AN UNINVITED GUEST.
We found our horses at the door, saddled and bridled, and held by two
negro boys, who, judging by the tugging, pulling and scolding which they
kept up, found it something of a task to restrain the fiery steeds,
which were impatient to be off. As I have told you about our dogs, I
will say a word about these horses. One of them has considerable to do
with my story.
The most prominent animal in the group was Herbert’s horse, a
magnificent iron-gray, large and good-natured like his master, very
fleet, and able to carry his heavy rider like a bird over any fence in
the country. He went by the name of Romeo.
The handsomest horse belonged to Duke Hampton. He was a chestnut-sorrel,
with white mane and tail, and four white feet. He was a good one to go,
and was as well trained as any horse I ever saw in a circus.
He would lie down or stand on his hind feet at the command of his
master, and pick up his gloves or riding-whip for him. His name was
Moro.
The homeliest horse was called Beauty. He was a Mexican pony, and
belonged to Mark. He was a famous traveler—he would go on a gallop all
day, and be as fresh and eager at night as when he started out in the
morning; but he was so handy with his heels, and had such an easy way of
slipping out from under a fellow when he tried to mount him, that, with
the exception of his master, who thought him the very best horse in the
world, there was not a boy among us who would have accepted him as a
gift. But bad as Beauty’s disposition was, it was much better than that
of Sandy’s mare, which answered to the name of Gretchen.
She was named after Rip Van Winkle’s wife. She was a large, raw-boned,
cream-colored animal, and had an ugly habit of laying back her ears and
opening her mouth, when any one approached her, that would have made a
stranger think twice before attempting to mount her.
The fleetest, as well as the gentlest horse, was my little Black Bess.
She was a Christmas present from an uncle who lived in Kentucky; and I
thought so much of her that I would have given up every thing I
possessed, rather than part with her.
I said that Bess was the swiftest horse in the group. She had
demonstrated the fact in many a race, but somehow I never could induce
the others to acknowledge it. Sandy stubbornly refused to give up
beaten, and so did Herbert; and even Mark, with his miserable little
pony, made big pretensions.
We never went anywhere without a race; and on this particular morning
Herbert, who was the first to swing himself into the saddle, leaped his
horse over the bars, and tore down the road as if all the wolves in
Warren County were close at his heels.
I was the last one out of the yard, but I passed every one of our
fellows before I had gone half a mile, and when I reached the outskirts
of the Indian camp, they were a long way behind.
The camp, as I saw it that afternoon, did not look much like the
illustrations of Indian villages which you have seen in your
geographies. Instead of the clean skin-lodges, and the neatly-dressed,
imposing savages which you will find in pictures, I saw before me a
score of wretched brush shanties, which could afford their inmates but
poor protection in stormy weather, and a hundred or more half-starved
men and women, some of whom were jumping around in the mud and yelling
as if they were greatly excited about something.
There were plenty of these people in Warren County at the time of which
I write. They were Choctaws—the remnant of a once powerful tribe, who
gained a precarious living by hunting, fishing, stealing and
cotton-picking. This band had been encamped on our plantation during the
last two weeks. The women had been employed by father to pick cotton,
and their lords and masters were now having a glorious time over the
money they had earned.
The warriors—lazy dogs, who thought it a disgrace to perform any manual
labor—had remained in their wigwams, passing the days very pleasantly
with their pipes, while their wives were at work in the cotton-field;
but now that the crop had been gathered and the money paid, they had
thrown away their pipes and picked up their bottles. In plainer
language, we rode into the camp just in time to witness the beginning of
a drunken Indian jubilee.
The men were dancing, shouting, fighting, wrestling, going half-hammond
(a Northern boy would have called it a “hop, skip and a jump”), and
trying to run races; while the women stood around in little groups,
chattering like so many blackbirds, and watching all that was going on
with apparently a great deal of interest.
I do not suppose that the Indian boys drank any thing stronger than the
muddy water that flowed in the bayou, on the banks of which the camp was
located; but, at any rate, they seemed to be animated by the same spirit
that possessed their fathers, for we saw them engage in no end of
fights, foot-races and wrestling matches.
Presently a smart, lively young savage, the son of the principal chief
of the band, who had easily thrown every one of his companions whom he
could induce to wrestle with him, stepped up to us, and fastening his
eyes upon Mark, asked him if he would like to come out and try his
strength. Now, if Mark had been in good health, the challenge would have
been promptly accepted; and if I am any judge of boys, that young Indian
would have found himself flat on the ground before he could have winked
twice; but he was just recovering from an attack of his old enemy, the
chills and fever, and for that reason was obliged, much to his regret,
to turn a deaf ear to the Indian’s entreaties.
“Oh, yes, you come,” said the young wrestler, after Mark had told him,
perhaps for the twentieth time, that he was out of condition; “I show
you what Indian boy can do. I put you down as quick as lightning. Eh!
You come?”
As he spoke he stepped back and spread out his sinewy arms, as if
waiting for Mark to jump into them.
“Go off about your business, Jim,” said Duke. “Haven’t you sense enough
to see that the boy has had the ague? If he was well, he would throw you
or any other young Indian in the camp. Go away now, I tell you, or
_I’ll_ take hold of you; and if I do, I will put you down a little
quicker than lightning.”
“Isn’t he a splendid-looking fellow?” said Mark, gazing admiringly at
the young savage’s supple form, which, cold as the day was, was stripped
to the waist. “Look at the muscles on his arms! I believe I’ll try him
just one round.”
“Don’t do it, Mark,” I interposed.
“Well, if you say so, Joe, I won’t; but I should really like to take a
little of that conceit out of him. I’ll soon be up to my regular
wrestling weight,” he added, addressing himself to the Indian, “and then
I will see what you are made of.”
“Ugh!” grunted Jim. “I wait for you.”
We spent an hour walking about the camp, and then returned to the house.
The jubilee was kept up all night, and we went to sleep with those wild
Indian whoops ringing in our ears. To me there was something almost
unearthly in the sound, and I thought I could imagine how our early
settlers felt when they were aroused from their sleep at dead of night
by just such yells uttered by hostile red men.
The next day our fellows accompanied some of the settlers on a
deer-hunt—all except Mark, who, being too weak to ride all day on
horse-back, remained at home with his hounds for company; and, for want
of something better to do, assisted the plantation blacksmith at his
work by blowing the bellows for him.
The Indians were quiet all the morning, no doubt making up for the sleep
they had lost the night before, but about eleven o’clock they began
their dancing and shouting again. After that, Mark did not perform his
part of the work very well, for his attention was fully occupied by the
sounds that came from the camp.
Finally the horn was blown for dinner, and Mark started toward the
house. Just as he was passing through the gate that led into the garden,
he was startled by a loud yell, which was followed by a great commotion
in the kitchen, and the next moment out came mother and half a dozen
young lady visitors.
A very fat negro woman brought up the rear, carrying in her hand a
platter of roast beef, which she was too badly frightened to put down,
and the screams that saluted Mark’s ears were almost as loud and
unearthly as those which came from the Indian camp. He did not like the
look of things, but, being a resolute fellow, he determined to find out
what was going on in the house. He had two friends upon whom he could
rely in any emergency, and, with a word to them, he was off like a shot.
“Oh, don’t go in there!” cried mother, when she saw him running toward
the kitchen, followed by his hounds. “He will kill you! He’s got a big
knife!”
Mark, who was too highly excited to hear any thing short of a terrific
peal of thunder, kept on, and when he reached the door discovered the
cause of the disturbance in the person of a tall, dignified-looking
Indian, who was acting in a very undignified manner.
As Mark afterward learned, the savage had walked into the parlor, where
all the ladies were sitting; thence into the kitchen, where active
preparations for dinner were going on, attracting the attention of the
cook by flourishing a knife, and uttering an appalling yell; after which
he made known the object of his visit by exclaiming:
“Ugh! Me big Injun, an’ me hungry.”
The yell and the sight of the knife occasioned a hurried stampede among
the women, and the savage, being left alone, proceeded to help himself
to what he liked best.
The table was loaded with good things, but there was not so very much
left upon it by the time this uninvited guest had got all he wanted. He
filled his mouth, and his arms, too, and when Mark discovered him he was
walking through the sitting-room toward the porch, demolishing a
custard-pie as he went.
Mark was impulsive, and, without stopping to consider what might be the
consequences of the act, he started in hot pursuit of the Indian,
resolved to punish him for what he had done, and to teach him better
than to take such liberties with what did not belong to him.
He came up with the robber just as he was about to descend the steps
that led down from the porch. The latter, wholly intent upon his meal,
never thought of looking for an enemy in the rear, until Mark dashed
against him like a battering-ram—an action which caused the Indian to
flourish his heels in the air, and fall headlong to the ground,
scattering the bread, meat, pies and cakes, with which his arms were
loaded, about in all directions. Mark followed him down the steps, not
to attack him, of course, but to keep off the hounds, which would have
torn the savage in pieces if they had not been restrained.
“Don’t let those dogs hurt him,” said mother, who had mustered up
courage enough to come back to the house.
“No, ma’am,” replied Mark. “Now, old fellow,” he added, as the robber
rose slowly to his feet, “you had better take yourself off. Your room
suits us better than your company.”
But the savage had no intention of taking himself off. He glared
fiercely around him for a moment, and finding that he was opposed by
nothing more formidable than a few frightened women, a boy of sixteen
and a couple of dogs, he caught up his knife, and gave a war-whoop.