So should it be--for no heart beats
Within his cold and silent breast;
To him no gentle voice repeats
The soothing words that make us blest.
--PEABODY.
The interruption came from Dorothy, who, on ascending the little height,
had discovered a canoe coming into the mouth of the river, and who was
running, breathless with haste, to announce the circumstance to the
bee-hunter. The latter immediately repaired to the eminence, and saw for
himself the object that so justly had alarmed the woman. The canoe was
coming in from the lake, after running before the wind, which now began
to abate a little in its strength, and it evidently had been endeavoring
to proceed to the northward. The reason for its entering the river, was
probably connected with the cookery or food of the party, since the lake
was each minute getting to be safer, and more navigable for so light
a craft. To le Bourdon's great apprehension, he saw the savages on the
north shore making signal to this strange canoe, by means of smoke,
and he foresaw the probability of his enemies obtaining the means
of crossing the stream, should the strangers proceed in the desired
direction. To counteract this design, he ran down to a spot on the beach
where there was no rice-plant, and showing himself to the strangers,
invited them to land on the south side, which was much the nearest, and
in other visible respects quite as convenient as the opposite bank
of the river. One of the strangers soon made a gesture with an arm,
implying assent, and the bows of this strange canoe were immediately
turned toward the spot where the bee-hunter stood.
As the canoe drew near, the whole party, including Pigeonswing, came
to the margin of the water to receive the strangers. Of the last, there
were three; one paddling at each end of the light bark, and a third
seated in its centre, doing nothing. As the bee-hunter had his glass,
with which he examined these visitors, he was soon questioned by his
companions concerning their character and apparent purposes.
“Who are they, Bourdon?” demanded the impatient Margery--“and why do
they come here?”
“The last is a question they must answer for themselves, but the
person paddling in the bows of the canoe seems to be a white man, and a
soldier--or a half-soldier, if one may judge from his dress. The man in
the middle of the canoe is white, also. This last fellow seems to be
a parson--yes, he is a clergyman, though pretty well used up in the
wilderness, as to dress. The third man is a red-skin, beyond all doubt.”
“A clergyman!” repeated Margery, in surprise. “What should a clergyman
be doing here?”
“There are missionaries scattered about among the savages, I suppose
you know, and this is probably one of them. A body can tell one of these
parsons by his outside, as far as he can see him. The poor man has heard
of the war, most likely, and is trying to get back into the settlements,
while his scalp is safe on his head.”
“Don't hurt HIM” put in the Chippewa, pointedly. “Know MEAN well--talk
about Great Spirit--Injin don't scalp sich medicine-men--if don't mind
what he say, no good to take his scalp.”
“I'm glad to hear this, Pigeonswing, for I had begun to think NO man's
scalp was safe under YOUR fingers. But what can the so'ger be doing
down this-away? A body would think there was business enough for all
the so'gers up at the garrison, at the head of the lake. By the way,
Pigeonswing, what has become of your letter to the captain at Fort
Dearborn, to let him know of the war?”
“Chaw him up, like so much 'baccy,” answered the Chippewa--“yes, chaw
him up, lest Pottawattamie get hold on him, and ask one of King George's
men to read him. No good to hab letter in sich times.”
“The general who employed you to carry that letter, will scarce thank
you for your care.”
“Yes, he do--t'ank all same--pay all same--letter no use now.”
“How can you know that? The letter might be the means of preventing the
garrison from falling into the enemy's hands.”
“Got dere, already. Garrison all kill, scalp, or prisoner. Pottawattamie
talk tell me DAT!”
“Is this possible! Mackinaw and Chicago both gone, already! John Bull
must have been at work among the savages a long time, to get them into
this state of readiness!”
“Sartain--work long as can 'member. ALWAY somebody talkin' for great
Montreal Fadder among red men.”
“It must be as you say, Chippewa--but, here are our visitors--let us see
what we can make of THEM!”
By this time, the canoe was so near as to render it easy to distinguish
countenances and dress, without the aid of the glass--so near, indeed,
that a swift-moving boat, like the canoe, might be expected soon to
reach the shore. The truth of the observation of the bee-hunter was
confirmed, as the strangers approached. The individual in the bows of
the canoe was clearly a soldier, in a fatigue-dress, and the musket
between his legs was one of those pieces that government furnishes to
the troops of the line. The man in the middle of the boat could no more
be mistaken than he in its bows. Each might be said to be in uniform--
the well-worn, nay, almost threadbare black coat of the “minister,” as
much denoting him to be a man of peace, as the fatigue-jacket and cap on
the person of his hard-featured and weather-beaten companion indicated
that the last was a man of war. As for the red man, Pigeonswing declared
that he could not yet tell his tribe, though there was that about his
air, attire and carriage, that proclaimed him a chief—and, as the
Chippewa fancied, a chief of note. In another minute, the bows of the
light craft grated gently on the shingle of the beach.
“Sago, sago,” said the soldier, rising to step ashore--“sago all,
friends, and I hope we come to a welcome camp.”
“You are welcome,” returned the bee-hunter. “Welcome as strangers met in
the wilderness, but more welcome, as I see by your dress that you are a
veteran of one of Uncle Sam's regiments.”
“Quite true, Mr. Bee-hunter ; for such I see is _your_ callin', by the
honey vessel and glass you carry, and by the other signs about you. We
are travelling toward Mackinaw, and hope to fere as friends, while we
stay in your good company.”
“In going to Mackinaw, do you expect to meet with an _American or an
English_ garrison ?”
“One of our own, to be sure,” returned the soldier, looking up from his
work, like one struck by the question.
“Mackinaw has fallen, and is now an English post, as well as Chicago.”
“This, then, must alter our plans, Mr. Amen !” exclaimed the soldier,
addressing the minister. “If the enemy has Mackinaw, it will not do for
us to trust ourselves on the island.”
“Amen” was not the real name of the missionary ; but it was a
_sobriquet_ bestowed by the soldiers, on account of the unction with
which this particular word was ordinarily pronounced, and quite likely,
too, because it was the word of all others most pleasant to their ears,
after a sermon, or a prayer. It had, by long use, got to be so familiar,
that the men did not scruple to use it to the good man's face. This
missionary was a Methodist ; a sect that possessed, in that day, very
few clergymen of education, most of its divines coming of a class in
life that did not predispose them to take offence at light invasions on
their dignity, and whose zeal and habitual self-denial had schooled them
into a submission to far more positive personal privations, than any
connected with the mere tongue. That there are “wolves in sheep's
clothing” among the Methodists, as well as among the other religious
sects of the country, our daily experience shows ; but the mind must be
sadly inclined to believe evil of others, which does not see in the
humble and untiring efforts of this particular sect of Christians, more
than mere fanaticism or hypocrisy can produce.
“You are right, corporal,” returned the missionary ; “since this is the
case, I see no better course for us to pursue, than to put ourselves
altogether in the hands of Onoah. He has counselled us well, hitherto,
and will do better by us than any other guide to be found, out in this
wilderness.”
Le Bourdon could scarcely trust his sense of hearing ! Onoah was the
Indian appellation of the terrible and most dreaded savage, who, in
English, went by the name of Scalping Peter, or “Scalping Pete,” among
all the white dwellers on that frontier, and at all the garrisons of the
Americans, far and near. The Indian name, indeed, was said to mean
“scalp,” in several of the dialects of the Iroquois. Perhaps it may be
well, also, to explain here, that the term “garrison” did not imply, in
the language of that region, the troops only who garrisoned a post, but
it was even oftener applied to the post itself than to those who held
it. Thus old, empty, and deserted forts, those that have actually been
abandoned, and are devoted to decay, are almost universally styled the ”
garrisons,” even though a soldier had not put foot in them for a quarter
of a century. This is one of the proofs of the convertible nature of our
language, of which the country affords so many, and which has changed
the smaller-sized rivers into “creeks,” “lakes” into “ponds,” “squares”
into “parks,” public promenades on the water into “batteries”; to all of
which innovations, bad as they may be, and useless and uncalled for, and
wanton as they are, we are much more willing to submit, than to the new-
fangled and lubberly abomination of saying “ON a steamboat,” or “ON a
ship.”
While le Bourdon was so much astounded at hearing the terrible name of
Onoah, which was familiar enough to him, neither of his white companions
betrayed any emotion. Had the Indian been termed “Scalping Peter,” it
is probable that both Dorothy and Margery would have screamed, if not
actually fled; but they knew nothing of the appellation that was given
to this mysterious chief, in the language of the red men. To this
circumstance, therefore, was it owing that the utterance of his name did
not produce a general commotion. The bee-hunter observed, nevertheless,
a great change in the demeanor of the Chippewa, the instant the
missionary had uttered the ominous word, though he did not seem to be
alarmed. On the contrary, Boden fancied that his friend Pigeonswing was
pleased, rather than terrified, at ascertaining the character of their
visitor, though he no longer put himself forward, as had been the case
previously; and from that moment the young warrior appeared to carry
himself in a more subdued and less confident manner than was his wont.
This unexpected demeanor on the part of his friend, somewhat confounded
le Bourdon, though it in a degree relieved his apprehensions of any
immediate danger. All this time, the conversation between the missionary
and the corporal went on in as quiet and composed a manner, as if each
saw no ground for any other uneasiness than that connected with the fall
of Mackinaw.
“Yes, sir,” returned the soldier, “Onoah is a good guide, and a great
hand at a council-fire; but these is war-times, and we must stand to
our arms, each accordin' to his edication and temper--you, sir, with
preachin' and prayin', and I with gun and baggonet.”
“Ah! corporal, the preaching and praying would be of quite as much
account with you men of war, as your arms and ammunition, if you could
only be made to think so. Look at Fort Dearborn! It was defended
by human means, having its armed band, and its guns and swords, and
captains and corporals; yet you have seen their pride lowered, their
means of defence destroyed, and a large part of your comrades massacred.
All this has been done to armed men, while the Lord has brought ME, an
unarmed and humble teacher of his word, safely out of the hands of
the Philistines, and placed me here in safety, on the shores of the
Kalamazoo.”
“For that matter, Mr. Amen, the Lord has done the same by ME, with a
musket on my shoulder and a baggonet by my side,” returned the
literal corporal. “Preachin' may be good on some marches; but arms and
ammunition answers well enough on others. Hearken to the Hebrew, who
knows all the ways of the wilderness, and see if he don't give you the
same opinion.” “The Hebrew is one of the discarded of the Lord, as he
is one chosen of the Lord!” returned the missionary. “I agree with you,
however, that he is as safe an adviser, for a human adviser, as can
be easily found; therefore will I consult him. Child of the seed of
Abraham,” he added, turning to Onoah, “thou hast heard the tidings from
Mackinaw; we cannot think, any longer, of pursuing our journey in that
direction; whither, then, wouldst thou advise that we shall direct
our steps? I ask this question of THEE first, as an experienced and
sagacious dweller in the wilderness: at a more fitting time, I intend
to turn to the Lord, and seek divine aid for the direction of our
footsteps.”
“Aye,” observed the corporal, who entertained a good deal of respect for
the zealous, but slightly fanatical missionary, though he believed an
Indian was always safe to consult in matters of this sort, “try BOTH--if
one staff should fail, it may be well to have another to lean on. A good
soldier always keeps a part of his troops for a reserve. I motto of his
coat of arms; the “gare a qui la touchc,” or “noli me tangere,” of his
device.”
The head was shaved, as is usual with a warrior, carrying only the
chivalrous scalp-lock, but the chief was not in his paint. The outline
of this celebrated savage's features was bold and eagle-like; a
comparison that his steady, calm, piercing eye well sustained. The chin
was full and expanded, the lips compressed and firm, the teeth were
short, but even and sound, his smile courteous, and, at times, winning.
In the way of attire, Onoah was simply dressed, consulting the season
and his journey. He had a single eagle's feather attached to the
scalp-lock, and wore a belt of wampum of more than usual value, beneath
which he had thrust his knife and tomahawk; a light, figured and fringed
hunting-shirt of cotton covered his body, while leggings of deerskin,
with a plain moccasin of similar material, rose to his knee. The latter,
with the lower part of a stout sinewy thigh, was bare. He also carried a
horn and pouch, and a rifle of the American rather than of the military
fashion that is, one long, true, and sighted to the deviation of a hair.
On landing, Peter (for so he was generally called by the whites, when in
courtesy they omitted the prefix of “Scalping”) courteously saluted the
party assembled around the bow of the canoe. This he did with a grave
countenance, like a true American, but in simple sincerity, so far as
human eye could penetrate his secret feelings. To each man he offered
his hand, glancing merely at the two females; though it may be
questioned if he ever before had looked upon so perfect a picture of
female loveliness as Margery at that precise instant presented, with
her face flushed with excitement, her spirited blue eye wandering with
curiosity, and her beautiful mouth slightly parted in admiration.
“Sago, sago!” said Peter, in his deep, guttural enunciation, speaking
reasonably good English. “Sago, sago all, ole and young, friend come to
see you, and eat in your wigwam--which head--chief, eh?”
“We have neither wigwam nor chief here,” answered le Bourdon, though he
almost shrunk from taking the hand of one of whom he had heard the tales
of which this savage had been the hero; “we are common people, and
have no one among us who holds the States' commission. I live by taking
honey, of which you are welcome to all you can want, and this man is a
helper of the sutlers at the garrisons. He was travelling south to join
the troops at the head of the lake, and I was going north to Mackinaw,
on my way in, toward the settlements.”
“Why is my brother in such haste?” demanded Peter, mildly. “Bees get
tired of making honey?”
“The times are troubled, and the red men have dug up the hatchet; a
pale-face cannot tell when his wigwam is safe.”
“Where my brodder wigwam?” asked Peter, looking warily around him. “See
he an't here; where is he?”
“Over in the openings, far up the Kalamazoo. We left it last week, and
had got to the hut on the other shore, when a party of Pottawattamies
came in from the lake, and drove us over here for safety.”
On hearing this, Peter turned slowly to the missionary, raising a finger
as one makes a gesture to give emphasis to his words.
“Tole you so,” said the Indian. “Know dere was Pottawattamie dere. Can
tell 'em great way off.”
“We fear them, having women in our party,” added the bee-hunter, “and
think they might fancy our scalps.”
“Dat like enough; all Injin love scalp in war-time. You Yankee, dey
Br'ish; can't travel on same path now, and not quarrel. Must not let
Pottawattamie catch you.”
“How are we to help it, now you have come in? We had all the canoes on
this side of the river, and were pretty safe, but should you cross and
place your canoe in their hands, there is nothing to prevent them from
doing what they please with us. If you will promise not to cross the
river till we can get out well on the lake, we may shift our ground,
however, and leave no trail.”
“Muss cross over--yes, muss cross over, else Pottawattamie t'ink it
strange--yes, muss cross over. Shan't touch canoe, dough.”
“How can you help it, if they be so minded? You are but a single man,
and they are twenty.”
On hearing this, Corporal Flint pricked up his ears, and stood if
possible more erect than ever, for he considered himself a part of a man
at least, and one moreover who had served in all the wars of the west,
from the great battle of St. Glair to that of Mad Anthony. He was spared
the necessity of a reply, however, for Peter made a significant gesture
which as much as told him that he would take that office on himself.
“No need be afeard,” said Peter, quietly. “Know Pottawattamie--know all
chief. Nobody touch canoe of Onoah when he say don't touch him.”
“Yet they are Injins of the British, and I see you here in company with
a soldier of Uncle Sam.”
“No matter; Onoah go just where he please. Sometime to Pottawattamie;
sometime to Iroquois. All Ojebways know Onoah. All Six Nation know him
well. All Injin know him. Even Cherokee know him now, and open ears when
he speak. Muss cross river, and shake hand with Crowsfeather.”
There was nothing boastful, or vaunting, in Peter's manner while he
thus announced his immunity or power, but he alluded to it in a quiet,
natural way, like one accustomed to being considered a personage of
consequence. Mankind, in general, make few allowances for the influence
of habit; the sensibilities of the vainglorious themselves being quite
as often wounded by the most natural and direct allusions of those who
enjoy advantages superior to their own, as by those that are intended to
provoke comparisons. In the present instance, however, no such feeling
could exist, the Indian asserting no more than his extended reputation
would fully maintain.
When Peter had thus expressed himself, the missionary thought it meet to
add a few words in explanation. This he did, however, aside, walking a
little apart with the bee-hunter, in order so to do. As for Gershom,
no one seemed to think him of sufficient importance to throw away any
interest or care on him.
“You can trust to Peter, friend bee-hunter,” the missionary observed,
“for what he promises he will perform. I know him well, and have put
myself altogether in his hands. If he says that the Pottawattamies are
not to have his canoe, the Pottawattamies will not get it. He is a man
to be depended on.”
“Is not this, then, Scalping Peter, who bears so terrible a name on all
this frontier?” demanded le Bourdon.
“The same; but do not disturb yourself with names: they hurt no one, and
will soon be forgotten. A descendant of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of
Jacob, is not placed in the wilderness by the hand of divine power for
no purpose; since he is here, rely on it, it is for good.”
“A descendant of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob! Is not Peter, then, a
red-skin and an Injin?”
“Certainly; though no one knows his tribe but himself. I know it, friend
bee-hunter, and shortly shall proclaim it throughout the length and
breadth of the land. Yes, it has been given to me to make this important
discovery, though I sometimes think that Peter himself is really as
ignorant as all around him of the tribe to which he properly belongs.”
“Do you wish to keep it a secret from me, too? I own that, in my eyes,
the tribe of a red-skin goes a good way in making up my opinions of the
man. Is he a Winnebagoe?”
“No, my friend, the Winnebagoes have no claims on him at all.”
“Nor a Pottawattamie, Ottawa, or Ojebway of any sort?”
“He is none of these. Peter cometh of a nobler tribe than any that
beareth such names.”
“Perhaps he is an Injin of the Six Nations? They tell me that many such
have found their way hither since the war of the revolution.”
“All that may be true, but Peter cometh not of Pottawattamie, Ottawa,
nor Ojebway.”
“He can hardly be of the Sacs or the Foxes; he has not the appearance of
an Injin from a region so far west.”
“Neither, neither, neither,” answered Parson Amen, now so full of his
secret as fairly to let it overflow. “Peter is a son of Israel; one of
the lost children of the land of Judea, in common with many of his
red brethren-mind, I do not say ALL, but with MANY of his red
brethren--though he may not know exactly of what tribe himself. This
last point has exercised me greatly, and days and nights have I pondered
over the facts. Turn to Genesis XLIX and 14th, and there will you find
all the authorities recorded. 'Zebulon shall dwell at the haven of the
sea.' That refers to some other red brother, nearer to the coast, most
clearly. 'Issachar is a strong ass, crouching down between two burdens';
'and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.'
That refers, most manifestly, to the black man of the Southern States,
and cannot mean Peter. 'Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in
the path.' There is the red man for you, drawn with the pencil of truth!
'Gad, a troop shall overcome him.' Here, corporal, come this way and
tell our new friend how Mad Anthony with his troopers finally routed
the red-skins. You were there, and know all about it. No language can
be plainer: until the 'long-knives and leather-stockings' came into the
woods, the red man had his way. Against THEM he COULD not prevail.”
“Yes,” returned Corporal Flint, who delighted in talking of the wars,
“it was very much as Parson Amen says. The savages, by their nimbleness
and artifices, would first ambush us, and then break away from our
charges, until the gin'ral bethought him of bringing cavalry into
the wilderness. Nobody ever thought of such a plan, until old Anthony
invented it. As soon as we got the fire of the savages, at the Mawmee,
we charged with the baggonet, and put 'em up; and no sooner was they
up, than away went the horse into them, flourishing the 'long knife'
and pressing the heel of the 'leather-stocking' into the flanks of their
beasts. Mr. Amen has found a varse in Scriptur's that does come near to
the p'int, and almost foretells our victory, and that, too, as plain as
it stood in dispatches, arterward, from headquarters.”
“'Gad, a TROOP shall overcome him,'” put in the missionary,
triumphantly.
“That's it--that's it; there was just one troop on 'em, and not a
man more! Mad Anthony said a troop would answer, arter we had put the
red-skins up out of their ambushes, or any other bushes; and so it did.
I must acknowledge that I think more of the Scriptur's than ever, since
Parson Amen read to me that varse.”
“Hearken unto this, friend bee-hunter,” added the missionary, who
by this time had fairly mounted his hobby, and fancied he saw a true
Israelite in every other Indian of the west, “and tell me if words were
ever more prophetic--'Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf; in the morning he
shall devour his prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.' The art
of man could not draw a more faithful picture of these Indians.”
Boden was not much skilled in sacred lore, and scarce knew what to make
of all this. The idea that the American Indians were the descendants
of the lost tribes of Israel was entirely new to him; nor did he know
anything to boast of, touching those tribes, even in their palmiest
days, and while in possession of the promised land; still he had some
confused recollection of that which he had read when a child--what
American has not?--and was enabled to put a question or two, in return
for the information now received. “What, do you take the savages of
America for Jews?” he asked, understanding the general drift of the
missionary's meaning.
“As sure as you are there, friend bee-hunter, though you are not to
suppose that I think Peter Onoah of the tribe of Benjamin. No, I turn to
the 21st verse for the tribe of Peter Naphthali--Naphthalis, the root
of his stock. 'Naphthali is a hind, let loose: he giveth goodly words.'
Now, what can be plainer than this? A hind let loose is a deer running
at large, and, by a metaphor, that deer includes the man that hunts him.
Now, Peter has been--nay, is still--a renowned hunter, and is intended
to be enumerated among the hinds let loose; 'he giveth goodly words,'
would set that point at rest, if anything were wanting to put it beyond
controversy, for Onoah is the most eloquent speaker ear ever listened
to! No one, that has ever heard him speak, can doubt that he is the one
who 'giveth goodly words.'”
To what other circumstance the well-intentioned missionary would next
have alluded, in the course of this demonstration of a theory that had
got to be a favorite with him, is more than can now be related, since
the Indian himself drew near, and put an end to the conversation. Peter
had made up his mind to cross the river at once; and came to say as
much to his companions, both of whom he intended to leave behind him. Le
Bourdon could not arrest this movement, short of an appeal to force;
and force he did not like to use, doubting equally its justice and its
prudence.