
substitutes.
Of the Indians, one, an elderly, wary, experienced warrior, was
a Pottawattamie, named Elksfoot, who was well known at all the
trading-houses and “garrisons” of the northwestern territory, including
Michigan as low down as Detroit itself. The other red man was a young
Chippewa, or O-jeb-way, as the civilized natives of that nation now tell
us the word should be spelled. His ordinary appellation among his own
people was that of Pigeonswing; a name obtained from the rapidity
and length of his flights. This young man, who was scarcely turned
of five-and-twenty, had already obtained a high reputation among the
numerous tribes of his nation, as a messenger, or “runner.”
Accident had brought these four persons, each and all strangers to one
another, in communication in the glade of the Oak Openings, which has
already been mentioned, within half an hour of the scene we are about
to present to the reader. Although the rencontre had been accompanied
by the usual precautions of those who meet in a wilderness, it had been
friendly so far; a circumstance that was in some measure owing to the
interest they all took in the occupation of the bee-hunter. The three
others, indeed, had come in on different trails, and surprised le
Bourdon in the midst of one of the most exciting exhibitions of his
art--an exhibition that awoke so much and so common an interest in the
spectators, as at once to place its continuance for the moment above all
other considerations. After brief salutations, and wary examinations of
the spot and its tenants, each individual had, in succession, given his
grave attention to what was going on, and all had united in begging
Ben Buzz to pursue his occupation, without regard to his visitors. The
conversation that took place was partly in English, and partly in one
of the Indian dialects, which luckily all the parties appeared to
understand. As a matter of course, with a sole view to oblige the
reader, we shall render what was said, freely, into the vernacular.
“Let's see, let's see, STRANger,” cried Gershom, emphasizing the
syllable we have put in italics, as if especially to betray his origin,
“what you can do with your tools. I've heer'n tell of such doin's, but
never see'd a bee lined in all my life, and have a desp'rate fancy for
larnin' of all sorts, from 'rithmetic to preachin'.”
“That comes from your Puritan blood,” answered le Bourdon, with a quiet
smile, using surprisingly pure English for one in his class of life.
“They tell me you Puritans preach by instinct.”
“I don't know how that is,” answered Gershom, “though I can turn my hand
to anything. I heer'n tell, across at Bob Ruly (Bois Brulk [Footnote:
This unfortunate name, which it may be necessary to tell a portion of
our readers means “burnt wood,” seems condemned to all sorts of abuses
among the linguists of the West. Among other pronunciations is that of
“Bob Ruly”; while an island near Detroit, the proper name of which is
“Bois Blanc,” is familiarly known to the lake mariners by the name of
“Bobolo.”]) of sich doin's, and would give a week's keep at Whiskey
Centre, to know how 'twas done.”
“Whiskey Centre” was a sobriquet bestowed by the fresh-water sailors
of that region, and the few other white adventurers of Saxon origin who
found their way into that trackless region, firstly on Gershom himself,
and secondly on his residence. These names were obtained from the
intensity of their respective characters, in favor of the beverage
named. L'eau de mort was the place termed by the voyagers, in a sort
of pleasant travesty on the eau de vie of their distant, but still
well-remembered manufactures on the banks of the Garonne. Ben Boden,
however, paid but little attention to the drawling remarks of Gershom
Waring. This was not the first time he had heard of “Whiskey Centre,”
though the first time he had ever seen the man himself. His attention
was on his own trade, or present occupation; and when it wandered at
all, it was principally bestowed on the Indians; more especially on the
runner. Of Elk's foot, or Elksfoot, as we prefer to spell it, he had
some knowledge by means of rumor; and the little he knew rendered him
somewhat more indifferent to his proceedings than he felt toward those
of the Pigeonswing. Of this young redskin he had never heard; and, while
he managed to suppress all exhibition of the feeling, a lively curiosity
to learn the Chippewa's business was uppermost in his mind. As for
Gershom, he had taken HIS measure at a glance, and had instantly set
him down to be, what in truth he was, a wandering, drinking, reckless
adventurer, who had a multitude of vices and bad qualities, mixed up
with a few that, if not absolutely redeeming, served to diminish the
disgust in which he might otherwise have been held by all decent people.
In the meanwhile, the bee-hunting, in which all the spectators took
so much interest, went on. As this is a process with which most of our
readers are probably unacquainted, it may be necessary to explain the
modus operandi, as well as the appliances used.
The tools of Ben Buzz, as Gershom had termed these implements of his
trade, were neither very numerous nor very complex. They were all
contained in a small covered wooden pail like those that artisans and
laborers are accustomed to carry for the purpose of conveying their
food from place to place. Uncovering this, le Bourdon had brought his
implements to view, previously to the moment when he was first seen by
the reader. There was a small covered cup of tin; a wooden box; a sort
of plate, or platter, made also of wood; and a common tumbler, of a very
inferior, greenish glass. In the year 1812, there was not a pane, nor a
vessel, of clear, transparent glass, made in all America! Now, some of
the most beautiful manufactures of that sort, known to civilization, are
abundantly produced among us, in common with a thousand other articles
that are used in domestic economy. The tumbler of Ben Buzz, however, was
his countryman in more senses than one. It was not only American, but
it came from the part of Pennsylvania of which he was himself a native.
Blurred, and of a greenish hue, the glass was the best that Pittsburg
could then fabricate, and Ben had bought it only the year before, on the
very spot where it had been made.
An oak, of more size than usual, had stood a little remote from its
fellows, or more within the open ground of the glade than the rest of
the “orchard.” Lightning had struck this tree that very summer, twisting
off its trunk at a height of about four feet from the ground. Several
fragments of the body and branches lay near, and on these the spectators
now took their seats, watching attentively the movements of the
bee-hunter. Of the stump Ben had made a sort of table, first levelling
its splinters with an axe, and on it he placed the several implements of
his craft, as he had need of each in succession.
The wooden platter was first placed on this rude table. Then le Bourdon
opened his small box, and took out of it a piece of honeycomb, that was
circular in shape, and about an inch and a half in diameter. The little
covered tin vessel was next brought into use. Some pure and beautifully
clear honey was poured from its spout into the cells of the piece of
comb, until each of them was about half filled. The tumbler was next
taken in hand, carefully wiped, and examined, by holding it up before
the eyes of the bee-hunter. Certainly, there was little to admire in it,
but it was sufficiently transparent to answer his purposes. All he asked
was to be able to look through the glass in order to see what was going
on in its interior.
Having made these preliminary arrangements, Buzzing Ben--for the
sobriquet was applied to him in this form quite as often as in the
other--next turned his attention to the velvet-like covering of the
grassy glade. Fire had run over the whole region late that spring, and
the grass was now as fresh, and sweet and short, as if the place were
pastured. The white clover, in particular, abounded, and was then
just bursting forth into the blossom. Various other flowers had
also appeared, and around them were buzzing thousands of bees. These
industrious little animals were hard at work, loading themselves with
sweets; little foreseeing the robbery contemplated by the craft of
man. As le Bourdon moved stealthily among the flowers and their humming
visitors, the eyes of the two red men followed his smallest movement, as
the cat watches the mouse; but Gershom was less attentive, thinking the
whole curious enough, but preferring whiskey to all the honey on earth.
At length le Bourdon found a bee to his mind, and watching the moment
when the animal was sipping sweets from a head of white clover, he
cautiously placed his blurred and green-looking tumbler over it, and
made it his prisoner. The moment the bee found itself encircled with the
glass, it took wing and attempted to rise. This carried it to the upper
part of its prison, when Ben carefully introduced the unoccupied hand
beneath the glass, and returned to the stump. Here he set the tumbler
down on the platter in a way to bring the piece of honeycomb within its
circle.
So much done successfully, and with very little trouble, Buzzing Ben
examined his captive for a moment, to make sure that all was right. Then
he took off his cap and placed it over tumbler, platter, honeycomb, and
bee. He now waited half a minute, when cautiously raising the cap again,
it was seen that the bee, the moment a darkness like that of its hive
came over it, had lighted on the comb, and commenced filling itself with
the honey. When Ben took away the cap altogether, the head and half of
the body of the bee was in one of the cells, its whole attention being
bestowed on this unlooked-for hoard of treasure. As this was just what
its captor wished, he considered that part of his work accomplished. It
now became apparent why a glass was used to take the bee, instead of a
vessel of wood or of bark. Transparency was necessary in order to watch
the movements of the captive, as darkness was necessary in order to
induce it to cease its efforts to escape, and to settle on the comb.
As the bee was now intently occupied in filling itself, Buzzing Ben, or
le Bourdon, did not hesitate about removing the glass. He even ventured
to look around him, and to make another captive, which he placed over
the comb, and managed as he had done with the first. In a minute, the
second bee was also buried in a cell, and the glass was again removed.
Le Bourdon now signed for his companions to draw near.
“There they are, hard at work with the honey,” he said, speaking in
English, and pointing at the bees. “Little do they think, as they
undermine that comb, how near they are to the undermining of their own
hive! But so it is with us all! When we think we are in the highest
prosperity we may be nearest to a fall, and when we are poorest and
hum-blest, we may be about to be exalted. I often think of these things,
out here in the wilderness, when I'm alone, and my thoughts are acTYVE.”
Ben used a very pure English, when his condition in life is remembered;
but now and then, he encountered a word which pretty plainly proved he
was not exactly a scholar. A false emphasis has sometimes an influence
on a man's fortune, when one lives in the world; but it mattered little
to one like Buzzing Ben, who seldom saw more than half a dozen human
faces in the course of a whole summer's hunting. We remember an
Englishman, however, who would never concede talents to Burr, because
the latter said, a L'AmEricaine, EurOpean, instead of EuropEan.
“How hive in danger?” demanded Elksfoot, who was very much of a
matter-of-fact person. “No see him, no hear him--else get some honey.”
“Honey you can have for asking, for I've plenty of it already in my
cabin, though it's somewhat 'arly in the season to begin to break in
upon the store. In general, the bee-hunters keep back till August, for
they think it better to commence work when the creatures”--this word
Ben pronounced as accurately as if brought up at St. James's, making it
neither “creatur'” nor “creatOOre”--“to commence work when the creatures
have had time to fill up, after winter's feed. But I like the old stock,
and, what is more, I feel satisfied this is not to be a common summer,
and so I thought I would make an early start.”
As Ben said this, he glanced his eyes at Pigeonswing, who returned the
look in a way to prove there was already a secret intelligence between
them, though neither had ever seen the other an hour before.
“Waal!” exclaimed Gershom, “this is cur'ous, I'll allow THAT; yes, it's
cur'ous--but we've got an article at Whiskey Centre that'll put the
sweetest honey bee ever suck'd, altogether out o' countenance!”
“An article of which you suck your share, I'll answer for it, judging
by the sign you carry between the windows of your face,” returned Ben,
laughing; “but hush, men, hush. That first bee is filled, and begins to
think of home. He'll soon be off for HONEY Centre, and I must keep my
eye on him. Now, stand a little aside, friends, and give me room for my
craft.”
The men complied, and le Bourdon was now all intense attention to his
business. The bee first taken had, indeed, filled itself to satiety, and
at first seemed to be too heavy to rise on the wing. After a few moments
of preparation, however, up it went, circling around the spot, as if
uncertain what course to take. The eye of Ben never left it, and when
the insect darted off, as it soon did, in an air-line, he saw it for
fifty yards after the others had lost sight of it. Ben took the range,
and was silent fully a minute while he did so.
“That bee may have lighted in the corner of yonder swamp,” he said,
pointing, as he spoke, to a bit of low land that sustained a growth of
much larger trees than those which grew in the “opening,” “or it has
crossed the point of the wood, and struck across the prairie beyond,
and made for a bit of thick forest that is to be found about three miles
further. In the last case, I shall have my trouble for nothing.”
“What t'other do?” demanded Elksfoot, with very obvious curiosity.
“Sure enough; the other gentleman must be nearly ready for a start,
and we'll see what road HE travels. 'Tis always an assistance to a
bee-hunter to get one creature fairly off, as it helps him to line the
next with greater sartainty.”
Ben WOULD say acTYVE, and SARtain, though he was above saying creatoore,
or creatur'. This is the difference between a Pennsylvanian and
a Yankee. We shall not stop, however, to note all these little
peculiarities in these individuals, but use the proper or the peculiar
dialect, as may happen to be most convenient to ourselves.
But there was no time for disquisition, the second bee being now ready
for a start. Like his companion, this insect rose and encircled the
stump several times, ere it darted away toward its hive, in an air-line.
So small was the object, and so rapid its movement, that no one but the
bee-hunter saw the animal after it had begun its journey in earnest. To
HIS disappointment, instead of flying in the same direction as the
bee first taken, this little fellow went buzzing off fairly at a right
angle! It was consequently clear that there were two hives, and that
they lay in very different directions.
Without wasting his time in useless talk, le Bourdon now caught another
bee, which was subjected to the same process as those first taken. When
this creature had filled it-self, it rose, circled the stump as usual,
as if to note the spot for a second visit, and darted away, directly in
a line with the bee first taken. Ben noted its flight most accurately,
and had his eye on it, until it was quite a hundred yards from the
stump. This he was enabled to do, by means of a quick sight and long
practice.
“We'll move our quarters, friends,” said Buzzing Ben, good-humoredly, as
soon as satisfied with this last observation, and gathering together his
traps for a start. “I must angle for that hive, and I fear it will turn
out to be across the prairie, and quite beyond my reach for to-day.”
The prairie alluded to was one of those small natural meadows, or
pastures, that are to be found in Michigan, and may have contained
four or five thousand acres of open land. The heavy timber of the
swamp mentioned, jutted into it, and the point to be determined was, to
ascertain whether the bees had flown OVER these trees, toward which they
had certainly gone in an air-line, or whether they had found their hive
among them. In order to settle this material question, a new process was
necessary.
“I must 'angle' for them chaps,” repeated le Bourdon; “and if you
will go with me, strangers, you shall soon see the nicest part of the
business of bee-hunting. Many a man who can 'line' a bee, can do nothing
at an 'angle'.”
As this was only gibberish to the listeners, no answer was made, but
all prepared to follow Ben, who was soon ready to change his ground.
The bee-hunter took his way across the open ground to a point fully a
hundred rods distant from his first position, where he found another
stump of a fallen tree, which he converted into a stand. The same
process was gone through with as before, and le Bourdon was soon
watching two bees that had plunged their heads down into the cells of
the comb. Nothing could exceed the gravity and attention of the Indians,
all this time. They had fully comprehended the business of “lining” the
insects toward their hives, but they could not understand the virtue of
the “angle.” The first bore so strong an affinity to their own pursuit
of game, as to be very obvious to their senses; but the last included a
species of information to which they were total strangers. Nor were they
much the wiser after le Bourdon had taken his “angle”; it requiring a
sort of induction to which they were not accustomed, in order to put the
several parts of his proceedings together, and to draw the inference.
As for Gershom, he affected to be familiar with all that was going on,
though he was just as ignorant as the Indians themselves. This little
bit of hypocrisy was the homage he paid to his white blood: it being
very unseemly, according to his view of the matter, for a pale-face not
to know more than a redskin.
The bees were some little time in filling themselves. At length one
of them came out of his cell, and was evidently getting ready for his
flight. Ben beckoned to the spectators to stand farther back, in order
to give him a fair chance, and, just as he had done so, the bee rose.
After humming around the stump for an instant, away the insect flew,
taking a course almost at right angles to that in which le Bourdon had
expected to see it fly. It required half a minute for him to recollect
that this little creature had gone off in a line nearly parallel to that
which had been taken by the second of the bees, which he had seen quit
his original position. The line led across the neighboring prairie, and
any attempt to follow these bees was hopeless.
But the second creature was also soon ready, and when it darted away, le
Bourdon, to his manifest delight, saw that it held its flight toward
the point of the swamp INTO, or OVER which two of his first captives had
gone. This settled the doubtful matter. Had the hive of these bees been
BEYOND that wood, the angle of intersection would not have been there,
but at the hive across the prairie. The reader will understand that
creatures which obey an instinct, or such a reason as bees possess,
would never make a curvature in their flights without some strong motive
for it. Thus, two bees taken from flowers that stood half a mile apart
would be certain not to cross each other's tracks, in returning home,
until they met at the common hive: and wherever the intersecting angle
in their respective flights may be, there would that hive be also. As
this repository of sweets was the game le Bourdon had in view, it is
easy to see how much he was pleased when the direction taken by the
last of his bees gave him the necessary assurance that its home would
certainly be found in that very point of dense wood.