DIANA DICKSON AND HER FOE.
The activity of the North Americans is prodigious; they have a peculiar
way of handling the axe which is marvellous. Their mode of procedure is
almost incomprehensible, and goes beyond anything the imagination can
conceive.
Fifty American woodmen will in a month clear the whole of a vast forest
tract.
They always begin with the idea, a very logical one, though a proud
one, that the modest plantation they commence may in time become an
important town, and they act accordingly. The land is divided into
lots, paths traced by the axe stand for streets, large open spaces
represent squares, while notched trees indicate where the houses,
shops, workshops, and other buildings are to be.
As soon as this is all settled they go to work with feverish haste, and
trees of vast dimensions fall with a rapidity which is simply amazing.
Then they build the stables and sheds, then the blacksmith's forge, the
carpenter's shop, and the water sawmill, of which the workmen at once
take possession.
The earth, still encumbered by the roots of trees, is dug up and sown
at once. Everything goes on at the same time with the utmost regularity
and industry.
In a few days the landscape is completely changed, and there, where had
existed a virgin forest, with all its deep and impenetrable mysteries,
suddenly arises, as if by means of the enchanted wand, the embryo of
a town, which ten years later will be a rich flourishing emporium of
commerce, and of which the population, coming from all parts of the
world, will perhaps be fifty or sixty thousand.
But the squatter, the founder of the new city, will have disappeared,
without leaving a trace behind. Nobody knows anything about him,
not even his name. His work done, he will have taken his melancholy
departure, frightened to see the desert so populated, and that
civilisation from which he had fled so near; he probably has fled out
West in search of a new virgin land, which he will transform like the
first, without deriving any more advantage from it, finally to end his
days, shot in some miserable Indian ambuscade, or killed by the claws
of a grizzly, or perhaps dies of misery and hunger in some unknown
corner of the prairie.
Joshua Dickson did not act differently from his fellows; after dividing
the valley into two, and handing over half to his brother, he fixed his
residence near the fork of the two rivers. Samuel Dickson fixed his
residence at the other end of the valley, near the river called the
Deer River.
Everybody then set to work, and with such rapidity that before three
weeks were over the principal buildings were finished. The houses,
built with trees from the trunks of which the bark had not been
removed, piled one upon the other, and fastened together by iron clamps
and long wooden nails, looked comfortable with their glass windows
furnished inside with strong shutters, and their mud and brick chimneys
from which the smoke already escaped in a bluish cloud.
All the servants and hired men had erected themselves, not exactly
houses, but bark huts. They were, however, only temporary residences,
soon to be replaced by more solid and eligible residences.
The ordinary means of defence so necessary in an Indian country had not
been neglected; a solid double stockade of young trees surrounded the
camp; the centre of this rampart was occupied by a ditch ten feet wide
and fifteen deep.
There were several drawbridges, which were raised every night, by means
of which only could the settlement be reached; near every one of these
was a redoubt of stone, surmounted by stakes, behind which, in case
of attack, the garrison could place themselves. All the houses were
moreover loopholed.
Every night some twenty formidable dogs of the race formerly used by
the Spaniards to hunt down the Indians, and until lately kept to track
Negro slaves by the Americans, that is to say, bloodhounds, were let
loose.
One morning, shortly after sunrise, Miss Diana, accompanied by her own
enormous and favourite dog, quitted the Point, her father's habitation,
for the residence of Samuel Dickson.
Very busy each about their own affairs, the brothers were often two
days without seeing each other, the more so that their respective
residences were quite three miles apart.
Joshua Dickson, whose activity was immense, struck with amazement at
sight of the magnificent waterpower at his door, and which he little
suspected was the Missouri, had asked himself one day where these
waters flowed to. He came at last to the conclusion that on its way to
the sea it must run through some state of the Union.
Then, imbued with that commercial spirit which is innate in the
Americans, he at once saw the value of the river as available for the
carriage of his produce, as well as to obtain supplies for the colony.
He therefore resolved to make a journey down the river, and reach the
first settlement, and this as soon as the heavier labours were over.
Now with the squatter to resolve was to act, and even before anything
else was finished he had set to work to construct a canoe sufficiently
large to carry four persons, with victuals for a long journey, and
strong enough to bear a voyage of some hundreds of miles.
The boat had been finished the night before, and Joshua Dickson, eager
to begin his journey, had sent his daughter over to Dickson Point, to
confer with his brother as to what was to be done in his absence. But
neither Samuel nor Diana knew anything of Joshua's projects.
Joshua was one of those men who, without being deceitful, was very
reticent, and never told his thoughts.
Diana, like a true heroine, traversed the faintly traced paths which
led to her uncle's house, a hunting knife in her belt, and light gun
in her hand. For further safety she was accompanied by Dardar, a large
black and white dog, something between a wolf and a Newfoundland,
terribly ferocious, and of mighty strength, as tall as a good-sized
donkey, and who would have tackled a bear in defence of his mistress,
whom he obeyed with the docility of a child.
With such a guardian Diana had nothing to fear from man or beast;
moreover, the country was too little known to the squatters to allow a
young girl to go out quite unprotected in the country, however short
the distance.
Contrary to her usual mood, the young girl was quite joyous; her
freedom, which allowed her to give free vent to her thoughts, had
driven away the tinge of sadness which generally clouded her beautiful
face.
She went along careless and dreaming through the fields, playing with
Dardar, who, proud of the charge he was set to guard, ran wildly before
her, dashing into the bushes and thickets with an intelligent glance
that was almost human.
The young girl soon reached the river, where a kind of ferryboat had
been provided by means of which to cross the river, here neither broad
nor deep. In a few minutes Diana was across and within sight of her
uncle's residence.
Inside the log hut, which was extensive, were seated two men, with a
bottle of whisky before them. These were Samuel Dickson himself and
George.
Two horses, still saddled and smoking, were fastened in the court. They
must have been on a long journey.
"You are a pretty fellow to make me gallop about in this way in search
of you. I am not very handsome, but I am not ugly enough to frighten
you."
"I simply did not see you."
"No nonsense. Do you think to keep me in ignorance of your motive in
coming this way?"
The young man blushed deeply.
"Do you know my brother Joshua?" asked Samuel.
"I met him once or twice in Boston, but I do not think he ever noticed
me," said George Clinton.
"Shall I introduce you to him?" said Samuel. "He has his faults, but he
is a very worthy man."
"I don't think it would be wise just now."
"I don't think," continued the American, "that you have waited to be
introduced to my niece."
"Sir," cried the young man, dropping his glass.
"Ah, ah!" cried the American, laughing, "That is the way you break my
crockery. These lovers, these lovers. Do you think to cheat an old
opossum like me? You love my pretty niece, which is very natural; you
are a good fellow, and together will make an excellent couple."
"I regret to say it cannot be so," sighed George.
"Why so?" cried Samuel.
"I see you are so good, I can no longer refuse to enlighten you."
"That is right. Confess, for I am your true friend."
"What I have to say," began George, "is not much. I met Miss Diana at
Boston at Mrs. Marshall's, where your niece stayed for some months last
year. I was on very good terms with your relative."
"Yes, yes; my cousin," said Samuel.
"Need I say that from the first moment I saw her I loved your niece? My
visits to Mrs. Marshall, once only occasional, became so frequent that
the lady began to have suspicion of my intentions. She at once called
me on one side, and while giving me every credit for loyalty and worth,
she told me not to prosecute my attentions, as Diana's father would
never consent to our marriage. Despite all my entreaties, however,
she would give me no reason, until at last, yielding to my earnest
entreaties, she explained that many years before there had been such a
quarrel between my father and Joshua Dickson that any alliance between
our families must ever prove impossible."
Samuel listened with extreme anxiety.
"You see yourself that I am right," said the young man.
"You are mistaken," cried the other; "the matter is rather serious, I
allow. I really had forgotten that old affair. But don't ask me any
questions; all I say is, have courage. Circumstances will probably
alter, and believe me that in Samuel Dickson you will have a sincere
friend."
"I should be only too glad to help."
"When I am on your side nothing is difficult. Now to breakfast. But how
did you know of my brother's coming out here?" suddenly cried Samuel.
"Miss Diana told me herself."
"Oh, oh! Then I wonder no longer. To breakfast."
"I hope, Master Samuel, you will excuse me," began the other, taking up
his hunter's cap.
"Sit down; if my niece were here you would not go."
"Can I come in?" suddenly said a soft voice at the door, a voice that
made George start.
This sudden coincidence utterly overcame the old man's gravity, and,
throwing himself back in his chair, he screamed with laughter, while
Diana stood transfixed in the doorway, and George Clinton simply turned
his cap round in his hand without being able to articulate a word.
It was Dardar who ended the scene.
The dog had remained outside for a moment or two, and then, seeing the
door open, had rushed right into the middle of the room; seeing George
Clinton he rushed at him, wagging his tail first, and then, leaping up,
his paws on either shoulder, he licked his face with a joyous whine.
"By heavens!" cried the squatter, "The fellow is lucky. Everyone likes
him, even that precious Dardar, and yet he despairs. Come in, Sly
Boots, and kiss your uncle."
She did not require twice asking.
"You are welcome, mademoiselle," he said, with mock politeness. "I
suppose I need not introduce you to yonder tall young fellow?"
"I have known the gentleman some time," replied the young girl, holding
out her hand, which George took and kissed.
"That's right," cried Samuel, rubbing his hands; "all goes well. And
now once more I say, to breakfast. I am dying with hunger. We can talk
while we eat, and you, Diana, can explain your early visit. I suppose
you have not come three miles in the dew to kiss your old uncle?"
"Why not?" she said, with a smile.
"And you expected to meet nobody," he answered. But seeing that Diana
blushed, he continued, "But no more delay," and seated himself.
The beginning of the meal was rather constrained, from the peculiar
position of the young people. But the ice was soon broken; the squatter
was merry and humorous; he avoided any pointed allusions, and the
conversation, at first very meagre, soon became very pleasant.
When Samuel heard the object of Diana's visit, he promised to go over
in the evening, and then questioned George as to his travels.
George at once proceeded to tell his story with so much wit and humour
as to amuse uncle and niece.
"Now," said Samuel, when breakfast was over, "listen to me. You are two
charming young people, whom I love, and whose happiness I desire. But
you must let me act in my own way. I know my brother well, and can do
as I like with him. Look upon me as an ally, but commit no imprudence.
Instead now of going with my niece, you must stop here. If you were
seen together, we cannot say what might happen. At all times my house
is open to you. Come as often as you like, but remember, courage and
prudence, Diana, kiss me again, and then farewell."
"My darling uncle," she cried, embracing him.
"Oh, yes, very dear, because I do what you like."
"Au revoir, George," she continued.
"But when shall I see you again? Time appears so long."
"Already he grumbles," cried Samuel.
"Pardon me, but I love her so much."
"And do I not love you?" she said, naively.
"I am mad," he answered, tenderly, kissing her hand a second time as he
spoke.
Then Diana went out, guarded by Dardar.
"Now," said Samuel, as soon as they were alone, "you must enter into
fuller explanations, and explain where you have pitched your tent. I
hope you are in no difficulty."
"Be easy on that point. I have a hut in a charming situation about
twelve miles off. Will you come and see it?" added George Clinton.
"At once, if you like," cried Samuel.
"At once let it be, I am not alone; I have two faithful servants and a
Canadian hunter, whom I engaged in Boston. I have books, arms, horses,
dogs--everything that a man can wish for."
"Delighted to hear it. Let us start."
Five minutes later they were galloping through the forest.