THE JOURNEY
"Mother dear, mother dear! Did you hear what Kashaqua says: that she
will take me to Aunt Prissy's to-morrow?" said Faith.
The Indian woman had turned quickly, and her sharp little eyes were
fixed on Mrs. Carew's face.
"You 'fraid let little girl go with Kashaqua?" she said, a little
accusing note in her voice.
"No, indeed. Kashaqua would take good care of Faith. I know that. But
to-morrow----" Mrs. Carew spoke bravely, but both Faith's father and
mother were sadly troubled. To offend the Indian woman would mean to
make enemies of the tribe to which she belonged; and then neither
their lives nor their property would be safe; and she would never
forgive them if they doubted her by refusing to let Faith make the
journey to Ticonderoga in her care.
It was Faith who came to the rescue by declaring: "Oh, I'd rather go
with Kashaqua than anybody. Mother dear, you said Aunt Prissy would
see about my shoes and dresses. I don't have to wait to get ready,"
and Faith ran to her mother eager for her consent, thinking it would
be a fine thing to go on a day's journey through the woods with the
Indian woman, and quite forgetting for the moment that it meant a long
absence from home.
Nothing could have pleased Kashaqua more than Faith's pleading. The
half-angry expression faded from her face, and she nodded and smiled,
grunting her satisfaction, and taking from one of her baskets a pair
of fine doeskin moccasins, which she gave to Faith. "Present," she
said briefly.
"They are the prettiest pair I ever had!" said Faith, looking
admiringly at their fringed tops, and the pattern of a vine that ran
from the toes to insteps, stitched in with thread-like crimson and
blue thongs.
"It is a fine chance for Faith to go to her Aunt Priscilla," said Mr.
Carew. "Do you know where Philip Scott lives, across Champlain?"
"Me know. Not great ways from Fort," responded Kashaqua. "Me take
little girl safe to Scott's wigwam."
"That's right, Kashaqua," said Mr. Carew.
"Then me come back to mill and get meal an' get pie," said Kashaqua.
"Of course. I will make you the finest pie you ever tasted," said Mrs.
Carew, with a little sigh of relief. For she had wondered how long it
would be before they could get news that Kashaqua had kept her
promise, and that Faith had reached her aunt's house in safety.
In the surprise and excitement of this new decision neither Faith nor
her parents had much time to think about their separation. Although
Aunt Priscilla was to see that Faith was well provided with suitable
dresses, shoes, hat, and all that a little girl would need to wear to
school and to church, there was, nevertheless, a good deal to do to
prepare and put in order such things as she would take with her.
Beside that Mrs. Carew meant to give the squaw a well-filled luncheon
basket; so the remainder of the day went very quickly. Faith helped
her mother, and talked gaily with Kashaqua of the good time they would
have on the journey; while Kashaqua smoked and nodded, evidently quite
satisfied and happy.
When night came the Indian woman made her preparations to sleep
before the kitchen fire, and the Carews went up-stairs to bed. The
mother and father lay long awake that night. While they assured each
other that Faith would be perfectly safe, and that the Indian woman
would defend the little girl from all danger, they could not but feel
an uncertainty. "We can trust the strength and love that has protected
us always to go with our little maid," said Mr. Carew; "perhaps
Kashaqua is the safest person we could find."
"We must hope so; but I shall not draw a good breath until she is here
again, and tells me Faithie is safe with Priscilla," responded Mrs.
Carew.
The little household was awake at an early hour the next morning.
Faith was to wear the new moccasins. She wore her usual dress of brown
homespun linen. Faith had never had a hat, or a pair of leather shoes,
and only the simplest of linen and wool dresses. She had never before
been away from home, except for a day's visit at the house of some
neighboring settler. She knew that when she got to Aunt Prissy's she
would have a hat, probably like the one Esther Eldridge had worn,
ribbons to tie back her yellow curls, shining leather shoes, and many
things that she had never before seen. She had thought a good deal
about these things when planning for the journey, but now that the
time was so near when she must say good-bye to her mother and father
she forgot all about the good times in store, and wished with all her
heart that she were not going.
"Don't let Kashaqua see you cry, child," her father whispered, seeing
Faith's sad face; so she resolutely kept back her tears.
Breakfast was soon over. Kashaqua had stowed Faith's bundle of
clothing in one of her baskets and swung it over her shoulder. The
basket of luncheon also was secured by stout thongs and hung across
her back, and they were ready to start.
"Be a good child, Faithie, dear," whispered Mrs. Carew.
"I'll fetch you home when it is April's turn to stir the fire," said
her father smilingly, and Faith managed to smile back, and to say
good-bye bravely, as she trudged down the path holding tight to
Kashaqua's brown hand.
"I be back to-morrow night," Kashaqua called back, knowing that would
be a word of comfort to the white woman who was letting her only
child go from home.
Neither Faith nor Kashaqua spoke for some little time. At last Faith
stopped suddenly and stood still, evidently listening. "I can't hear
the brook," she said.
Kashaqua nodded, and the two walked on through the autumn woods. But
now Kashaqua began to talk. She told Faith stories of the wild animals
of the woods; of the traps she set along the streams to catch the
martens and otters; and of a bear cub that the children of her village
had tamed. But it had disappeared during the summer.
"The papooses catch birds and feed them," she continued, "tame birds
so they know their name, and come right to wigwam." Faith listened
eagerly, and began to think that an Indian village must be a very
pleasant place to live.
"Where is your village, Kashaqua?" she asked.
"You not know my village? Way back 'cross Mooselamoo," answered
Kashaqua.
"Perhaps I can go there some time," suggested Faith. But Kashaqua
shook her head.
For several hours they walked steadily on through the autumn woods.
They climbed several rocky ridges, crossed brooks, and carefully made
their way over a swampy stretch of ground. Faith was very tired when
Kashaqua finally swung the baskets and bundles from her shoulders and
declared that it was time to eat.
The trail had led them up a hill, and as Faith, with a little tired
sigh, seated herself on a moss-covered rock, she looked about with a
little exclamation of wonder. Close beside the trail was a rough
shelter made of the boughs of spruce and fir trees, and near at hand
was piled a quantity of wood ready for a fire. There was a clearing,
and the rough shelter was shaded by two fine oak trees.
"Does somebody live here?" asked Faith.
"Traveler's wigwam," explained Kashaqua, who was unpacking the lunch
basket with many grunts of satisfaction. "White men going down the
trail to big road to Shoreham sleep here," she added, holding up a
fine round molasses cake in one hand and a roasted chicken in the
other.
Faith was hungry as well as tired, and the two friends ate with good
appetite. Kashaqua repacked the basket with what remained of the food,
and with a pleasant nod to Faith declared she would "sleep a little,"
and curled herself up near the shelter.
Faith looked about the rough camp, and peered down the trail. She
decided she too would sleep a little, and stretched herself out close
beside Kashaqua, thinking that it was a wonderful thing to be so far
from home,--nearly in sight of Lake Champlain, Kashaqua had told her,
with an Indian woman for her guide and protector; and then her eyes
closed and she was sound asleep.
It seemed to Faith that she had not slept a minute before she awakened
suddenly, and found that Kashaqua had disappeared. But she heard a
queer scrambling sound behind her and sat up and looked around. For a
moment she was too frightened to speak, for a brown bear was clawing
the remainder of their luncheon from the basket, grunting and
sniffing, as if well pleased with what he found.
As Faith looked at him she was sure that this creature had dragged
Kashaqua off into the woods, and that he might turn and seize her as
soon as he had finished with the basket.
"Kashaqua! Kashaqua!" she called hopelessly. "What shall I do? What
shall I do?"
There was a rustle of leaves close behind her and the Indian woman
darted into the clearing. Without a word to Faith she ran straight to
where the bear was crouched over the basket. Faith could hardly
believe what she saw, for Kashaqua had seized the basket and pushed it
out of the bear's reach, and was now belaboring him with a stout piece
of wood that she had seized from the pile by the shelter. As she hit
the bear she called out strange words in the Indian tongue, whose
meaning Faith could not imagine, but which the bear seemed to
understand. The creature accepted the blows with a queer little
whimper which made Faith laugh in spite of her fear. And when Kashaqua
had quite finished with him he crept along beside her, looking up as
if pleading for forgiveness.
"Oh, Kashaqua! Is it the bear that your papooses tamed?" exclaimed
Faith, remembering the story told her on the way.
Kashaqua nodded, at the same time muttering words of reproach to the
bear.
"He like bad Indian, steal from friends," she explained to Faith. "His
name Nooski," she added.
Nooski was quite ready to make friends with Faith, but she was not
yet sure of his good-nature. It seemed to the little girl that the
bear understood every word Kashaqua uttered; and when they went on
their way down the trail Nooski followed, or kept close beside them.
It was still early in the afternoon when they reached level ground and
Faith had her first glimpse of the blue waters of Lake Champlain and
saw the heights of Ticonderoga on the opposite shore. For a moment she
forgot Nooski and Kashaqua, and stood looking at the sparkling waters
and listening to the same sound of "Chiming Waters" that had made the
early French settlers call the place "Carillon." She wondered if she
should ever see the inside of the fort of which she had heard so much,
and then heard Kashaqua calling her name.
"Canoe all ready, Faith." The Indian woman had drawn the birch-bark
canoe from its hiding-place in the underbrush, and the light craft now
rested on the waters of the lake. The baskets and bundles were in the
canoe, and Kashaqua, paddle in hand, stood waiting for her little
companion.
"Where's Nooski?" asked Faith, looking about for the young bear.
Kashaqua pointed toward the distant range of mountains which they had
left behind them. "He gone home," she said.
Kashaqua told her how to step into the canoe, and how to sit, and
cautioned her not to move. Faith felt as if the day had been a
wonderful dream. As Kashaqua with swift strokes of her paddle sent the
canoe over the water Faith sat silent, with eyes fixed on the looming
battlements of the fort, on the high mountain behind it, and thought
to herself that no other little girl had ever taken such a journey.
Kashaqua landed some distance below the fort; the canoe was again
safely hidden, and after a short walk across a field they reached a
broad, well-traveled road. "'Most to Philip Scott's house," grunted
Kashaqua. "You be glad?" and she looked down at the little girl with a
friendly smile.