Parting of Mother and Child.
We now return to Quick’s cabin, on the Shinglekill. His residence was
on the banks of the Delaware, at, or near Milford and the cabin on the
Shinglekill was temporally used during the trapping season. The Senior
Quick was a Hollander, and had settled at Milford while the country was a
howling wilderness. He had three brothers, and from them has sprung the
numerous Quick families in the Delaware Valley, and he was the father of
Tom Quick, one of the heroes of our tale.
This cabin in which they carried Amy and her mother, was a log structure,
in the midst of a Butternut grove. The outside of the house was nearly
covered by the skins of wild beasts, hung there to dry. Suspended on
poles and trees, were skulls of bears, panthers, deer and other animals,
in which the birds built their nests and reared their young. Up the bank,
and between the house and the Hawk’s Nest, was a cleared field, on which
they raised corn.
Entering the house, we are struck at the order and decorum everywhere
seen. The chimney is in one end of the house, and consists of a layer
of red sand stone placed against the logs. There are no jambs to the
chimney, and the smoke escapes through an opening in the roof. Hanging in
crotches, on the side of the building, are three smoothly polished guns.
In one corner of the room stands a number of bows and arrows. Overhead,
tied to the rafters, hang numerous traps, and all about the house hang
bags containing dried berries, herbs, etc. On a small table lies the
family bible, bound with iron straps. On one side of the chimney is a
closet containing the dishes and cooking utensils. On the back side of
the room are four bunks in which to sleep. The end of the room, opposite
the fire-place, is partitioned off, and furnished with a bed made of
skins and furs.
It was in this room the mother and child were laid.
Heat some stones, said the elder Quick. And you boys go to rubbing them.
We must start the blood.
Betsy soon had a number of warm stones wrapped in furs in the bed, while
the boys applied themselves vigorously to rubbing their bodies.
The child soon gave evidence of restored animation. Breathing became
perceptible. The muscles contracted, and her eyes partly opened. Then
came a convulsion which shook her whole frame. Water and froth ran from
her mouth.
That will do boys, said the old man. Let her lay quiet now. She will soon
be herself again.
Rolla had been an anxious spectator of the scene we have described.
Standing with his fore-feet on the foot of the bed looking intently into
Amy’s face, he gave three suppressed barks.
The child is safe, exclaimed the old man.
Just then Rolla gave a mournful whine.
But, continued the old man, the mother will never see the sun set again.
The dog, by some intuitive knowledge, sees life for the child, but death
for the mother.
Then came a moment of suspense. The house was as silent as the grave, and
all present stood gazing on the marble forms before them. A flush came
into Amy’s face. Her eyes open.
Ma-ma—Rol—Rol!
And again all was silent.
She speaks, said Betsy, and her first thought is of her mother.
And her second of her dog, said Tom.
She now began to moan and talk, but not in a way that could be
understood. At length her words were connected, but it was evident that
she was delirious.
Oh! Walt. Do come and save your little Amy—River—big
raft—pa-pa—drowned—hold her Rolla, hold her!
Thus she continued to rave for a few minutes, and then fell into a sweet,
natural sleep.
In about half an hour her eyes opened, and she raised up and gazed about
her in astonishment.
Where is mother? Where am I? Where is Rolla?
Rolla heard her, and bounded on the bed. Amy threw her arms about his
neck.
Good Rolla! she exclaimed; Save mother—pull her out of the water—drag her
on the raft!
Drake put out his hand, as if in the act of pulling the dog away.
No, no, boy, let the dog alone. That is nature’s own medicine. That
is more soothing than a canoe-load of the white man’s pills. The girl
requires quiet. Let the dog caress her.
This was said by a new comer, in a sweet and sympathizing voice, by
an old man by the name of Wilson, (Cahoonshee,) of whom I shall speak
hereafter.
In the meantime, all the arts known to the white man or Indian were
resorted to, to revive the mother. They had, in a measure, restored
circulation, but the breathing was accomplished with difficulty, and she
showed no signs of consciousness. And thus the day passed in suspense.
The sun had just hid itself behind the western hills, as Amy aroused, and
raised herself up in the bed. Rolla gave three soft, pleasant barks, and
leaped on the bed and off again, and ran out of the house, and in again,
jumping onto, and barking at every one, seemingly to express his joy at
Amy’s recovery.
Where am I? she said, looking around the room.
Among friends, replied Wilson.
Where is mother?
Here, child, but unable to speak.
And Rolla; where is he?
Rolla, hearing his name pronounced, answered in person, giving a bark of
joy, bounded on the bed.
Amy now seemed to be herself again, but it was thought best not to
question her until she had fully recovered her strength. She was taken
out in the shade of the butternuts, where we will leave her and Rolla for
the present.
During this time the mother lay in a semi-conscious condition. At times
she showed signs of reason, but was too weak to speak. The muscles of her
mouth moved, but only a groan was heard.
Thus the night passed and the gray mist of morning is appearing. She
opened her eyes and made a motion with her hand. In an instant Wilson was
at her side.
What do you want good woman? Who do you want to see?
Instantly the whole household, including Amy and Rolla, surrounded the
bed. The mother looked first at one, then at the other, and then cast her
eyes heavenward, and dropped back on her pillow.
Blind! said Wilson.
Oh mother, dear mother, look at Amy! the child cried.
Now the mother shows signs of returning strength and was again raised up
in bed, and as before, apparently looked to see those she could hear but
could not see. There was no light in her eyes. She makes an attempt to
speak, but her words are unintelligible. She tries again:
A—A—Amy—
Here, dear mother; here I am.
Kiss me, kiss me Amy.
She took hold of Amy’s hand and tried to speak again.
What is it mother? What do you want to say?
Rol—Rol—Rolla!
Before the words were finished, Rolla sprang to the bed and placed his
fore-feet on her bosom.
See, mother, Rolla is here; said Amy.
A whine, accompanied by a mild bark escaped from the dog. The mother
understood by that, that the dog was there. Then taking Rolla by the
fore-paw, she, with a great effort laid it in Amy’s hand. Casting her
sightless eyes toward heaven, she remained motionless for a few moments,
evidently in prayer. A tremor came over her. A struggle ensued.
Nearly gone, said Wilson.
Her eyes open again. Now they can see and have the expression of
intelligence. A silence ensues. She speaks:
Amy—Rolla—and drops on her pillow dead.
Rolla seemed to understand his mistress’s last wish and kissed the child
that held its paw.