We call them savage--oh, be just!
Their outraged feelings scan;
A voice comes forth, 'tis from the dust--
The savage was a man!
SPRAGUE.
As soon as le Bourdon reached the commencement of that which might be
called his path across the marsh, he stopped and looked backward. He was
now sufficiently removed from the low acclivity to see objects on its
summit, and had no difficulty in discerning all that the waning fire
illuminated. There stood the Chippewa erect against the tree as if still
bound with thongs, while the sentinel was slowly approaching him. The
dogs were on their feet, and gave two or three sharp barks, which had
the effect to cause five or six of the savages to lift their heads in
their lairs. One arose even and threw an armful of dried branches on the
fire, producing a bright blaze, that brought everything around the hut,
and which the light could touch, into full view.
The bee-hunter was astonished at the immovable calmness with which
Pigeonswing still stood to his tree, awaiting the approach of the
sentinel. In a few moments the latter was at his side. At first the
Pottawattamie did not perceive that the prisoner was unbound. He threw
him into shadow by his own person, and it required a close look to note
the circumstance. Boden was too far from the spot to see all the minor
movements of the parties, but there was soon a struggle that could
not be mistaken. As the Pottawattamie was examining the prisoner, an
exclamation that escaped him betrayed the sudden consciousness that the
Chippewa was unbound. The sound was no sooner uttered than Pigeonswing
made a grasp at the sentinel's knife, which however he did not obtain,
when the two closed and fell, rolling down the declivity into the
darkness. When the Pottawattamie seized the Chippewa, he uttered a
yell, which instantly brought every man of his party to his feet. As the
savages now united in the whoops, and the dogs began to bark wildly, an
infernal clamor was made.
At first, le Bourdon did not know how to act. He greatly feared the
dogs, and could not but think of Margery, and the probable consequences,
should those sagacious animals follow him across the marsh. But he did
not like the idea of abandoning Pigeonswing, when a single blow of his
arm, or a kick of his foot, might be the cause of his escape. While
deliberating in painful uncertainty, the sounds of the struggle ceased,
and he saw the sentinel rising again into the light, limping like one
who had suffered by a fall. Presently he heard a footstep near him, and,
calling in a low voice, he was immediately joined by Pigeonswing. Before
the bee-hunter was aware of his intention, the Chippewa seized his
rifle, and levelling at the sentinel, who still stood on the brow of the
hill, drawn in all his savage outlines distinctly in the light of
the flames, he fired. The cry, the leap into the air, and the fall,
announced the unerring character of the aim. In coming to the earth,
the wounded man fell over the brow of the sharp acclivity, and was heard
rolling toward its base.
Le Bourdon felt the importance of now improving the precious moments,
and was in the act of urging his companion to follow, when the latter
passed an arm around his body, whipped his knife from the girdle and
sheath, and dropping the rifle into his friend's arms, bounded away in
the darkness, taking the direction of his fallen enemy. There was no
mistaking all this; Chippewa, led by his own peculiar sense of honor,
risking everything to obtain the usual trophy of victory. By this time,
a dozen of the savages stood on the brow of the hill, seemingly at a
loss to understand what had become of the combatants. Perceiving
this, the bee-hunter profited by the delay and reloaded his rifle. As
everything passed almost as swiftly as the electric spark is known
to travel, it was but a moment after the Pottawattamie fell ere his
conqueror was through with his bloody task. Just as le Bourdon threw his
rifle up into the hollow of his arm, he was rejoined by his red
friend, who bore the reeking scalp of the sentinel at his belt; though
fortunately the bee-hunter did not see it on account of the obscurity,
else might he not have been so willing to continue to act with so
ruthless an ally.
Further stay was out of the question; for the Indians were now collected
in a body on the brow of the hill, where the chief was rapidly issuing
his orders. In a minute the band dispersed, every man bounding into the
darkness, as if aware of the danger of remaining within the influence of
the bright light thrown from the fire. Then came such a clamor from
the dogs, as left no doubt in the mind of the bee-hunter that they had
scented and found the remains of the fallen man. A fierce yell came from
the same spot, the proof that some of the savages had already discovered
the body; and le Bourdon told his companion to follow, taking his way
across the marsh as fast as he could overcome the difficulties of the
path.
It has already been intimated that it was not easy, if indeed it were
possible, to cross that piece of low wet land in a direct line. There
was tolerably firm ground on it, but it lay in an irregular form, its
presence being generally to be noted by the growth of trees. Le
Bourdon had been very careful in taking his landmarks, foreseeing the
probability of a hasty retreat, and he had no difficulty for some time
in keeping in the right direction. But the dogs soon left the dead
body, and came bounding across the marsh, disregarding its difficulties;
though their plunges and yells soon made it apparent that even they did
not escape altogether with dry feet. As for the savages, they poured
down the declivity in a stream, taking the dogs as their guides;
and safe ones they might well be accounted, so far as the SCENT was
concerned, though they did not happen to be particularly well acquainted
with all the difficulties of the path.
At length le Bourdon paused, causing his companion to stop also. In the
hurry and confusion of the flight, the former had lost his landmarks,
finding himself amidst a copse of small trees, or large bushes, but
not in the particular copse he sought. Every effort to get out of this
thicket, except by the way he had entered it, proved abortive, and the
dogs were barking at no great distance in his rear. It is true that
these animals no longer approached: for they were floundering in the mud
and water; but their throats answered every purpose to lead the pursuers
on, and the low calls that passed from mouth to mouth, let the
pursued understand that the Pottawattamies were at their heels, if not
absolutely on their trail.
The crisis demanded both discretion and decision; qualities in which the
bee-hunter, with his forest training, was not likely to be deficient. He
looked out for the path by which he had reached the unfortunate thicket,
and having found it, commenced a retreat by the way he had come. Nerve
was needed to move almost in a line toward the dogs and their masters;
but the nerve was forthcoming, and the two advanced like veterans
expecting the fire of some concealed but well-armed battery. Presently,
le Bourdon stopped, and examined the ground on which he stood.
“HERE we must turn, Chippewa,” he said, in a guarded voice. “This is the
spot where I must have missed my way.”
“Good place to turn 'bout,” answered the Indian--“dog too near.”
“We must shoot the dogs if they press us too hard,” returned the
bee-hunter, leading off rapidly, now secure in the right direction.
“They seem to be in trouble, just at this time; but animals like them
will soon find their way across this marsh.”
“Bess shoot Pottawattamie,” coolly returned Pigeonswing. “Pottawattamie
got capital scalp--dog's ears no good for nutting any more.”
“Yonder, I believe, is the tree I am in search of!” exclaimed le
Bourdon. “If we can reach that tree, I think all will go well with us.”
The tree was reached, and the bee-hunter proceeded to make sure of
his course from that point. Removing from his pouch a small piece of
moistened powder that he had prepared ere he liberated the Chippewa, he
stuck it on a low branch of the tree he was under, and on the side next
the spot where he had stationed Margery. When this was done, he made his
companion stand aside, and lighting some spunk with his flint and steel,
he fired his powder. Of course, this little preparation burned like the
fireworks of a boy, making sufficient light, however, to be seen in a
dark night for a mile or more. No sooner was the wetted powder hissing
and throwing off its sparks, than the bee-hunter gazed intently into the
now seemingly tangible obscurity of the marsh. A bright light appeared
and vanished. It was enough; the bee-hunter threw down his own signal
and extinguished it with his foot; and, as he wished, the lantern of
Margery appeared no more. Assured now of the accuracy of his position,
as well as of the course he was to pursue, le Bourdon bade his companion
follow, and pressed anew across the marsh. A tree was soon visible, and
toward that particular object the fugitives steadily pressed, until it
was reached. At the next instant Margery was joined; and the bee-hunter
could not refrain from kissing her, in the excess of his pleasure.
“There is a dreadful howling of dogs,” said Margery, feeling no offence
at the liberty taken, in a moment like that, “and it seems to me that a
whole tribe is following at their heels. For Heaven's sake, Bourdon, let
us hasten to the canoes; brother and sister must think us lost!”
The circumstances pressed, and the bee-hunter took Margery's arm,
passing it through one of his own, with a decided and protecting manner,
that caused the girl's heart to beat with emotions not in the least
connected with fear, leaving an impression of pleasure even at that
perilous moment. As the distance was not great, the three were soon
on the beach and near to the canoes. Here they met Dorothy, alone, and
pacing to and fro like a person distressed. She had doubtless heard the
clamor, and was aware that the savages were out looking for their party.
As Margery met her sister, she saw that something more than common
had gone wrong, and in the eagerness of her apprehensions she did not
scruple about putting her questions.
“What has become of brother? Where is Gershom?” demanded the sensitive
girl, at once.
The answer was given in a low voice, and in that sort of manner with
which woman struggles to the last to conceal the delinquencies of him
she loves.
“Gershom is not himself, just now,” half whispered the wife--“he has
fallen into one of his old ways, ag'in.”
“Old ways?” slowly repeated the sister, dropping her own voice to
tones similar to those in which the unpleasant news had just been
communicated. “How is that possible, now that all the whiskey is
emptied?”
“It seems that Bourdon had a jug of brandy among his stores, and Gershom
found it out. I blame no one; for Bourdon, who never abuses the gifts of
Providence, had a right to his comforts at least; but it IS a pity that
there was anything of the sort in the canoes!”
The bee-hunter was greatly concerned at this unwelcome intelligence,
feeling all its importance far more vividly than either of his
companions. They regretted as women; but he foresaw the danger, as a man
accustomed to exertion in trying scenes. If Whiskey Centre had really
fallen into his old ways, so as to render himself an incumbrance,
instead of being an assistant at such a moment, the fact was to be
deplored, but it could only be remedied by time. Luckily they had
the Indian with them, and he could manage one of the canoes, while he
himself took charge of the other. As no time was to be lost--the barking
of the dogs and the cries of the savages too plainly letting it be known
that the enemy was getting through the marsh by some means or other--he
hurried the party down to the canoes, entering that of Whiskey Centre at
once.
Le Bourdon found Gershom asleep, but with the heavy slumbers of the
drunkard. Dolly had removed the jug and concealed it, as soon as
the state of her husband enabled her to do so without incurring his
violence. Else might the unfortunate man have destroyed himself, by
indulging in a liquor so much more palatable than that he was accustomed
to use, after so long and compelled an abstinence. The jug was now
produced, however, and le Bourdon emptied it in the river, to the great
joy of the two females, though not without a sharp remonstrance from the
Chippewa. The bee-hunter was steady, and the last drop of the liquor of
Gascony was soon mingling with the waters of the Kalamazoo. This done,
the bee-hunter desired the women to embark, and called to the Chippewa
to do the same. By quitting the spot in the canoes, it was evident the
pursuers would be balked, temporarily at least, since they must recross
the marsh in order to get into their own boats, without which further
pursuit would be fruitless.
It might have been by means of a secret sympathy, or it was possibly the
result of accident, but certain it is, that the Chippewa was placed
in that of le Bourdon. As for Whiskey Centre, he lay like a log in the
bottom of his own light bark, cared for only by his affectionate wife,
who had made a pillow for his head; but, fortunately, if no assistance
just then, not any material hindrance to the movements of his friends.
By the time le Bourdon and the Chippewa had got their stations, and the
canoes were free of the bottom, it was evident by the sounds, that not
only the dogs, but divers of their masters, had floundered through the
swamp, and were already on the firm ground east of it. As the dogs ran
by scent, little doubt remained of their soon leading the savages to
the place of embarkation. Aware of this, the bee-hunter directed
the Chippewa to follow, and urged his own canoe away from the shore,
following one of three of the natural channels that united just at that
point.
The clamor now sensibly increased, and the approach of the pursuers
was much faster than it had previously been, in consequence of there no
longer being wet land beneath their feet. At the distance of fifty
yards from the shore, however, the channel, or open avenue among
the rice-plants that the canoes had taken, made a short turn to the
northward; for all the events we have just been recording occurred on
the northern, or leeward side of the river. Once around this bend in the
channel, the canoes would have been effectually concealed from those on
the beach, had it even been broad daylight, and, of course, were so
much more hidden from view under the obscurity of a very dark night.
Perceiving this, and fearful that the dip of the paddles might be heard,
le Bourdon ceased to urge his canoe through the water, telling the
Chippewa to imitate his example, and let the boats drift. In consequence
of this precaution the fugitives were still quite near the shore when,
first, the dogs, then a party of their masters, came rushing down to the
very spot whence the canoes had departed scarcely two minutes before.
As no precautions were taken to conceal the advance of the pursuers, the
pursued, or the individuals among them who alone understood the common
language of the great Ojebway nation well, had an opportunity of hearing
and understanding all that was said. Le Bourdon had brought the two
canoes together; and the Chippewa, at his request, now translated
such parts of the discourse of their enemies as he deemed worthy of
communicating to the females.
“Say, now, nobody dere!” commenced the Indian, coolly. “T'ink he no
great way off--mean to look for him--t'ink dog uneasy--won'er why dog so
uneasy.”
“Them dogs are very likely to scent us here in the canoes, we are so
near them,” whispered le Bourdon.
“S'pose he do, can't catch us,” coolly answered the Chippewa--“beside,
shoot him, don't take care--bad for dog to chase warrior too much.”
“There is one speaking now, who seems to have authority.”
“Yes--he chief--know he voice--hear him too often--he mean to put
Pigeonswing to torture. Well, let him catch Pigeonswing fust--swift bird
do that, eh?”
“But what says he?--it may be of importance to learn what the chief
says, just now.”
“Who care what he say--can't do nuttin'--if get good chance, take HIS
scalp, too.”
“Aye, that I dare say--but he is speaking earnestly and in a low voice;
listen, and let us know what he says. I do not well understand at this
distance.”
The Chippewa complied, and maintained an attentive silence until the
chief ceased to speak. Then he rendered what had been said into such
English as he could command, accompanying the translation by the
explanations that naturally suggested themselves to one like himself.
“Chief talk to young men,” said the Chippewa--“all chief talk to young
men--tell him dat Pigeonswing must get off in canoe--don't see canoe,
nudder--but, muss be canoe, else he swim. T'ink more than one Injin
here--don't know, dough--maybe, maybe not--can't tell, till see trail,
morrow morning--”
“Well, well; but what does he tell his young men to DO?” demanded the
bee-hunter, impatiently.
“Don't be squaw, Bourdon--tell all by'em bye. Tell young men s'pose he
get canoe, den he may get OUR canoe, and carry 'em off--s'pose he swim;
dat Chippewa devil swim down stream and get OUR canoe dat fashion--bess
go back, some of you, and see arter OUR canoe--dat what he tell young
men most.”
“That is a lucky thought!” exclaimed le Bourdon--“let us paddle down, at
once, and seize all their canoes before they can get there. The distance
by water, owing to this bend in the river, is not half as great as that
by land, and the marsh will double the distance to them.”
“Dat good counsel,” said Pigeonswing--“you go--I follow.”
This was no sooner said, than the canoes again got in motion. The
darkness might now have been a sufficient protection had there been no
rice, but the plant would have concealed the movement, even at noon-day.
The fire in the hut served as a beacon, and enabled le Bourdon to find
the canoes. When he reached the landing, he could still hear the dogs
barking on the marsh, and the voices of those with them, calling in loud
tones to two of the savages who had remained at the chiente, as a sort
of camp-guard.
“What do them chaps say?” asked le Bourdon of the Chippewa. “They yell
as if striving to make the two men at the door of the hut hear them. Can
you make out what they are bawling so loud?”
“Tell two warrior to come down and take care of canoe--dat all--let 'em
come--find two here to take care of DEM--got good scalp, them two rascal
Pottawattamie!”
“No--no--Pigeonswing--we must have no more of that work to-night, but
must set about towing these four canoes off the shore as fast as we can.
Have you got hitches on your two?”
“Fast 'nough--so fast, he follow,” answered the Indian, who,
notwithstanding his preparations to help to remove the canoes, was
manifestly reluctant to depart without striking another blow at his
enemies. “Now good time for dem rascal to lose scalp!”
“Them rascals, as you call them, begin to understand their friends in
the marsh, and are looking to the priming of their rifles. We must be
moving, or they may see us, and give us a shot. Shove off, Chippewa, and
paddle at once for the middle of the bay.”
As le Bourdon was much in earnest, Pigeonswing was fain to comply. Had
the last possessed a rifle of his own, or even a knife, it is highly
probable he would have leaped ashore, and found the means of stealing on
some of his enemies unawares, and thus secured another trophy. But the
bee-hunter was determined, and the Chippewa, however reluctant, was
compelled to obey; for not only had le Bourdon kept his rifle at his
side, but he had used the precaution of securing his knife and tomahawk,
both of which he carried habitually, the same as a red man.
The canoes had now a somewhat difficult task. The wind still blew fresh,
and it was necessary for one of these light craft, pretty well loaded
with its proper freight, and paddled by only a single person, to tow two
other craft of equal size dead to the windward. The weight in the towing
craft, and the lightness of those that were towed, rendered this task,
however, easier than it might otherwise have proved. In the course of
a couple of minutes all the canoes were far enough from the shore to be
out of sight of the two Indians, who, by that time, had got down to the
beach to look after their own craft. The yell these savages raised on
finding themselves too late, not only announced their disappointment,
but communicated the extent of the disaster to their friends, who were
still floundering through the marsh.
The great advantage that the party of the bee-hunter had now obtained
must be very apparent to all. In possession of ALL the canoes, their
enemies were, or would be for some time at least, confined to the
northern side of the river, which was so wide near its mouth as to
present an effectual barrier between them and those who occupied the
opposite bank. The canoes, also, enabled the weaker party to change
their position at will, carrying with them as many effects as were on
board, and which included the whole of the property of le Bourdon; while
their loss deprived their enemies of all extra means of motion, and
would be very likely to induce them to proceed on their expedition by
land. The objects of that expedition could only be conjectured by the
bee-hunter, until he had questioned the Chippewa; a thing he did not
fail to do, so soon as he believed the party quite safe under the south
shore. Here the fugitives landed, proceeding up a natural channel in the
wild rice in order to do so, and selecting a bit of dry beach for
their purpose. Margery set about lighting a fire, in order to keep the
mosquitos at a distance, selecting a spot to kindle it, behind a swell
on the land, that concealed the light from all on the other shore. In
the morning, it would be necessary to extinguish that fire, lest its
smoke should betray their position. It was while these things were in
progress, and after le Bourdon had himself procured the fuel necessary
to feed pretty Margery's fire, that he questioned the Chippewa touching
his captivity.
“Yes, tell all 'bout him,” answered the Indian, as soon as
interrogated--“no good to hide trail from friend. 'Member when say
good-by up in openin' to Bourdon?”
“Certainly--I remember the very instant when you left me. The
Pottawattamie went on one path, and you went on another. I was glad of
that, as you seemed to think he was not your friend.”
“Yes; good not to travel on same path as inimy, 'cause he quarrel
sometime,” coolly returned the Indian. “Dis time, path come together,
somehow; and Pottawattamie lose he scalp.”
“I am aware of all that, Pigeonswing, and wish it had not been so. I
found the body of Elksfoot sitting up against a tree soon after you left
me, and knew by whose hands he had fallen.”
“Didn't find scalp, eh?”
“No, the scalp had been taken; though I accounted that but for little,
since the man's life was gone. There is little gained by carrying on war
in this manner, making the woods, and the openings, and the prairies,
alike unsafe. You see, to what distress this family is reduced by your
Injin manner of making war.”
“How you make him, den--want, to hear. Go kiss, and give venison to
inimy, or go get his scalp, eh? Which bess fashion to make him afeard,
and own you master?”
“All that may be done without killing single travellers, or murdering
women and children. The peace will be made none the sooner between
England and America, because you have got the scalp of Elksfoot.”
“No haben't got him any longer; wish had--Pottawattamie take him away,
and say he bury him. Well, let him hide him in a hole deep as white
man's well, can't hide Pigeonswing honor dere, too. Dat is safe as notch
cut on stick can make him!”
This notch on a stick was the Indian mode of gazetting a warrior; and a
certain number of these notches was pretty certain to procure for him a
sort of savage brevet, which answered his purpose quite as well as the
modern mode of brevetting at Washington answers our purpose. Neither
brings any pay, we believe, nor any command, except in such cases as
rarely occur, and then only to the advantage of government. There are
varieties in honor, as in any other human interest: so are there many
moral degrees in warfare. Thus, the very individual who admires the
occupation of Algiers, or that of Tahiti, or the attack on Canton,
together with the long train of Indian events which have dyed the
peninsulas of the East in the blood of their people, sees an alarming
enormity in the knocking down of the walls of Vera Cruz, though the
breach opened a direct road into San Juan de Ulloa. In the eyes of
the same profound moralists, the garitas of Mexico ought to have been
respected, as so many doors opening into the boudoirs of the beautiful
dames of that fine capital; it being a monstrous thing to fire a shot
into the streets of a town, no matter how many came out of them. We
are happy, therefore, to have it in our power to add these touches of
philosophy that came from Pigeonswing to those of the sages of the
old world, by way of completing a code of international morals on this
interesting subject, in which the student shall be at a loss to say
which he most admires--that which comes from the schools, or that which
comes direct from the wilderness.
“So best,” answered the bee-hunter. “I wish I could persuade you to
throw away that disgusting thing at your belt. Remember, Chippewa, you
are now among Christians, and ought to do as Christians wish.”
“What Christians DO, eh?” returned the Indian, with a sneer, “get drunk
like Whiskey Centre, dere? Cheat poor red man; den get down on knee and
look up at Manitou? DAT what Christian do, eh?”
“They who do such things are Christian but in name--you must think
better of such as are Christians in fact.”
“Ebberybody call himself Christian, tell you--all pale-face
Christian, dey say. Now, listen to Chippewa. Once talk long talk wit'
missionary--tell all about Christian--what Christian do--what Christian
say--how he eat, how he sleep, HOW he drink!--all good--wish Pigeonwing
Christian--den 'member so'ger at garrison--no eat, no sleep, no drink
Christian fashion--do ebbery t'ing so'ger fashion--swear, fight, cheat,
get drunk--wuss dan Injin--dat Christian, eh?”
“No, that is not acting like a Christian; and I fear very few of us who
call ourselves by that name, act as if we were Christians, in truth,”
said le Bourdon, conscious of the justice of the Chippewa's accusation.
“Just dat--now, I get him--ask missionary, one day, where all Christian
go to, so dat Injin can't find him--none in woods--none on prairie--none
in garrison--none in Mack'naw--none at Detroit--where all go to, den, so
Injin can't find him, on'y in missionary talk?”
“I am curious to know what answer your missionary made to that
question.”
“Well, tell you--say, on'y one in ten t'ousant RAAL Christians 'mong
pale-face, dough all call himself Christian! DAT what Injin t'ink queer,
eh?”
“It is not easy to make a red man understand all the ways of the
pale-faces, Pigeonswing; but we will talk of these things another time,
when we are more at our ease. Just now, I wish to learn all I can of the
manner in which you fell into the hands of the Pottawattamies.”
“Dat plain 'nough--wish Christian talk half as plain. You see, Bourdon,
dat Elksfoot on scout, when we meet in openin', up river. I know'd his
ar'nd, and so took scalp. Dem Pottawattamie his friend--when dey come to
meet ole chief, no find him; but find Pigeonwing; got me when tired
and 'sleep; got Elkfoot scalp wid me--sorry for dat--know scalp by
scalp-lock, which had gray hair, and some mark. So put me in canoe, and
meant to take Chippewa to Chicago to torture him--but too much wind. So,
when meet friend in t'odder canoe, come back here to wait little while.”
This was the simple explanation of the manner in which Pigeonswing had
fallen into the hands of his enemies. It would seem that Elksfoot had
come in a canoe from the mouth of the St. Joseph's to a point about
half-way between that river and the mouth of the Kalamazoo, and there
landed. What the object of the party was, does not exactly appear,
though it is far from being certain that it was not to seize the
bee-hunter, and confiscate his effects. Although le Bourdon was
personally a stranger to Elksfoot, news flies through the wilderness in
an extraordinary manner; and it was not at all unlikely that the fact of
a white American's being in the openings should soon spread, along with
the tidings that the hatchet was dug up, and that a party should go out
in quest of his scalp and the plunder. It would seem that the savage
tact of the Chippewa detected that in the manner of the Pottawattamie
chief, which assured him the intentions of the old warrior were not
amicable; and that he took the very summary process which has been
related, not only to secure HIS scalp, but effectually to put it out
of his power to do any mischief to one who was an ally, and by means of
recent confidence, now a friend. All this the Indian explained to his
companion, in his usual clipped English, but with a clearness sufficient
to make it perfectly intelligible to his listener. The bee-hunter
listened with the most profound attention, for he was fully aware of the
importance of comprehending all the hazards of his own situation.
While this dialogue was going on, Margery had succeeded in lighting her
fire, and was busy in preparing some warm compound, which she knew would
be required by her unhappy brother after his debauch, Dorothy passed
often between the fire and the canoe, feeling a wife's anxiety in the
fate of her husband. As for the Chippewa, intoxication was a very venial
offence in his eyes; though he had a contempt for a man who would thus
indulge while on a warpath. The American Indian does possess this merit
of adapting his deportment to his circumstances. When engaged in war he
usually prepares himself, in the coolest and wisest manner, to meet
its struggles, indulging only in moments of leisure, and of comparative
security. It is true that the march of what is called civilization is
fast changing the red man's character, and he is very apt now to do that
which he sees done by the “Christians” around him.
Le Bourdon, when his dialogue with the Chippewa was over, and after a
few words of explanation with Margery, took his own canoe, and
paddled through the rice-plants into the open water of the river, to
reconnoitre. The breadth of the stream induced him to float down before
the wind, until he reached a point where he could again command a view
of the hut. What he there saw, and what he next did, must be reserved
for a succeeding chapter.