"The sigh that lifts her breastie comes.
Like sad winds frae the sea,
Wi' sic a dreary sough, as wad
Bring tears into yer e'e."
When Claud Elwood reached home, on the eventful visit to the Magalloway
which resulted in the exchange of vows between him and Avis Gurley, as
intimated at the close of the last chapter, he at once suspected, from the
sad and troubled looks of his mother and the disturbed manner of his
father, that the secret of his late visits abroad, as well as of the
unexpected advent of the family visited, had, in some way, become known to
them in his absence. A feeling of mingled delicacy and self-condemnation,
however, prevented him from making any inquiries; and, with a commonplace
remark, which was received in silence, he took a seat, and, with much
inward trembling, awaited the expected _denouement_. But it did not come so
soon nor in so harsh terms as he expected. There are occasions when we feel
so deeply that we are reluctant to begin the task of unburdening our minds;
and, when we do speak out, it is oftener in sorrow than in anger. It was so
in the present instance. Mr. Elwood had that day been abroad among the
settlers, and, for the first time, learned not only that Gaut Gurley had
moved with his family into the settlement, but that Claud was courting his
daughter, and a match already settled on between them. On his return home,
Elwood felt almost as much reluctance in making known his discoveries to
his wife as Claud had before him; for he well knew how deeply they would
disquiet her. But, soon concluding there would be no wisdom in attempting
concealment, he told her what he had heard. As he had anticipated, the news
fell like a sudden thunderclap on her heart. She had experienced, indeed,
many strange misgivings respecting her son's late mysterious absences; but
she was not prepared for such a double portion of ill-omened news as she
deemed this to be, and it struck her mute with dismay, for it at once
brought a cloud over the future, which to her eye was dark with portents.
Elwood himself was also obviously considerably disquieted by the news,
showing no little uneasiness and excitement,--an excitement, perhaps,
resembling that which is said to be manifested by a bird in the presence of
the devouring reptile. He doubtless would gladly have been relieved from
any further connection with Gaut. He doubtless would gladly have avoided
even the slightest renewal of their former acquaintance. But, for reasons
which he had never disclosed, he felt confident he should not long be
suffered to enjoy any such exemption. And feeling, for the same reasons,
how weak he should be in the hands of that man, he was troubled, far more
troubled than he would have been willing to own, at the discoveries of the
day, even if that part of it relating to the intimacy of his son and Gaut's
daughter should prove, as he believed, a mere conjecture.
It was at this juncture, and before a word of comment had been offered
either by Mrs. Elwood or her husband on the news he had related, that Claud
arrived and entered the room.
"Well, God's will be done!" sadly uttered Mrs. Elwood, at length breaking
the embarrassing silence, but without raising her eyes from her work, which
lay neglected in her lap.
"What does mother mean?" doubtfully asked Claud, turning to his father.
"I have been telling her some unexpected news, which greatly disturbs her
mind,--more than is necessary, perhaps," replied the other, with poorly
assumed indifference.
"What news?" rejoined the son, having made up his mind that, if his own
secret was involved, as he supposed, the long dreaded _eclaircissement_
might as well come now as ever.
"Why, that Gaut Gurley has moved with his family into the settlement. And
that is not all; but the rest of it, which relates to a lately-formed
intimacy between you and Gaut's daughter, I presume is mere guess-work."
Mrs. Elwood turned a searching glance to the face of her son, and waited to
hear his reply to the last remarks, but he was silent; and the last gleam
of hope, which had for the moment lighted up the mother's countenance,
faded like a moon-beam on the edge of an eclipsing cloud; and, after a long
pause and silence which no one interrupted, she slowly and sadly said:
"When I consented to leave the comforts and social blessings to which I had
been accustomed, and come into this lone wilderness, with its well-known
hardships and privations, my great and indeed only motive was, to see my
family placed beyond the temptations of the city, and especially beyond the
fatal, and to me always mysterious, influence of that wicked and dangerous
man, Gaut Gurley. And with this object I came cheerfully, gladly. And when
I reached this place, fondly hoping and believing we had escaped that man,
and were forever secure from his wiles, I became happy,--happier than since
I left my native hills in New-Hampshire. It soon became to _me_, lone and
dreary as it might appear to others,--it soon became to _me_, in my fancied
security from the evils we had fled, a second Paradise. But to me it is a
Paradise no longer; the Serpent has found his way into our Eden; and, not
content with having beguiled and ruined one, must now have the other so
entangled in the toils that both will be kept in his power."
"You are going a great ways to borrow trouble, it appears to me, Alice,"
remarked Elwood, after a pause.
"It certainly seems so to me, also, mother," said Claud. "You cannot know
but Gurley comes here with as honest purposes as father. But, were it
otherwise, the daughter should not be held responsible for the faults of
the father, nor, without good reason, be accused of favoring any sinister
designs he may entertain."
"Claud takes a just view of the case, on both points, I presume," rejoined
Mr. Elwood. "As to Gurley, I know not how, or why, he came here; nor do I
wish or expect to have any thing to do with him. And as to Claud, I trust
he knows enough to take care of himself."
"You have both evaded the spirit of my remarks," responded Mrs. Elwood.
"When I speak of Gaut Gurley's motives and designs, you must know I judge
from his past conduct. Have either of you as safe grounds of judging him?
And when I allude to his daughter, I do so with no thought of holding her
amenable for the faults of her father, or even of assuming the ground that
she has inherited any of his objectionable traits of character. I intend
nothing of the kind, for I know nothing of her. But I do say, that,
whenever she marries, she becomes the connecting link between her husband
and her father, the chain extending both ways, so as to bind their
respective families together, and give one the power and means of evil
which could in no other way be obtained. In view of all these
circumstances, then, I feel that a calamity is in store for us. God grant
that my fears and forebodings may prove groundless."
The husband and son were saved the difficult and embarrassing task of
replying, by the arrival of Philips, who, in his free and easy manner,
entered and took a seat with the family.
"I came, gentlefolks," said the hunter, after a few commonplace remarks had
been exchanged,--"I came to see if you know what a 'bee' means?"
"A bee? what, honey-bees?" asked Mr. Elwood, in surprise at the oddness of
the question.
"No, not a honey-bee, exactly, or a humble-bee, but a sort of work-meeting
of men or women, to help a neighbor to husk his corn, for instance, build
him a log house, or do off some other job for him in a day, which alone
would take him perhaps weeks. These turn-outs we new settlers call 'bees.'
Nothing is more common than for a man to get up a bee to knock off at once
a pressing job he wants done. And, when a new-comer appears to be delicate
about moving in the matter, the neighbors sometimes volunteer, and get up a
bee for him, among themselves."
"I may have heard of the custom; but why do you say you came to ask me if I
know any thing about it?"
"Well, I kinder thought I would. You have a pretty stiff-looking burnt
piece here to be logged off soon, have you not?"
"Why, yes."
"And it would be a hard and heavy month's job for you and the young man to
do it, would it not?"
"The best part of a month, perhaps; but I was intending to go at it in
season, that we might get it all cleared and sown by the middle of
September; which must be done, if I join you and the rest of the usual
company in the fall trapping and hunting expedition."
"Of course you will join us. It is our main and almost only chance here of
getting any money."
"So I have always understood, and therefore made up my mind to go into it,
if I can get ready. I have been down the river to-day and engaged my seed
wheat. To-morrow I thought of going abroad again, to try to engage some
help for clearing the piece."
"Well, you need not go a rod for that purpose."
"Why not?"
"Because we have got up a bee for you in the settlement, large enough, we
think, to log off your whole piece in a day."
"Indeed! Who has been so kind as to start such a project?"
"Several of us: Codman, that you may have seen, or at least heard of, as
the best trapper in the settlement, took upon himself to enlist those round
the southerly end of the lake, where he lives; and I have arranged matters
a little in this section and on the river below. But, in justice, I should
name, as the man who has taken the most interest in the movement, the new
settler who has this summer come into the parts, and made his pitch over on
the Magalloway. His name is Gurley."
A dead silence of several minutes ensued, during which Mrs. Elwood looked
sadly and meaningly from the husband to the son, both of whose countenances
seemed to fall and shrink before her significant glances.
"Well," at length resumed the hunter, perceiving no response was to be made
to his last remark, "seeing we had got all arranged and ready, I came to
notify you, so that you should not be taken by surprise. We propose to be
on the ground, men and oxen, early day after to-morrow. There will be
fifteen or twenty of us, perhaps, with five or six yoke of oxen, and like
enough a stiff horse or two."
"But how can I provision such a company on so short notice?"
"No trouble about that. You have salt pork?"
"A good supply."
"Corn meal?"
"Yes; and wheat flour, with fine new potatoes."
"All right. I will take care of the rest. I will take the young man, here,
into my largest canoe, to-morrow morning, if he be so disposed, and we will
go up the lake, perhaps into the upper lake, and it will be a strange case
if we don't return at night with fish, and I think flesh, enough to victual
the company; and, in the mean time, my women will come up and be on hand
to-morrow and next day, to help Mrs. Elwood do the baking and cooking."
The friendly movement of the neighbors, thus announced, was not, of course,
to be opposed or questioned by those for whose benefit it was intended, any
further than Mr. Elwood had done in relation to his ability to entertain
the company so well as their kindness deserved. Mr. Elwood and his son,
indeed, who had been dreading the hard job of clearing off their land, were
greatly gratified at the unexpected kindness. And even Mrs. Elwood, pained
and annoyed as she was by the part taken by Gaut Gurley, whose only motive
she believed was to gain some advantage for meditated evil, entered
cheerfully into the affair, and joined her husband in handsome expressions
of acknowledgment to the hunter, and assurances of doing their best to
provide properly for the company. The matter was therefore considered as
settled; and the hunter departed, to call, as he had proposed, early the
next morning for Claud, for an excursion up the lake, to procure fresh
provisions for the coming occasion.
The family were early astir the next morning, intent on their respective
duties in preparation for the appointed logging bee. They had scarcely
dispatched their breakfast, before the hunter, as he had promised, called
for Claud; when the two departed together, with their guns and fishing
gear, for the lake, whither we propose to accompany them.
"Well, now, let us settle the order of the day," said Phillips, after they
had reached the landing and deposited their luggage in the canoe selected
for the purpose.
"I am a companion of the voyage, to-day, and, as you know, but a learner in
these sports," responded Claud. "You have but to name your plan."
"Well, my plan is this: to steer across and get up the lake to the inlet
and rapids which connect this to the next upper lake, called by the Indians
the Molechunk-a-munk; up these rapids into that lake, where we will take a
row of a few hours, and home again by nightfall. In these rapids, going or
returning, we may safely count, at this season, on a plenty of trout; and,
on the borders of the lake beyond, I know of several favorite haunts of the
deer, one of which I propose to take into the canoe as ballast to steady it
for running the rapids, on our way back."
"What is the whole distance?"
"Four or five miles of this lake, as many of the river or rapids, and as
far into the upper lake as we please."
"You are laying out largely for one day, are you not?"
"No, 'tis nothing. You see, I have brought round for our use my best birch
bark canoe. I have rowed her fifty miles a day round the lakes many a time.
We shall bound over the lake in almost no time, and the rapids, which are
the only drawback, can soon be surmounted, by oar or setting-pole, or, what
may be cheapest, carrying the canoe round those most difficult of passage.
The boat does not weigh an hundred. I could travel with it a mile on my
head, as fast as you would wish to walk without a pound of luggage. So, in
with you, and I'll show you how it is done."
Accordingly they launched forth in their primitive craft, which, as before
intimated, was the once noted birch bark canoe built by the hunter
agreeably to the exact rules of Indian art. Few, who have never seen and
observed the process of constructing this canoe, which, for thousands of
years before the advent of the white man, was the only craft used by the
aborigines in navigating the interior waters, have any idea how, from such
seemingly fragile materials, and with no other tools than a hatchet, knife,
and perhaps a bone needle, the Indian can construct a canoe so extremely
light and at the same time so tough and durable. In building his canoe,
which is one of the greatest efforts of his mechanical skill, the Indian
goes to work systematically. He first peels his bark from a middle-sized
birch tree, and cuts it in strips five or six inches wide, and twelve,
fifteen, or twenty feet long, according to the length and size of the
designed canoe. He then dries them thoroughly in the sun, after which he
nicely scrapes and smooths off the outside. He next proceeds to soak these
strips, which are thus made to go through a sort of tanning process, to
render them tough and pliable, as well as to obviate their liability to
crack by exposure to the sun. After the materials are thus prepared, he
smooths off a level piece of ground, and drives around the outside a line
of strong stakes, so that the space within shall describe the exact form of
the boat in contemplation. Inside of these stakes he places and braces up
the wet and pliable pieces of bark, beginning at the bottom and building up
and bending into form the sides and ends, till the structure has attained
the required height. In this situation it is left till it is again
thoroughly dried and all the pieces become fixed in shape. A light inside
framework is then constructed, resembling the skeleton of a fish, and of
dimensions to fit the canoe already put in form in the manner we have
described. The pieces of cured material are then numbered and taken down;
when the architect, beginning at the bottom, lapping and sewing together
the different pieces, proceeds patiently in his work, till the sides are
built, the ends closed nicely up, and each piece lashed firmly to the
framework, which, though of surprising lightness, is made to serve as keel,
knees, and ribs of the boat. Every seam and crevice is then filled with
melted pitch. The Indian then has his canoe fit for use; and he may well
boast of a boat, which, for combined strength and lightness, and especially
for capacity of burden, no art of the shipbuilder has ever been able to
surpass, and which, if it has not already, might serve for a model of the
best lifeboat ever constructed, in these days of boasted perfection in
marine arts and improvements.
Bounding over the smooth waters like a seabird half on wing, our voyagers
soon found themselves on the northerly side of the lake; when, rounding a
point, they began to skirt the easterly shore of the bay that makes up to
the inlet, at a more leisurely pace, for the purpose of being on the
lookout for deer, which might be standing in the edge of the water round
the coves, to cool themselves and keep off the flies. Not seeing any signs
of game, however, they steered out so as to clear the various little capes
or woody points of land inclosing the numerous coves scattered along the
indented shore, and struck a line for the great inlet at the head of the
lake, which they now soon reached, and commenced rowing against the at
first gentle and then rapid current, which here pours down from, the upper
lakes, through the rocky and picturesque defiles, in the form of a
magnificent river, rivalling in its size the midway portions of the
Connecticut or Hudson.
"Now, young man," said the hunter, laying aside his paddle and taking up
the strong, elastic setting-pole he had provided for the occasion, "now you
must look out for your balance. The river, to be sure, is quite low, and
the current, of course, at its feeblest point; but we shall find places
enough within the next mile where the canoe, to go up at all, must go up
like the jump of a catamount. So, down in the bottom of the boat, on your
braced knees, with your haunches on your heels, and leave all to me."
"What! do you expect to force the canoe up rapids like these?" asked Claud,
in surprise, as he cast his eye over the long reach of eddying, tumbling
waters, that looked like a lessening sheet of foam as it lay stretched
upward in the distant perspective.
"I expect to try," coolly replied the hunter; "and, if you lay asleep in
the bottom of the canoe, I should expect to succeed. And, as it is, if you
can keep cool and obey orders, we will see what can be done."
Claud implicitly obeyed the directions of the hunter, without much faith,
however, in the success of his bold attempt. But he soon perceived he had
underrated the skill and strength of arm which had been relied on to
accomplish the seemingly impossible feat. Standing upright and slightly
bracing in the bottom of his canoe, the hunter first marked out with his
eye his course through a given reach of the rock-broken and foaming waters
above; then, nicely calculating the resisting force of each rapid to be
overcome, and the required impetus, and the direction to be given to his
canoe to effect it, he sharply bid Claud be on his guard, and sent the
light craft like an arrow into the boiling eddies before him. And now, by
sudden and powerful shoves, he was seen shooting obliquely up one rapid;
tacking with the quickness of light, and darting off zigzag among the rocks
and eddies towards another, which was in turn surmounted; while the boat
was forced, surging and bounding forward, with increasing impetus, now up
and now athwart the rushing currents, till he had gained a resting-place in
the still water of some sheltering boulder in the stream, when he would
mark off, with a rapid glance, another reach of falls, and shoot in among
them as before. Thus, with the quick tacks and turns and sudden leaps of
the ascending salmon, and almost with the celerity, he made his way up the
long succession of rapids, until the last of the series was overcome, and
he found himself safely emerging into the smooth waters of the beautiful
lakelet or pond which divides, in the upper portion of its course, this
remarkable stream. Another row of a mile or so now brought the voyagers
where the water again took the form of a swift river, tumbling and foaming
over the rocks, in the last series of rapids to be overcome. These also
were surmounted in the same manner and with the same success as the former.
But this part of the voyage was marked with an unexpected adventure, and
one which seemed destined to lead to the operation of new and singular
moral agencies, both in the near and more distant future, having an
important bearing on the fate and fortunes of young Elwood. They had
reached the last and most difficult of all the rapids yet encountered, and
were resting, preparatory to the anticipated struggle, in a smooth piece of
water under the lee of a huge rock, on either side of which the divided
stream rushed in two foam-covered torrents, with the force and swiftness of
a mill-race; when they were startled by the shrill exclamations of a female
voice, in tones indicative of surprise and alarm. The sounds, which came
from some unseen point not far above them in the stream, were evidently
drawing near at a rapid rate. Presently a small Indian canoe, with a single
female occupant, whose youth and beauty, even in the distance, were
apparent, shot swiftly into view, and came tossing and whirling down the
stream, unguided, and wholly at the mercy of the crooked and raging
currents along which it was borne with the speed of the wind. The
imperilled maiden uttered a cry of joy at the appearance of our voyagers,
and held up the handle of a broken oar, to indicate to them at once the
cause of her fearful dilemma and need of assistance.
"I will throw her one of our paddles, and she will best take care of
herself," hurriedly exclaimed the hunter, seizing the implement, and
awaiting her nearest approach to throw it within her reach.
The critical point was the next instant reached, but the hunter, in his
nervous anxiety and haste, made his throw a little too soon and with too
much force. The paddle struck directly under the prow of the canoe, and
shot beyond, far out of reach of the expectant maiden's extended hands.
Another oar was hurled after her, with no better effect; when, for the
first time, a shade of despair passed over her agitated countenance; for
she saw herself rapidly drifting directly into the jaws of a wild and
fearful labyrinth of breakers not fifty yards below, where, in all
probability, her fragile canoe would be dashed to pieces, and herself
thrown against the slippery and jagged rock, drawn down, and lost. Claud,
who had witnessed, with trembling anxiety, the hunter's vain attempts to
place the means of self-preservation in the hands of the maiden, and who
now perceived, in their full light, the perils of the path to which she was
helplessly hastening, could restrain his generous impulses no longer; and,
quickly throwing off his hat and coat, he leaped overboard, dashed headlong
into the current, and struck boldly down it to overtake the receding canoe.
"Hold! madness! They will both perish together!" rapidly exclaimed the
hunter, surprised and alarmed at the rash attempt of his young companion.
"But I will share in their dangers,--perhaps save them, yet."
Accordingly he hastily headed round his canoe, and, hazardous as he knew
must be the experiment, sent it surging down the current after his
endangered young friends; for the one, as will soon appear, was no less his
favorite than the other. In the mean time, Claud, in swimming over a sunken
rock, luckily gained a foothold, which enabled him to rise and plunge
forward again with redoubled speed; and, so well-timed and powerful were
his exertions, that he came within reach of the stern of the fugitive canoe
just as it was whirling round sideways in the reflux of the waves caused by
the water dashing against a high rock standing partly in the current. It
was a moment of life or death, both to the man and maiden; for the boat was
on the point of going broadside over the first fall into the wild and
seething waters, seen leaping and roaring in whirlpools and jets of foam
among the intricate passes of the ragged rocks below. Making sure of his
grasp on the end of the canoe that had been thus fortunately thrown within
his reach, the struggling Claud made an effort to draw it from the edge of
the abyss into which it was about to be precipitated; but, with his most
desperate exertions, he was barely enabled to keep it in position, while
his strength was rapidly giving way. The unequal contest was quickly
noticed by the hapless girl; and, after watching a moment, with a troubled
eye, the fruitless efforts and wasting strength of the young man, she
calmly rose to her feet, exhibiting, as she stood upright in the boat, with
the spray dashing over her marble forehead and long flowing hair, in the
faultless symmetry of her person, the beautiful cast of her features, and
the touching eloquence of her speaking countenance, a figure which might
well serve as a subject for the pencil of the artist.
"Let go, brave stranger," she cried, in clear, silvery tones, after
throwing a grateful and admiring glance down upon her gallant rescuer; "let
me go, and save yourself. I can die as befits a daughter of my people."
"Hold on, there, Claud! Courage, girl! I see a way to save you both," at
that critical instant rang above the roar of the waters the sharp voice of
the hunter, who, with wonderful tact and celerity, had shot down obliquely
across the main current, out of it through a narrow side pass, down that
and round the intervening rocks, and was now driving with main strength up
another pass, abreast of the objects of his anxiety. "There: now seize the
head of my canoe, and hold on to both; and, on your life, be quick!" he
continued, shouting to the exhausted young man, while he himself was
struggling with all his might to get and keep his boat in the right
position among the battling currents.
After one or two ineffectual attempts, Claud, with a last desperate effort,
fortunately succeeded in securing his grasp on the hunter's boat, without
losing his hold on the other; when, with one mighty effort of the latter,
they were all drawn out of the vortex together, and soon brought safely to
shore.
"Fluella, my fair young friend," said the hunter, taking a long breath, and
respectfully turning to the rescued girl, as the party stepped on to the
dry beach, "I have not often--no, never--felt more rejoiced than now, in
seeing you stand here in safety."
"I know the danger I have been in," responded the maiden, feelingly. "O
yes, know to remember, and know to remember, also, those who made my
escape. Mr. Phillips, I am grateful much."
"Don't thank _me_," promptly replied the hunter. "I am ashamed not to have
been the first in the rescue, when the chief's daughter was in danger."
"But, Mr. Phillips," rejoined the other, with an expressive smile, "you
have not told me who this stranger is, who seemed to measure the value of
his own life by such a worthless thing as mine."
"True, no," returned the hunter; "but this gentleman, Fluella, is young Mr.
Claud Elwood, who, with his father and mother, has recently moved into the
settlement; and they are now my nearest neighbors, at the foot of the lower
lake. And to you, Claud, I have to say, that this young lady is the
daughter of Wenongonet, the red chief, the original lord of these lakes,
and still living on the one next above."
Both the maiden and her gallant young preserver seemed equally surprised,
at the announcement of each others' name and character: the former, because
it suggested questions in the solution of which she felt an interest, but
which, with the characteristic prudence of her race, she forbore to ask;
and the latter, because he found it hard to realize that the
fair-complexioned and every way beautiful girl, who stood before him,
readily speaking his own language, and neatly and even richly arrayed in
the usual female habiliments of the day, with the single exception of the
gay, beaded moccasins, that enveloped her small feet and ankles,--found it
extremely difficult to realize that one of such an exterior, and of so much
evident culture, could possibly have descended from the tawny and
uncultivated sons of the forest.
"You two should hereafter be friends, should you not?" observed the hunter,
perceiving their mutual restraint, of which he wished to relieve them.
Rousing himself, with a prompt affirmative reply to the question, Claud
gallantly advanced, and extended his hand to his fair companion, who, with
evident emotion, and a slight suffusion of the cheek, gave him her own in
return, as she said:
"O yes. Mr. Phillips' friend is my friend, and, I--I--why, I can't thank
him _now_; the words don't come; the thanks remain unshaped in my heart."
"Excuse me," replied Claud, "excuse me if I say, Miss Fluella, as Mr.
Phillips calls you, that you have already expressed, and in the finest
terms, far more than I am entitled to; so let that pass, and tell us how
your mishap occurred?"
"O, naturally enough, though rather stupidly," responded the other,
regaining her ease and usually animated manner. "You must know that I
sometimes play the Indian girl, in doing my father's trouting. And, having
rowed down to the rapids this morning for that purpose, I ran my canoe on
to a rock, up here at the head of the falls, and threw into an eddy below,
till I had taken a supply. But, like other folks, I must have the _one
more_,--a large one I had seen playing round my hook; and, in my eagerness
to take him, I did not notice that my canoe had slipped off the rock till I
found it drifting down the current. I seized my oar, but, with the first
blow in the water it snapt in my hands. You know the rest, unless, perhaps,
the number of fish I caught," she added, pointing to a string of fine trout
still lying safely in the bottom of her canoe.
"Brave girl!" exclaimed the hunter, going up to the boat with Claud, to
inspect the fish, which they had not before noticed. "A good ten pounds,
and fine ones, too. Claud shall remain here while I go a piece up the lake
for a deer, and follow your example, except the race down the rapids; but
that he can't do, for I shall take our canoe with me, and make him fish
from the shore, which will be just as well. Are you agreed to that
arrangement, young man?"
This proposition being accepted, and it being also settled by common
consent that no further attempt should, at this time, be made to ascend the
remaining rapids with either of the boats the hunter and Claud, accompanied
by the light-footed Fluella, took up her canoe and set off with it, along
shore, towards a convenient landing in the lake above, then not more than
sixty or seventy rods distant. In a short time the proposed landing was
reached, and the boat let down into the water. The maiden, with an easy and
sprightly movement, then flung herself into her seat, and, with a paddle
hastily whittled for her out of a piece of drift-wood, by the ever ready
hunter, sent her little craft in a curving sweep into the lake; when,
facing round to her preservers, while a sweet and grateful smile broke over
her dimpling features, she bade and bowed them adieu, and went bounding
over the undulating waves towards her home, on an island some miles
distant, near the southeastern border of this romantic sheet of water.
"Can it be," half-soliloquized Claud, as he stood rivetting his wondering
gaze on the beauteous figure, which, gracefully bowing with the
lightly-dipping oar, was receding from his rapt view, and gradually melting
away in the distance; "can it be that she is but a mere Indian girl, one of
those wild, untutored children of the forest?"
"It is even so, young man," responded the hunter, rousing himself from the
reverie into which he also seemed to have fallen at the departure of his
fair favorite; "it is even so; but, for all that, the very flower of all
the womankind, white or red, according to my ideas, that ever graced the
borders of these lakes."
"But how came she by those neatly-turned English features, and that clear,
white complexion?"
"Why, her mother, who is now dead, was an uncommon handsome woman for a
squaw, and had, as I perhaps should have qualified when I answered so about
this girl, some white blood in her veins; or rather had, as the old chief
once told me, somewhere away back among the gone-by generations, a female
ancestor, a pure white woman, who was made captive by the Indians, and
married into their tribe, and who was as handsome as a picture. But the
white blood seemed to have been pretty much lost among the descendants,
till the appearance of this nonsuch of a girl, in whom every drop of it
seemed to have again been collected."
"Some might, perhaps, draw different conclusions in the case."
"Yes, and draw them very wrongfully, too, as I have no doubt many people do
in such cases; for I have often noticed it among families, and ascertained
it as a fact, that where a person of particular looks and character once
lived, his or her like, though not coming out visibly in any of the
descendants for a long time, is sure sooner or later to appear, and so will
frequently leap out in a child four or five generations off; a complete
copy, in looks, blood, and character, of the original (as far as can be
judged from family tradition), who may have been dead an hundred years.
This is my notion; and I hold that every person is destined to be at least
once reproduced among some of his descendants. I, or the exact like of me,
will likely enough be seen in some of my blood descendants, fifty or an
hundred years hence, building dams or mills on these very falls, or even
riding in a carriage around these wild lakes, where I have spent nearly my
whole life in hunting moose, and the other wild animals known only in the
unbroken forest."
"Your theory may be true, but it does not quite account, I think, for the
evident intelligence and culture of this remarkable girl. To appear and
converse as she does, she must have seen considerable of good society out
of the forest, and, I should think, schools."
"She has, both. Her father, one fall, when she was a girl of ten or eleven,
took her along with him to a city on the coast, where he went to sell his
furs and nice basket-work, and where she, some how, excited the lively
interest of a good family, and particularly of a wealthy gentleman then
living in the family. Well, the short of the matter is, that they persuaded
the chief to leave her through the winter; and, she becoming a favorite
with them all, they instructed her, sent her to school, and dressed her as
they would an own daughter, and would only part with her in the spring on
condition of her returning in the fall. And so it has gone on till now, she
living with them winters, and here with her father summers; for, though
they would like to take her entirely out of the woods, she would not desert
her father, who loves her as his life, and calls her the light of his
lodge,--no, not for all the gold in the cities."
"You must then be well acquainted with this Indian family, and can give me
their history."
"As far as is proper for me to tell, as well as anybody, perhaps. When I
was a young man, I at times used to live with the chief, who always made me
welcome to his lodge, and gave me his confidence. He was then but little
past his prime, and one of the smartest men, every way, I ever knew. He was
then worth property, and lived with his first wife, this girl's mother,
who, as I told you, was very good-looking and intelligent. But his second
wife was as homely as his first was handsome. As to Wenongonet himself, who
has now got to be, though still active, an old man, he claims to have been
a direct descendant of Paugus,--a grandson, I believe, of that noted
chief,--who was slain in Lovewell's bloody fight, and whose tribe, once
known as the Sokokis or Saco Indians, who were great fighters, it is said,
were then forever broken up, the most of them fleeing over the British
highlands and joining the St. Francis Indians in Canada. The family of
Paugus, however, with a few of the head men, who survived the battle,
concluded to remain this side of the mountain, and try to keep up a show of
the tribe on these lakes, where they lived till Paugus' son, who on the
death of his father became their sagamore or chief, died, when they
gradually drew off into Canada, leaving Wenongonet, the last chief's son,
the only permanent Indian resident, after a while, on these lakes. But
come, young man, enough of Indian matters for to-day: we must now be
stirring, or our day's work may come short. Help me to take my canoe up
here into the lake; and, within four hours, the time to which I will limit
my absence, we will see what can be done by each, in our different
undertakings."
The employment of another half-hour fully sufficed to place the canoe of
the hunter in the smooth water above the rapids; when the latter, with a
cheery "heigh ho," at each light dip of his springy oar, struck off towards
the foot of the pine-covered hills that lift their green summits from the
western shores of the lake, leaving his young companion to proceed to his
allotted portion of the sports or labors of the day. Preparing his long
fishing-rod and tackle, according to the instructions which the hunter had
given him for adapting his mode of fishing to the locality and season,
Claud made his way along down the edge of the stream to a designated point,
a short distance above the place where, on the occurrence of the incident
before described, they had ceased to ascend the rapids in their canoes. He
here found, as he had been told, below a traversing reach of bare breakers,
a large, deep eddy of gently revolving water, in the centre of which lay
tossing on the swell a broad spiral wreath of spotless foam. The hunter, in
selecting these rapids, and especially this resting-spot of the ascending
fish, as the place where he could safely warrant the taking of the needed
supply of trout, had not spoken without knowledge; for it may well be
doubted whether there could be found, in all the regions of the north, a
reach of running water of equal length with this wild and singularly
picturesque portion of the Androscoggin river, containing such quantities
of this beautiful fish as are found about midsummer, swarming up the rapids
on their way from the Umbagog to the upper lakes.
So, at least, Claud then found it; for, having passed to the most outward
point of rocks inclosing the eddy, he no sooner threw in and drew his
_skip bait_ round the borders of the foam-island just named, than a dozen
large trout shot up from beneath, and leaped splashing along the surface,
in keen rivalry for the prize of the bait. With a second throw, he securely
hooked one of a size which required all his strength to draw it, as he at
length did, flapping and floundering to a safe landing. And for the next
three hours he pursued the sport with a success which, notwithstanding the
great number that broke away from his hook, well made good the augury of
his beginning. By that time he had caught some dozens, of sizes varying
from one to seven pounds, and enough, and more than he needed. But still he
could not forego his exciting employment, and, insensible of the lapse of
time, continued his drafts on the seemingly inexhaustible eddy, till roused
by the long, shrill _halloo_ of the returned hunter, summoning him to the
landing above. Throwing down his pole by the side of his proud display of
fish, he hastened up to the lake, where he found the hunter complacently
employed in removing, for lightness of carriage, the head and offal of a
noble fat buck; when the two, with mutual congratulations on their success,
took up canoe, and, with a stop only long enough to take in the trout,
carried and launched their richly-freighted craft at a convenient place in
the stream below. Seeing Claud securely seated in the bottom of the canoe,
and the freight nicely balanced, the hunter took his paddle, instead of
setting-pole, the better to restrain the speed of the boat at the most
rapid and dangerous passes, and struck out into the current, adown which,
under the quick and skilful strokes of its experienced oarsman, it was
borne with almost the swiftness of a bird on the wing, till it reached the
quiet waters of the pond; and, this being soon passed over, they entered
and descended the next reach of rapids with equal speed and safety. All the
dangers and difficulties were now over; and, leisurely rowing homeward,
they were, by sunset, at the cottage of the Elwoods, displaying the fruits
of their enterprise, and recounting their singular adventures to the
surprised and gratified inmates.