"All good to me is lost;
Evil, be thou my good"--
The next scene in the slowly unfolding panorama of our story opens at the
house of Gaut Gurley, on the banks of the Magalloway. Gaut reached home, on
the evening of the logging bee, about sunset; and, having put out his team,
entered his house, where he found his wife alone, his daughter being absent
on a visit to a neighbor. Contrary to what might have been expected, after
the favorable impression he had so evidently made on the settlers that day,
and the attainment of the still more important object with him, the
regaining of his old fatal influence over Elwood, he appeared morose and
dissatisfied. Something had not worked to his liking in the complicated
machinery of his plans, and he showed his vexation so palpably as soon to
attract the attention of his submissive but by no means unobservant wife,
who, after a while, plucked up the courage to remark:
"What is the case, Gaut? Have you been working yourself to death for those
Elwoods, to-day, or has something gone wrong with you, that makes you look
so sour this evening?"
"I have worked hard enough, God knows; but that I intended, for I had
objects in view, most of which I think I have accomplished, but--"
"But not all, I suppose you would say?"
"Well, yes, there is one thing that has not gone exactly to suit me, over
there."
"What is that, Gaut?"
"It is of no consequence that you should know it. If I should name it, you
would not see its bearing on my plans, I presume."
"Perhaps not, for I don't know what your plans are, these days. I used to
be able to guess out the objects you had in view, before you came here,
whether you told me or not. But, since you have been in this settlement, I
have been at loss to know what you are driving at; I can't understand your
movements at all."
"What movements do you mean, woman?"
"All of them; but particularly those that have to do with the Elwoods."
"What is there in my course toward them, since they came here, that you
can't understand?"
"Well, I'll tell you, Gaut. When you believed Elwood to be rich, I could
easily see that you thought it would be an object to bring about an
acquaintance between his son and only heir, and our Avis; and I knew you
was, those days, studying how it could be done, and I always suspected that
you in some way disposed of that picture of her for the purpose, instead of
sending it to your relations, and----"
"And what?" exclaimed Gaut, turning fiercely on his wife. "Suspected! What
business had you to suspect? And you told Avis what you thought, I
suppose?"
"Not a word, never one word; for I knew she was so proud and particular,
that, if she mistrusted any thing of that kind to have been done, she would
flounce in a minute. No, I never hinted it to her, or anybody else, and it
was guesswork, after all," replied the abashed wife, in a deprecating
tone,--she having been tempted, by the unusual mood which her stern husband
had manifested for discussing his private affairs with her, to venture to
speak much more freely than was her wont.
"Well, see that you don't hint any thing about that, nor any thing else you
may take it into your silly head to guess about my objects," rejoined the
other, in a somewhat mollified tone. "But now go on with what you were
going to say."
"Well, I could understand your course before Elwood failed; but, when he
did, I could see no object, either in following him here, or having any
thing particular to do with him, or any of his family. But you seized on
the first chance, after we came here, to court them, and have followed it
up; first, in the affair of the young man and Avis, and then, in drumming
up the whole settlement in getting up this logging bee for the old man.
Now, Gaut, you don't generally drive matters at this rate without something
in view that will pay; and, as I can see nothing to be gained worth so much
pains, I don't understand it."
"I didn't suppose you did, and it is generally of little consequence
whether you see through my plans or not; but, in this case--"
Here Gaut suddenly paused, rose, and took several turns across the room,
evidently debating with himself how far it was policy to disclose his plans
to his wife; when, appearing to make up his mind, he again seated himself
and resumed:
"Yes, as this is a peculiar case, and coming, perhaps, in part within the
range of a woman's help, if she knows what is wanted, and one which she may
unintentionally hurt, if she don't, I suppose I must give you some insight
into my movements, so that you can manage accordingly, help when you can,
and do no mischief when you can't; as you probably will do, for you well
know the consequences of doing otherwise."
"I will do all I can, if I can understand what you want, and can see any
object in it," meekly responded the woman.
"Well, then, in the first place," resumed the other, "you know how many
years I slaved myself, and what risks I run, to help Elwood make that
fortune; how he threw me off with simple wages, instead of the share I
always intended to have for such hard and dangerous services; and how he
failed, like a fool, before I got it."
"I knew it all."
"Then you can easily imagine how much it went against my grain to be balked
in that manner. At all events, it did; and I soon determined not to give up
the game so, even if that was all. And ascertaining that Elwood, by
allowances made by the creditors to his wife, and sales of furniture which
they allowed the family to retain, brought quite a little sum of money into
the settlement,--enough, at any rate, to pay for his place, put him well
afloat, and make him a man of consequence in such a new place,--I soon made
up my mind on buying and settling, for present purposes, here, too, as we
did."
"Yes, but what do you expect to make here more than in any other new
country? And what can you make out of the Elwoods, more than any other new
settlers?"
"A good deal, if all things work to my mind. There is money to be made
here. I could do well in the fur business alone, and at the worst. And, by
the aid of one who could be made to favor my interests, there is no telling
what could be done. Now, what claim had I on any other settler to be that
one to aid me? On Elwood I had a claim to help _me_ to property in turn;
and I determined he should do it. But he must first be brought into the
traces. He has got out with me, and must be reconciled before I can do much
with him."
"Well, I should think he ought to be by this time, after what you have been
doing for him, without his asking."
"Without asking? Why, that was just the way to do it. As I calculated, he
was taken by surprise, disarmed, and yielded; so that object is
accomplished, as well as making the right impression on the other settlers
by beating them at their own work."
"I begin to understand, now."
"You will understand more, soon; that was only part of my object."
"What was the other part?"
"To insure the consummation of the match between Avis and young Elwood,
which now seems in fair progress, but which would be liable to be broken
off, if his family should continue to be unfriendly to me."
"Why, that was the thing I could understand least of all. The young man is
well enough, I suppose, but I thought you had looked to have Avis make more
of herself, and do better for us. She is still young, and we don't know
what chances she may have. If she and the young man should keep on
intimate, and set their hearts on it, I don't know that I should oppose it
much; but what object we can have in helping it on, I can't, for the life
of me, see. I have not said a word against it, because I saw that you were
for it. But, if I had been governed by my own notions, I should have sooner
discouraged than helped it on."
"I suspected so; and, for that reason, as well as others, I see I must tell
you a secret, which the Elwoods themselves don't know, and which I meant
should never pass my lips; and, when I tell it to you, see that it never
passes yours. That young man, Claud Elwood, whom you think so ordinary a
match, is heir to a large property. A will is already executed making him
so."
"Is that so, Gaut?"
"Yes, I have known it for months. I made the discovery before I decided to
move here."
"It is a wonder how you could keep it from me."
"Humph! It is a greater wonder how I came to tell you at all, and I fear I
shall yet repent it; but things had come to a pass that seemed to make it
necessary."
"But who is the man, and where, who is going to give the young man such a
property?"
"It is not for you to know. I have told you enough for all my purposes. And
this brings me back to your first question, when I admitted that there was
one thing which had not gone to my liking. There _was_, indeed, one thing
that disturbed and vexed me; and that was the discovery I made, over there,
today, that Elwood's wife is an enemy to me. I contrived all ways to get
speech with her, but she studiously avoided giving me a chance, nor was I
able once even to catch her eye, that I might give her a friendly nod of
recognition. I know she never wished me about, in former times, but I then
attributed her coldness to the pride of the rich over the poor. But I now
think it was because she hated me. I am satisfied she is an enemy, at
heart; and will, for that reason, prove a secret and I fear dangerous
opposer to a match which will connect me with her family, unless something
is done to reconcile her."
"How can that be done?"
"Perhaps _you_ can do something. We start, in about a fortnight, on the
fall hunt,--both the Elwoods, myself, and others. When we are gone, you can
go down into that neighborhood, get acquainted with some of the women, and
get them to call with you on Mrs. Elwood; and, if Avis could be made to go
and see her, so much the better. She would make an impression without
trying. You would have to manage, but how, I am not now prepared to decide.
I will think of it, and you may, and we will talk it over again. I have
told you this, now, that you might understand the situation of affairs; and
the object, which you will now see, is worth playing for. And, if we can
carry this last point, the last danger will be removed,--unless Claud
himself proves fickle."
"I guess there will not be much danger of that in _this_ settlement. What
girl is there that he could think of in comparison with Avis?"
"I think there is none; and still, there is one whom I would rather he
would not see."
"Who can that be, I should like to know?"
"She is the daughter, or is claimed to be, of an old Indian chief, called
Wenongonet, who lives up the lakes, and was once a man of some consequence,
both with Indians and whites."
"An Indian girl! Fudge!"
"You might alter that tune, if you should see her. She is white as you are,
and has, most of the time, of late years, lived in some of the old
settlements, been schooled, and so on. I saw her, soon after we came here,
with another woman, at the south end of the lake, where she was visiting in
the family of one of the settlers, and I inquired her out, as she appeared
so much above the common run of girls. But she is courted, they say, by a
young educated Indian, called Tomah, from Connecticut-river way, where I
used to see him. He _ought_ to be able to take care of her. But hark! what
was that? It sounded like the trotting of some heavy horse. I'll see."
So saying, Gaut rose and went to the window, when, after casting a
searching look out into the road, and pausing a moment, in evident doubt
and surprise at what met his gaze, he muttered: "The devil is always at
hand when you are talking about him; for that must be the very
fellow,--Tomah himself! But what a rig-out! Wife, look here."
The woman promptly came to the window, when her eyes were greeted with the
appearance of a smart-looking and jauntily-equipped young Indian, mounted
on the back of a stately, antlered moose, that, by some contrivance
answering to a bridle, he was about bringing to a stand in the road,
opposite to the house. Without heeding the exclamations of surprise and
questions of his wife, who had never seen an animal of the kind, Gaut
stepped out of the door, and, after pausing long enough to satisfy himself
that he was not known to the other, said, after the distant greeting
customary among strangers had been exchanged:
"That is a strange horse you are travelling on, friend."
"No matter that, when he carry you well," replied the Indian, whose
language was a little idiomatic, notwithstanding his education.
"Perhaps not; but I should think he would be a hard trotter for most
riders."
"Moose don't care for that: he say, he carry you ten miles an hour, you not
the one to complain: if you no like, you no ride."
"How did you tame him to be so manageable?"
"Caught him a little calf, four years ago; trained him young to mind
halter; then ox-work, horse-work. This year ride him. No trouble, you let
him enough to eat."
"Where did you catch him?"
"Over the mountain. Live there. My name John Tomah. Been here to hunt some,
but not see you before. Another man live in this house last spring."
"Yes, I am a new-comer. But I have heard some of the settlers speak of you,
I think. You are the Indian that has been to college?"
"Yes, been there some, but in the woods more. Love to hunt, catch beaver,
sable, and such things. Come here to hunt now, soon as time. But must have
moose kept when off hunting: thought the man lived here do that. May be you
keep him, while I come back. Pay you, all right."
"Yes, if I could; but where could I keep him? He would jump any pasture or
yard fence there is here, and then run away, would he not?"
"No. Stay, after week or two, and get wonted, same as horse or cow. I go to
work, make yard, keep him in a while, and feed him with grass or browse. I
tend him first. You keep him,--you keep me, till go hunting; then get boy.
Pay well, much as you suit."
Gaut Gurley never acted without a strong secret motive. He had been
intently studying the young Indian during the conversation just detailed,
with a view of forming an opinion how far his subservience could be
secured; and, appearing to become satisfied on this point, and believing
the first great step for making him what was desired would be accomplished
by yielding to his request gracefully, however much family inconvenience it
might occasion, Gaut now turned cordially to him, and said:
"Yes, Tomah, I will do it. I like your looks, and I will do it for
_you_, but wouldn't for anybody else. We can get along with your animal,
somehow; and you shall stay, too, till our company start on our hunt, and
then you shall go with us. I will see that you have fair play. I will be
your friend; and perhaps I may want a good turn of you some time."
"Like that; go with you; show you how catch beaver. Do all I can."
"Very well; and perhaps I can help you in some way. You have an affair that
you feel a peculiar interest in, with somebody on the upper lake, and--"
"You know that?" interrupted the startled but evidently not displeased
Indian.
"Yes, I have heard something about it."
"But how you help there?"
"O, I can contrive a way for you to make the matter work as you wish, if
you will only persevere."
"Persevere? Ah, means keep trying. Yes, do that; but she don't talk right,
now; perhaps, will, you help, then we be great friends, sure."
The treaty being thus concluded, the gratified young Indian dismounted,
with his rifle and pack, containing his blanket, hunting-suit, etc., which
he carried before him, laid across the shoulder of his novel steed; and,
under the guidance of Gaut, he led the animal into the cow-yard, where he
was tied and fed, and the fence, already made high to exclude the wolves,
as usual among first settlers, was topped out by laying on a few additional
poles, so as to prevent the possibility of his escape. This being done,
Gaut conducted his new-found friend into the house, and introduced him, to
his wife and also to his daughter, who had by this time returned, as the
young Indian that had been to college, but still had a liking for the
woods.
"I have often thought I should feel interested in seeing an educated native
of the forest," remarked Avis, after the civilities of the introduction had
been exchanged. "Books, when you became able to read and understand them,"
she continued, turning to the Indian, "books must have opened a new world
to you, and the many new and curious things you found in them must have
been exceedingly gratifying to you, Mr. Tomah."
"Yes, many curious things in books," replied Tomah, indifferently.
"And also much valuable knowledge?" rejoined Avis, interrogatively.
"Valuable enough to some folks, suppose," replied the other, with the air
of one speaking on a subject in which he felt no particular interest.
"Lawyers make money; preachers get good pay for talking what they learn in
books; so doctors."
"But surely," persisted the former, who, though disappointed in his
replies, yet still expected to see, if she could draw him out, the
naturally shrewd mind of the native made brilliant by the light of science,
"surely you consider an education a good thing for all, giving those who
receive it a great advantage over those who do not?"
"Yes, education good thing," responded Tomah, his stolid countenance
beginning to lighten up at the idea which now struck him as involving the
chief if not the sole benefit of his scientific acquirements; "yes,
education good, very good, sometime. Instance: I go to Boston with my moose
next winter; show him for pay, one, two days; then reckon up money--add;
then reckon up expenses--subtract; tell how much I make. Make much, stay;
make little, go to other place. Yes, education good thing."
"But I should think you might do better with your education than you could
by following the usual employments of your kind of people," resumed the
other, still unwilling to see the subject of her scrutiny fall so much
below her preconception of an educated Indian. "You say, lawyers,
preachers, and doctors make money from the superiority which their
education has given them; now, why don't you profit by _your_ education,
and go into a profession like one of theirs, and obtain by it the same
wealth and position which you see them enjoying?"
"Did try," replied Tomah, with an evident effort to elevate his language,
and meet the question candidly. "When I came home from the school, people
all say, Now you go and live like white folks, in village, and study to be
doctor, make money, be great man. So went; study one year; try hard to
like; but no use. Uneasy all the time; could not keep down the Indian in
me; he always rising up, more every day, all the time drawing me away to
the woods,--pull, pull, pull. I fight against him; put him down little some
time; but he soon up again, stronger than ever. Found could not make myself
over again; must be as first made; so gave up; left study for the woods;
and said, Now let Indian be Indian as long as he like."
Satisfied, or rather silenced, by Tomah's reasons, Avis turned the
conversation by asking him to relate to her how he caught and tamed his
moose. She found him completely at home in this and other of his adventures
in the forest, which he was thus encouraged to relate, and in which he
often became a graphic and interesting narrator, and displayed the keen
observation of the objects of nature, together with the other peculiar
qualities of his race, to so much advantage that she soon relinquished her
favorite idea of ever finding a philosopher in an educated Indian.
In presenting the above picture, drawn from one of the many living
prototypes that have fallen within our personal observation, or come within
our knowledge derived from reliable sources, we had no wish to disparage
the praiseworthy acts and motives of those spirited and patriotic men who,
like Moore, in establishing his well-known charity school, in connection
with Dartmouth college, may have, in times past, founded and endowed
schools for the education of the natives of the forest; nor would we dampen
the faith and hopes of those philanthropists who still believe in the
redemption of that dwindling race by the aids of science and civilization;
but we confess our inability to perceive any general results, flowing from
the attempts of that character, at all adequate to the pains and outlay
bestowed on the experiment. And we think we cannot be alone in this
opinion. We believe that those results, when gathered up so that all their
meagreness could be seen, have sadly disappointed public expectations; that
this once favorite object and theory, of elevating and benefiting the red
man by taking him from his native woods and immuring him in the schoolroom,
has been, in the great majority of the cases, a futile one; and that whole
system, indeed, can now be regarded as but little less than a magnificent
failure.
There have been, it is true, some brilliant exceptions to the application
of our remarks, such as may be found in the pious and comparatively learned
Samson Occom, the noted Indian preacher of the times of the Pilgrims; in
the eloquent Ojibway chief of our own times, and a few others; as well as
in the person we have already introduced into this work, the intelligent
and beautiful Fluella. But _only_ as exceptions to the general rule, we
fear, can we fairly regard them,--for, where there is one Occom, there are
probably ten Tomahs.
Education, or so much of it as he has the patience and ability to acquire,
seems often to unsettle and confuse the mind of the red man; for, while his
old notions and traditions are disturbed or swept away by it, he fails of
grasping and digesting the new ones which science and civilization present
to his mind; and he falters and gropes, like an owl in the too strong light
of the unaccustomed sun. In his natural condition, he can _at least_
realize the happy picture which the poet has drawn of him:
"Lo the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind:
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or milky way;
Yet simple nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven,
Some safer world in depth of wood embraced;
Some happier island in the wat'ry waste,
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christian thirsts for gold.
To be content's his natural desire;
He asks no angel's wings, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company."
But now, in his new and anomalous position, even this happiness and this
content is taken away, while he is unable to embrace an adequate
substitute. His old faith is shaken, but no new one is established. Before,
he could see God in clouds or hear him in the wind; but now he can scarcely
see God in any thing. His physical system, in the mean while, deprived as
it is of the forest atmosphere, in which it was alone fitted to exist and
reach its greatest perfection, suffers even more than his mental one. And
his whole man, both mental and physical, begins to degenerate, and soon
dwindles into insignificance. Yes, it is only in his native forests that
the Indian appears in his wild and peculiar dignity of character. There
only can he become a being of romance, and there only a hero. And there, in
conclusion, we would say, in view of the unsatisfactory results of the
experiments made to elevate him by any of the methods yet adopted,--there
we would let him remain.
But we must now on with our tale, the main incidents of which we have only
foreshadowed, not touched.