Farewell to Earth—Indian’s Idea of the Hereafter—Death of
Cahoonshee—Married on Her Mother’s Grave.
Wallace and Drake returned to the deck to consult as to the future.
Have you any plan arranged to carry out Cahoonshee’s request?
I have, replied Drake. That was agreed upon in the private conversation
I had with him when I first came on board of the ship. It is to build
a litter on which to carry him, and start immediately for the Delaware
Valley.
What—before he is dead?
Yes, immediately. He is impressed with the idea that he will live until
his arrival at home. At any rate, that is his request, and it shall be
complied with if possible.
You seem to have perfect confidence in the wisdom of the old man. Do you
intend to perform his last request and marry Cora?
My promise to a dying man is sacred. And as far as it is in my power,
it shall be performed. I do not know what Cora’s feelings are. I have
followed his advice for over twenty years, and shall not reject it now.
If Cora is willing I shall make her my bride.
Cora had approached them unperceived, and on hearing Drake’s last remark,
tapped him under the chin and said:
Then I shall be your bride. I do consent. I consented on the island, when
you held me in your arms and thought I was another girl. I then thought
that Walter had found a prize that belonged to another, and I asked you
if you loved her, and you said “as a sister.” Now kiss me, and I will go
and see my intended mother-in-law and Amy.
She skipped away like a young fawn, leaving Walter and Drake to perfect
their plans.
I think, said Walter, that we had better consult the Captain.
The Captain was then informed of the plan to remove Cahoonshee to his
home. He approved of the same, and ordered them to take what men and
material they wanted to accomplish their object.
How long will you be gone? inquired the Captain.
That is uncertain, and will depend on how long he lives, replied Drake. I
shall not leave him until I have performed my promise.
Just then Cora and Amy came rushing up, as happy as two kittens. Cora
threw her arms around Mrs. Davis’s neck, looked into her eyes, and said:
Mother, how do you like your new daughter-in-law?
That is a good joke on you, said Lieutenant Powers.
But, replied Cora, it is no joke. I was never more sincere in my life. I
tell you my name is Mrs. Charles Davis, seizing the Captain by one hand
and Drake by the other. Come father, why don’t you congratulate us?
For what?
For finding a son and losing him the same day and getting a daughter in
his place.
Do you think that you could love my son on so short an acquaintance?
Oh, we met before we came on the ship.
Where?
On the island. Oh, if you had seen him hug and kiss me, you would have
thought him a persistent lover and that he had studied the art to
perfection.
My children, all I know about this matter is what I have heard Cahoonshee
say, and he had some reasons to believe that his wishes would be complied
with. For my part, I am ready to believe anything. The events have rushed
upon us so fast for the past forty eight hours, that I have lost my
reckoning. But if you two intend to make fast to each other, leave the
sea of single blessedness and sail upon the broad ocean of matrimony, you
have my consent. But our first duty is to take care of Cahoonshee.
The ship carpenter built a litter on which to carry Cahoonshee, and the
arrangements were completed, when an unexpected difficulty arose. Amy
wished to return with the party, and Cora said that she would not trust
Drake to go through that wilderness unless she was along to protect him.
Then the doctor appeared and informed them Rolla was sick and would
probably die, but that Cahoonshee was stronger.
It was finally arranged that both of the girls should accompany the party
back to the Delaware Valley, and officers were sent on shore to procure
horses.
Thus, another day was passed.
The next morning Cahoonshee was carried on shore and placed on the
litter. The elder Quick was sent on horse-back in advance to announce to
the people the return of Cahoonshee and his condition.
Amy, Cora, Walter and Drake led the way, followed by Tom and Jack and ten
others carrying Cahoonshee.
It is not our intention to describe the incidents of the journey home
further than to say that during the entire journey, the greatest respect
was paid to the returning warrior, by both natives and whites.
It already appears that civilization was moving west, and at the time
of which we write, the Delaware Valley, from Milford, on the south, to
Mamakating, on the north, was settled by the whites, principally of the
Holland and French extractions, among which were the Cuddebacks, Deckers,
Gumaers, Van Fleets, Van Inwegens, Swartwouts and Westfalls, who will
become conspicuous as we proceed in our history.
On the evening of the third day, the parties carrying Cahoonshee arrived
on the west bank of the Neversink River, (Port Clinton,) and about two
miles from the Penepack (Huguenot) settlement.
Here the principal people of the Valley had assembled to pay their last
respects to a man that all had loved, and the settlers above mentioned
volunteered to accompany the party to Cahoonshee’s cabin on the
Steneykill, and Amy was congratulated on her escape from the Indians and
return home.
The next morning they marched to Peenpack, and from there, by way of the
Cahoonshee trail, to the Steneykill, where they found the elder Quick
ready to receive them.
As Cahoonshee was lifted from the litter and carried into his old home,
his countenance brightened, and for a few moments he seemed to be living
his life over again. Through the western window the declining sun could
be seen. The leaves on the trees presented a golden hue, and proclaimed
to the observer that the green and golden forest would soon be wrapped in
the cold embrace of winter. All this was emblematical to Cahoonshee. As
the leaf faded, died and returned to mother earth, so would he.
My friends, he said, this is the last sun that I shall see set.
To-morrow, at this time, I shall have passed away. That orb that has so
long furnished me light and heat will be seen by me no more.
_Is this the last of man?_ or is there an existence beyond the grave?
If not, why this distinction between men and animals? Do what I may,
go where I will, I am always impressed by some influence—I know not
what—that I am mortal. Yet this same certain something convinces me that
I am immortal.
This is a path leading to the Great Spirit—a mirror of Deity. And
to prove that, it is not necessary to explain how I came by this
idea—whether I derived it from my forefathers, or whether the Great
Spirit has engraved it on my mind, or whether I, myself have formed it
from a chain of principles.
Of myself, I am fully persuaded that I have an idea of a being supremely
great, and one, whose perfections and powers I am unable to understand.
And I know that there must be somewhere without me an object answering to
the idea within.
For, as I think and as I know that I am not the author of the faculty
that thinks within me, I am obliged to conclude that a foreign cause has
produced it. If this foreign cause is a being that derives its existence
from another foreign cause, then I am necessarily obliged to proceed from
one step to another, and in this way go on until I find a self existing
being. That self existing being is the Indian’s Great Spirit—the white
man’s God.
This idea is not a phantom of my creation, it is the portrait of the
original. It exists in me and independent of me. Thus, in myself I find
proof of a first great cause.
I am now going to unite myself to that cause. To-morrow I lay this body
down. The body will return to its original _dust_, and my spirit to its
original—_to the Great Spirit that gave it_.
I have no desire to stay any longer. My tribe has become extinct. My race
is passing away. The Indians of the American forest will live in history
only—raise me up a little higher, Drake—there, that will do. I see the
silver streaks in the east, and soon the sun will cast its cheerful rays
over this beautiful landscape, to be seen, but not by me. Then Cahoonshee
will have winged his way to the last hunting ground.
The whole party was standing by the dying man. His mind was clear, strong
and vigorous, but his voice was weak.
The sun rose over the eastern hills and cast its rays in the old man’s
face. A perceptible smile lit up his countenance, and he faintly said:
It is finished.
Thus died the last of the Cahoonshees.
A rude coffin is made, and Cahoonshee is carried to the house prepared
for all living.
What a commentary on human nature. A few years before, the Delaware
Valley swarmed with the red men of the forest. Now the last of his race
is carried to his grave by the white man. Cuddeback and Gumaer on the
left and Swartwout and Van Etten on the right, carry him to the grave,
followed by the rest of the party, and bury him on a pine hill, west of
his cabin.
There was no ringing of bells, no mock eulogy, no hypocritical mourning.
But in silence they laid him away, each one feeling that the body of one
of the wisest and best of men reposed there. (See Appendix.)
The parties then returned to the cabin and distributed the personal
effects of Cahoonshee, and then proceeded to Quick’s cabin on the
Shinglekill.
The next morning they went to Hawk’s Nest, where Drake pointed out to
Walter the point in the river where he first saw the float with Amy
and her mother on it. Then they visited the Callicoon, the former home
of Walter and Amy. There was the old sugar maple tree where they had
so often played, and where they first learned to love. There was the
towering oak where Walter shot the panther. There was the tree where his
cat Amy stood, and just over the ridge was where he found surveyor Webb.
The reader can imagine the thoughts that passed through their minds as
they sat under the tree, holding each other’s hands, living over again
the days of their childhood.
Walter, said Amy, there is one more place I wish to visit, and then I
will be ready to go with you to England. I wish to go once more to my
mother’s grave.
Did we not pass near it on the way to Hawk’s Nest?
Yes, but I did not wish to go there then. There is where I lost my best
friend, and there is where I wish to give my hand to you—my heart you
have always owned. I gave it to you under this tree. Let us go to the
grave of my mother. There for the first time let me call you husband.
Walter could not deny this request, although he had intended to defer the
marriage until their arrival in London.
The parties then returned to the Shinglekill, where preparations were
made to celebrate the nuptials of Walter and Amy.
The pastor of the little flock of worshipers that resided in the Valley,
Johannes Casparus Fryenmout, was invited to officiate on the occasion,
and bring with him his young wife that he had lately taken from the Van
Etten family.
His little church was built of logs, and was situated on the road leading
from Carpenters Point (Tri-States,) to Kingston, on the west bank of the
Machackamack (Neversink) River. (See Appendix.)
He thought that the wedding should take place at his church, assigning as
a reason, that “a grave yard was not in keeping with the occasion.” But
Amy thought different, and insisted that the marriage should take place
at her mother’s grave.
It was a warm November day when they left Quick’s cabin to march to the
cemetery that contained a single grave. The good pastor led the way,
followed by the Quicks and other neighbors. Next came Tom and Jack,
followed by the sailors and marines. Then came Amy and Cora, followed by
Walter and Drake.
As the head of the column reached the consecrated place the lines
divided, and the heroes of our tale marched through and took their
station at the head of the grave.
The pastor took for his text the words that Cahoonshee had cut on the
grave stone:
“Here lies Mary, the mother of Amy.”
Here we have another proof of the wisdom of the Psalmist: “God works
in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.” Years ago, the mother of
the lady that is about to take upon herself the duties of a wife, was
consigned to this grave. Her body lies mouldering in the silent tomb.
Her soul has gone to the God that gave it. And if, as we are assured,
angels are the spirits of the just made perfect, then the spirit of that
mother is hovering over and about us, and I doubt not, approving of this
union. From the day her body was consigned to this grave, a mysterious
providence has protected her child. And not only her child, but the child
of William Wallace, who is now about to make her his bride. My friends,
as a token that this union has the sanction of Heaven, that you have
given to and received each other to yourself, that each of you possesses
the whole of the other’s heart, that you are twain, one flesh, you will
signify it by kneeling on this sacred grave. Here, in the presence
of Heaven and these witnesses, I pronounce you one, and recorded in
Heaven as husband and wife. And may the same kind providence that has
so mysteriously led you in the past continue to watch over you. May the
same love and emotions that was your polar star when in search of each
other still continue to shine. And when the time comes for an earthly
separation, may there be a re-union in Heaven between mother and child.
Amen.
Drake had been an interested spectator of this scene. It brought vividly
to his memory the history of the past. He remembered that at this grave
he had tried to console Amy for the loss she sustained by the death of
her mother. That on this spot he had promised to search for her lover,
and now on this spot he had witnessed the consummation of his wishes. At
his side stood Cora, his affianced wife. Were their hearts united like
the couple that had knelt before them? He felt a strong infatuation for
Cora. Was it real? Did it come from the heart, or was it the influence
that Cahoonshee still exerted over him? Was it the promise that he had
made a dying man that influenced him?
From the time they left the ship until Amy’s marriage, Cora had been in
his company, but by no word or action had she referred to the scene on
the ship, where Cahoonshee had placed her hand in his and said:
“She loves you!”
True, at that time, she seemed to acquiesce to the dying man’s request.
Was this real, or was it an acquiescence to please an aged warrior, and
dismissed from her mind when death had closed his eyes?
I will know, now and here, he thought to himself.
He offered Cora his arm, and they walked to the upper end of Butternut
Grove. Seating themselves, he said:
Cora, you remember the occasion on the ship, when all were present, and
Cahoonshee joined our hands, and asked me to make you my wife? I consider
that promise sacred, and my love of the memory of the dead tells me
to keep it. But with you, it is different. I have no right to insist
that you should keep a promise given under such circumstances. Tell me
frankly, Cora, do you feel yourself bound by that promise?
Cora seized both of his hands, and looked intently into his eyes, said:
Charles, do you wish me to keep that promise?
Drake was not prepared to answer this straight forward question, and
wished for time to collect his thoughts. Cora noticed his confusion, and
said:
I will answer your question. I do feel myself bound by that promise—not
that I made it to Cahoonshee, but from the fact that my heart was yours
before that promise was made.
When? he asked.
On the island, she replied. Now Charles, I have answered your question.
Will you answer mine? Do you wish me to keep mine?
I do if—
Don’t have any ifs about it, throwing her arms around him. Now hug and
kiss me as you did on the island.
He took her in his arms and said:
Cora. I neither know myself or you. Yet something tells me that without
you life would be miserable.