A young girl has been captured at her father's hut, when all the males
of the household are absent hunting wolves. She is seized by the
Indians, and borne swiftly away to the encampment of a war party of the
Osages. She is then placed in a "land canoe" and hurried rapidly forward
toward their villages. Among the party she recognizes one whose life she
had been instrumental in saving, when a prisoner. He recognizes her, and
promises to assist her escape. At this point the following narrative
commences:
At a late and solemn hour, the Indian who had been the captive the night
before, suddenly ceased his snoring, which had been heard without
intermission for a great length of time; and when Mary instinctively
cast her eyes toward him, she was surprised to see him gently and slowly
raise his head. He enjoined silence by placing his hand upon his mouth.
After carefully disengaging himself from his comrades, he crept quietly
away, and soon vanished entirely from sight on the northern side of the
spreading beech. Mary expected he would soon return and assist her to
escape. Although she was aware of the hardships and perils that would
attend her flight, yet the thought of again meeting her friends was
enough to nerve her for the undertaking, and she waited with anxious
impatience the coming of her rescuer. But he came not. She could
attribute no other design in his conduct but that of effecting her
escape, and yet he neither came for her, nor beckoned her away. She had
reposed confidence in his promise, for she knew that the Indian, savage
as he was, rarely forfeited his word; but when gratitude inspired a
pledge, she could not believe that he would use deceit. The fire was now
burning quite low, and its waning light scarce cast a beam upon the
branches overhead. It was evidently not far from morning, and every hope
of present escape entirely fled from her bosom. But just as she was
yielding to despair, she saw the Indian returning in a stealthy pace,
bearing some dark object in his arms. He glided to her side, and
motioned to her to leave the snow-canoe, and also to take with her all
her robes with which she had been enveloped. She did his bidding, and
then he carefully deposited the burden he bore in the place she had just
occupied. A portion of the object becoming unwrapped, Mary discovered it
to be a huge mass of snow, resembling in some respects a human form, and
the Indian's stratagem was at once apparent to her. Relinquishing
herself to his guidance, she was led noiselessly through the bushes
about a hundred paces distant from the fire, to a large fallen tree that
had yielded to some furious storm, when her conductor paused. He pointed
to a spot where a curve caused the huge trunk to rise about a foot from
the surface of the snow, under which was a round hole cut through the
drifted snow down to the earth, and in which were deposited several
buffalo robes, and so arranged that a person could repose within,
without coming in contact with the frozen element around. Mary looked
down, and then at her companion to ascertain his intentions. He spoke to
her in a low tone, enough of which she comprehended to understand that
he desired her to descend into the pit without delay. She obeyed, and
when he had carefully folded the robes and divers furs about her body,
he stepped a few paces to one side, and gently lifting up a round lid of
snow-crust, placed it over the aperture. It had been so smoothly cut,
and fitted with such precision when replaced, that no one would have
been able to discover that an incision had been made. He then bid Mary a
"dud by" in bad English, and set off on a run in a northern direction
for the purpose of joining the whites.
With the first light of morning, the war-party sprang to their feet, and
hastily despatching a slight repast, they set out on their journey with
renewed animation and increased rapidity. Before starting, the chief
called to Mary, and again offered some food; but no reply being
returned, or motion discovered under the robe which he imagined
enveloped her, he supposed she was sleeping, and directed the party to
select the most even route when they emerged in the prairie, that she
might as much as possible enjoy her repose.
The Indian who had planned and executed the escape of Mary, with the
well-devised cunning for which the race is proverbial, had told his
companions that he would rise before day and pursue the same direction
in advance of them, and endeavor to kill a deer for their next night's
meal. Thus his absence created no suspicion, and the party continued
their precipitate retreat.
But, about noon, after casting many glances back at the supposed form of
the captive reclining peacefully in the snow-canoe, the chief, with much
excitement, betrayed by his looks, which seemed to be mingled with an
apprehension that she was dead, abruptly ordered the party to halt. He
sprang to the canoe, and convulsively tearing away the skins, discovered
only the roll of snow! He at first compressed his lips in momentary
rage, and then burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter. But the rest
raved and stamped, and uttered direful imprecations and threats of
vengeance. Immediately they were aware of the treachery of the absent
Indian, and resolved with one voice that his blood should be an
atonement for the act.
The snow was quickly thrown out, and the war-party adjusted their
weapons, with the expectation of encountering the whites; and then
whirling about they retraced their steps far more swiftly than they had
been advancing. Just as the night was setting in, they came in sight of
the grove where they had encamped. They slackened their pace, and
looking eagerly forward, seemed to think it not improbable that the
whites had arrived in the vicinity, and might be lying in ambush
awaiting their return in search of the maid. They then abandoned the
canoe, after having concealed it under some low bushes, and entered the
grove in a stooping and watchful posture. Ere long the chief attained
the immediate neighbor of the spreading tree, and with an arrow drawn to
its head, crept within a few paces of the spot where he had lain the
preceding night. His party were mostly a few feet in the rear, while a
few were approaching in the same manner from the opposite direction.
Hearing no sound whatever, he rose up slowly, and with an "ugh" of
disappointment, strode carelessly across the silent and untenanted place
of encampment.
Vexation and anger were expressed by the savages in being thus
disappointed. They hoped to wreak their vengeance on the whites, and
resolved to recapture the maiden. Where they expected to find them, the
scene was silent and desolate. And they now sauntered about under the
trees in the partial light of the moon that struggled through the matted
branches, threatening in the most horrid manner, the one who had thus
baffled them. Some struck their tomahawks into the trunks of trees,
while others brandished their knives, and uttered direful threats. The
young chief stood in silence, with his arms folded on his breast. A
small ray of light that fell upon his face exhibited a meditative brow,
and features expressing both firmness and determination. He had said
that the captive should be regained, and his followers ever and anon
regarded his thoughtful attitude with the confidence that his decision
would hasten the accomplishment of their desires. Long he remained thus,
motionless and dignified, and no one dared to address him.
The young chief called one of the oldest of the party, who was standing
a few paces distant absorbed in thought, to his side, and after a short
conference the old savage prostrated himself on the snow, and
endeavored, like a hound, to scent the tracks of his recreant brother.
At first he met with no success, but when making a wide circuit round
the premises, still applying his nose to the ground occasionally, and
minutely examining the bushes, he paused abruptly, and announced to the
party that he had found the precise direction taken by the maid and her
deliverer. Instantly they all clustered round him, evincing the most
intense interest. Some smelt the surface of the snow, and others
examined the bushes. Small twigs, not larger than pins, were picked up
and closely scrutinized. They well knew that anyone passing through the
frozen and clustered bushes must inevitably sever some of the twigs and
buds Their progress was slow, but unerring. The course they pursued was
the direction taken by Mary and her rescuer. It was not long before they
arrived within a few feet of the place of the maiden's concealment. But
now they were at fault. There were no bushes immediately around the
fallen tree. They paused, the chief in the van, with their bows and
arrows and tomahawks in readiness for instant use. They knew that the
maiden could not return to her friends on foot, or the treacherous
savage be able to bear her far on his shoulder. They thought that one or
both must be concealed somewhere in the neighborhood, and the fallen
tree, were it hollow, was the place most likely to be selected for that
purpose. After scanning the fallen trunk a few minutes in silence, and
discovering nothing to realize their hopes, they uttered a terrific
yell, and commenced striking their tomahawks in the wood, and ripping up
the bark in quest of some hiding-place. But their search was in vain.
The fallen trunk was sound and solid throughout, and the young chief sat
down on it within three paces of Mary! Others, in passing about,
frequently trod on the very verge of the concealed pit.
Mary was awakened by the yell, but knew not that the sound came from her
enemies. The Indian had told her that he would soon return, and her
heart now fluttered with the hope that her father and her friends were
at hand. Yet she prudently determined not to rush from her concealment
until she was better assured of the fact. She did not think that the
savages would ever suspect that she was hid under the snow, but yet she
thought it very strange that her father did not come to her at once.
Several minutes had elapsed since she had been startled by the sounds in
the immediate vicinity. She heard the tramp of men almost directly over
her head, and the strokes against the fallen trunk. She was several
times on the eve of rising up, but was as often withheld by some
mysterious impulse. She endeavored to reflect calmly, but still she
could not, by any mode of conjecture, realize the probability of her
foes having returned and traced her thither. Yet an undefinable fear
still possessed her, and she endeavored with patience to await the
pleasure of her friends. But when the chief seated himself in her
vicinity, and fell into one of his fits of abstraction, and the whole
party became comparatively still and hushed, the poor girl's suspense
was almost insufferable. She knew that human beings were all around her,
and yet her situation was truly pitiable and lonely. She felt assured
that if the war-party had returned in pursuit of her, the means which
enabled them to trace their victim to the fallen trunk would likewise
have sufficed to indicate her hiding place. Then why should they
hesitate? The yells that awakened her were not heard distinctly, and
under the circumstances she could not believe that she was surrounded by
savages. On the other hand, if they were her friends, why did they not
relieve her? Now a sudden, but, alas! erroneous thought occurred to her.
She was persuaded that they were her friends, but that the friendly
Indian was not with them--he had perhaps directed them where she could
be found, and then returned to his home. Might not her friends, at that
moment, be anxiously searching for her? Would not one word suffice to
dispel their solicitude, and restore the lost one to their arms? She
resolved to speak. Bowing down her head slightly, so that her precise
location might not instantly be ascertained, she uttered in a soft voice
the word "FATHER!" The chief sprang from his seat, and the party was
instantly in commotion. Some of the savages looked above, among the
twining branches, and some shot their arrows in the snow, but
fortunately not in the direction of Mary while others ran about in every
direction, examining all the large trees in the vicinity. The chief was
amazed and utterly confounded. He drew not forth an arrow, nor
brandished a tomahawk. While he thus stood, and the rest of the party
were moving hurriedly about, a few paces distant, Mary again repeated
the word "FATHER!" As suddenly as if by enchantment every savage was
paralyzed. Each stood as devoid of animation as a statue. For many
moments an intense silence reigned, as if naught existed there but the
cheerless forest trees. Slowly at length, the tomahawk was returned to
the belt, and the arrow to the quiver. No longer was a desire to spill
blood manifested. The dusky children of the forest attributed to the
mysterious sound a supernatural agency. They believed it was a voice
from the perennial hunting grounds. Humbly they bowed their heads, and
whispered devotions to the Great Spirit. The young chief alone stood
erect. He gazed at the round moon above him, and sighs burst from his
breast, and burning tears ran down his stained cheek. Impatiently, by a
motion of the hand, he directed the savages to leave him, and when they
withdrew he resumed his seat on the fallen trunk, and reclined his brow
upon his hand. One of the long feathers that decked his head waved
forward, after he had been seated thus a few minutes, and when his eye
rested upon it he started up wildly, and tearing it away, trampled it
under his feet. At that instant the same "FATHER!" was again heard. The
young chief fell upon his knees, and, while he panted convulsively,
said, in English, "Father! Mother! I'm your poor William--you loved me
much--where are you? Oh tell me--I will come to you--I want to see you!"
He then fell prostrate and groaned piteously. "Father! Oh! where
are you?"
"Whose voice was that?" said Mary, breaking through the slight
incrustation that obscured her, and leaping from her covert.
The young chief sprang from the earth--gazed a moment at the maid--spoke
rapidly and loudly in the language of his tribe to his party, who were
now at the place of encampment, seated by the fire they had kindled--and
then, seizing his tomahawk, was in the act of hurling it at Mary, when
the yells of the war-party and the ringing discharges of fire-arms
arrested his steel when brandished in the air. The white men had
arrived! The young chief seized Mary by her long, flowing hair--again
prepared to strike the fatal blow--when she turned her face upward, and
he again hesitated. Discharges in quick succession, and nearer than
before, still rang in his ears. Mary strove not to escape. Nor did the
Indian strike. The whites were heard rushing through the bushes--the
chief seized the trembling girl in his arms--a bullet whizzed by his
head---but, unmindful of danger, he vanished among the dark bushes with
his burden.
"She's gone! she's gone!" exclaimed Roughgrove, looking aghast at the
vacated pit under the fallen trunk.
"But we will have her yet," said Boone, as he heard Glenn discharge a
pistol a few paces apart in the bushes. The report was followed by a
yell, not from the chief, but Sneak, and the next moment the rifle of
the latter was likewise heard. Still the Indian was not dispatched, for
the instant afterward his tomahawk, which had been hurled without
effect, came sailing over the bushes, and penetrated a tree hard by,
some fifteen or twenty feet above the earth, where it entered the wood
with such a force that it remained firmly fixed. Now succeeded a
struggle--a violent blow was heard--the fall of the Indian, and all was
still. A minute afterward Sneak emerged from the thicket, bearing Mary
in his arms, and followed by Glenn.
"Is she dead? Oh, she's dead!" cried Roughgrove, snatching her from the
arms of Sneak.
"She has only fainted!" exclaimed Glenn, examining the body of the girl,
and finding no wounds.
"She's recovering!" said Boone, feeling her pulse.
"God be praised!" exclaimed Roughgrove, when returning animation was
manifest.
"Oh, I know you won't kill me! for pity's sake, spare me!" said Mary.
"It is your father, my poor child!" said Roughgrove, pressing the girl
to his heart.
"It is! it is!" cried the happy girl, clinging rapturously to the old
man's neck, and then, seizing the hands of the rest, she seemed to be
half wild with delight.