"Well, you are a wonderful man, friend Peter," exclaimed Robert Nixon,
when the Indian returned to him and narrated what had occurred; "I never
yet have seen the like of it."
"The reason is simply this, father, most men trust to their own strength
and wisdom, and fail. I go forth in the strength of One all-powerful,
and seek for guidance from One all-wise," answered the Indian humbly.
"It is thus I succeed."
"That's curious what you say, friend Redskin," answered the old man in a
puzzled tone; "it's beyond my understanding, that's a fact."
"The time will come shortly, I hope, father, when you will see the truth
of what I say. But we must no longer delay here, we should be moving
on." The mustang was caught and saddled, the old hunter placed on it,
and once more the two travellers were on their way eastward, or rather
to the north-east, for that was the general direction of their course.
They were compelled, however, to diverge considerably, in order to keep
along the course of streams, where many important advantages could be
obtained: water, wood for firing, shelter, and a greater supply of game.
On the open prairie there was no want of deer of several descriptions,
and of small animals, like rabbits or hares; but, unless by leaving the
horse with his burthen, the Indian could seldom get near enough to shoot
them. For some distance the open country was of a sterile and arid
description, but as they got farther away from the United States border
it greatly improved, and a well-watered region, with rich grass and
vetches, was entered, which extended north, and east, and west, in every
direction, capable of supporting hundreds and thousands of flocks and
herds, for the use of man, although now roamed over only by a
comparatively few wild buffalo, deer, and wolves, and bears. Although
they were in British territory, the arm of British law did not extend
over this wild region, and Peter, therefore, kept a constant look-out to
ascertain that no lurking enemies were near at hand. When he camped at
night, also, he selected the most sheltered spot he could find, and
concealed his companion and himself amid some thicket or rock, where any
casual passer-by would not be likely to discover them.
"At first, as Peter watched his companion, he thought that he would
scarcely reach a place of safety where he might die in peace among
civilised men, but gradually the old hunter's strength returned, and
each day, as he travelled on, his health seemed to improve. He also
became more inclined to talk; not only to ask questions, but to speak of
himself. Religious subjects, however, he avoided as much as possible;
indeed, to human judgment, his mind appeared too darkened, and his heart
too hardened, to enable him to comprehend even the simplest truths.
"You'd like to know something about me, friend Redskin, I've no doubt,"
said the old man to Peter, when one day he had got into a more than
usually loquacious mood. "It's strange, but it's a fact, I've a desire
to talk about my early days, and yet, for forty years or more, maybe,
I've never thought of them, much less spoken about them. I was raised
in the old country--that's where most of the pale-faces you see
hereabouts came from. My father employed a great many men, and so I may
say he was a chief; he was a farmer of the old style, and hated anything
new. He didn't hold education in any great esteem, and so he took no
pains to give me any, and one thing I may say, I took no pains to obtain
it. My mother, of that I am certain, was a kind, good woman, and did
her best to instruct me. She taught me to sing little songs, and night
and morning made me kneel down, with my hands put together, and say over
some words which I then though! very good--and I am sure they were, as
she taught me them; but I have long, long ago forgotten what they were.
She also used to take me with her to a large, large house, where there
were a great number of people singing and often talking together; and
then there was one man in a black dress, who got up in a high place in
the middle, and had all the talk to himself for a long time, I used to
think; but I didn't mind that, as I used generally to go to sleep when
he began, and only woke up when he had done.
"I was very happy whenever I was with my mother, but I didn't see her
for some days, and then they took me into the room where she slept, and
there I saw her lying on a bed; but she didn't speak me, she didn't even
look at me, for her eyes were closed, and her cheek was cold--very cold.
I didn't know then what had happened, though I cried very much. I
never saw her again. From that time I began to be very miserable; I
don't know why; I think it was not having my mother to go to and talk
to. After that I don't know exactly what happened to me; for some time
I got scolded, and kicked, and beaten, and then I was sent to a place
where there were a good many other boys; and, thinks I to myself, I
shall be happier here; but instead of that I was much more beaten and
scolded, till I got a feeling that I didn't care what I did, or what
became of me. That feeling never left me. I was always ready to do
anything proposed by other boys, such as robbing orchards, or playing
all sorts of pranks. I now and then went home to see my father; but I
remember very little about him, except that he was a stout man, with a
ruddy countenance. If he did not scold me and beat me, he certainly did
not say much to me; I never felt towards him as I had done towards my
mother. I must have been a biggish boy, though I was still nearly at
the bottom of the school, when another lad and I got into some scrape,
and were to be flogged. He proposed that we should run away, and I at
once agreed, without considering where we should run to, or what we
should gain by our run. There is a saying among the pale-faces, `out of
the frying pan into the fire.' We soon found that we had got into a
very hot fire. After many days' running, sleeping under hedges and in
barns, and living on turnips and crusts of bread, which we bought with
the few pence we had in our pockets, we reached a sea-port town. Seeing
a large ship about to sail, we agreed that we would be sailors, if any
one would take us. We were very hungry and hadn't a coin left to buy
food, so aboard we went. The ship was just sailing,--the cook's boy had
run away and the captain's cabin boy had just died,--and so we were
shipped, without a question being asked, to take their places. They
didn't inquire our names, but called us Bill and Tom, which were the
names of the other boys. The captain took me into his service, and
called me Bill, and my companion, who fell to the cook, was called Tom.
I don't know which was the most miserable. Tom had the dirtiest and
hardest work, and was not only the cook's but everybody else's servant.
I received the most kicks and thrashings, and had the largest amount of
oaths and curses showered down on my head. We were both of us very ill,
but our masters didn't care for that, and kicked us up to work whenever
they found us lying down. Away we sailed; we thought that we should
never come to land again. I didn't know where we were going, but I
found we were steering towards the south and west. Week after week I
saw a wild, high headland on our right hand, and then we had mist, and
snow, and heavy weather, and were well nigh driven back; but at last we
were steering north, and the weather became fine and pleasant. The ship
put into many strange ports; some were in this big country of America,
and some were in islands, so we heard; but neither Tom nor I was ever
for one moment allowed to set foot on shore.
"Often and often did we bitterly repent our folly, and wish ourselves
back home; but wishing was of no use. We found that we were slaves
without the possibility of escape. Tom, who had more learning by a
great deal than I had, said one day that he would go and appeal to the
Consul,--I think he was called, a British officer at the port where we
lay,--when the mate, who heard him, laughed, and told him, with an oath,
that he might go and complain to whomsoever he liked; but that both he
and Bill had signed papers, and had no power to get away. By this Tom
knew that if we complained the captain would produce the papers signed
by the other boys, and that we should be supposed to be them, and have
no remedy. Tom then proposed that we should play all sorts of pranks,
and behave as badly as we could. We tried the experiment, but we soon
found that we had made a mistake; for our masters beat and starved us
till we were glad to promise not again to do the same. Our only hope
was that we should some day get a chance of running away; and, if it
hadn't been for that, we should, I believe, have jumped overboard and
drowned ourselves. Month after month passed by, the ship continued
trading from port to port in the Pacific Ocean,--as the big lake you've
heard speak of, friend Redskin, is called,--over to the west there; but
the chance we looked for never came. We then hoped that the ship would
be cast away, and that so we might be free of our tyrants. If all had
been drowned but ourselves we shouldn't have cared. At last, after we'd
been away three years or more, we heard that the ship was going home.
We didn't conceal our pleasure. It didn't last long. Another captain
came on board one day. I heard our captain observe to him, `You shall
have them both a bargain. Thrash them well, and I'll warrant you'll get
work out of them.' I didn't know what he meant at the time. In the
evening, when the strange captain's boat was called away, Tom and I were
ordered to get up our bags and jump in. We refused, and said we wanted
to go home. We had better have kept silence. Down came a shower of
blows on our shoulders, and, amid the jeers and laughter of our
shipmates, we were forced into the boat. We found ourselves aboard a
whaler just come out, with the prospect of remaining in those parts
three years at least. You've heard speak, Peter, of the mighty fish of
the big lake. The largest sturgeon you ever set eyes on is nothing to
them--just a chipmunk to a buffalo. We had harder and dirtier work now
than before--catching, cutting out, and boiling down the huge whales--
and our masters were still more cruel and brutal. We were beaten and
knocked about worse than ever, and often well nigh starved by having our
rations taken from us. How we managed to live through that time I don't
know. I scarcely like to think of it. The ship sailed about in every
direction; sometimes where the sun was so hot that we could scarce bear
our clothes on our backs, and sometimes amid floating mountains of ice,
with snow and sleet beating down on us. At last, when we had got our
ship nearly full of oil, and it was said that we should soon go home, we
put into a port, on the west coast of this continent, to obtain fresh
provisions. There were a few white people settled there, but most of
the inhabitants were redskins. The white men had farms, ranchos they
were called, and the natives worked for them.
"Tom and I agreed that, as the ship was soon going home, the captain
would probably try to play off the same trick on us that our first
captain had done, and so we determined to be beforehand with him. We
were now big, strongish fellows; not as strong as we might have been if
we had been better fed and less knocked about; but still we thought that
we could take good care of ourselves. We hadn't much sense though, or
knowledge of what people on shore do; for how should we, when you see
that since the day we left our native country, when we were little
ignorant chaps, we hadn't once set our feet on dry land. Tom swore, and
so did I, that if we once did reach the shore, we'd get away as far from
the ocean as we could, and never again smell a breath of it as long as
we lived. How to get there was the difficulty. We had always before
been watched; and so, to throw our shipmates off their guard, we
pretended to think of nothing but about going home, and our talk was all
of what we would do when we got back to old England. We said that we
were very much afraid of the savages on shore, and wondered any one
could like to go among them. After a time, we found that we were no
longer watched as we used to be. This gave us confidence. The next
thing was to arrange how we were to get on shore. We neither of us
could swim; and, besides, the distance was considerable, and there were
sharks--fish which can bite a man's leg off as easily as a white fish
bites a worm in two. We observed that, in the cool of the evening, some
boats and canoes used to pull round the ship, and sometimes came
alongside to offer things for sale to the men. Tom and I agreed that if
we could jump into one of them while the owner was on board, we might
get off without being discovered. Night after night we waited, till our
hearts sunk within us, thinking we should never succeed; but, the very
night before the ship was to sail, several people came below, and, while
they were chaffering with the men, Tom and I slipped up on deck. My
heart seemed ready to jump out of my skin with anxiety as I looked over
the side. There, under the fore-chains, was a canoe with a few things
in her, but no person. I glanced round. The second mate was the only
man on deck besides Tom, who had gone over to the other side. I
beckoned to Tom. The mate had his back to us, being busily engaged in
some work or other, over which he was bending. Tom sprang over to me,
and together we slid down into the canoe. The ship swung with her head
towards the shore, or the mate would have seen us. We pulled as for our
lives; not, however, for the usual landing-place, but for a little bay
on one side, where it appeared that we could easily get on shore. Every
moment we expected to see a boat put off from the ship to pursue us, or
a gun fired; but the sun had set, and it was growing darker and darker,
and that gave us some hope. Still we could be seen clearly enough from
the ship if anybody was looking for us. The mate had a pair of sharp
eyes. `He'll flay us alive if he catches us,' said I. `Never,'
answered Tom, in a low tone; `I'll jump overboard and be drowned
whenever I see a boat make chase after us.' `Don't do that, Tom,' said
I; `hold on to the last. They can but kill us in the end, and we don't
know what may happen to give us a chance of escape.' You see, friend
Peter, that has been my maxim ever since, and I've learned to know for
certain that that is the right thing.
"Well, before long we did see a boat leave the ship. It was too dark to
learn who had gone over the side into her. We pulled for dear life for
a few seconds, when Tom cried out that he knew we should be taken. I
told him to lie down in the bottom of the canoe, and that if the ship's
boat came near us I would strip off my shirt and pretend to be an Injun.
At first he wouldn't consent; but, as the boat came on, some muskets
were fired, and suddenly he said he'd do as I proposed, and he lay down,
and I stripped off my shirt and smoothed down, my hair, which was as
long as an Injun's. On came the boat; I pulled coolly on as if in no
way concerned. The boat came on--she neared us. Now or never, I
thought; so I sang out, in a feigned voice, and pointed with my paddle
towards the other side of the harbour. I don't think I ever felt as I
did at that moment. Did they know me? or should I deceive them? If the
mate was there I knew that we should have no chance. The people in the
boat ceased pulling. I didn't move either, though the canoe, with the
last stroke I had given, slid on. Again I pointed with my paddle, gave
a flourish with it, and away I went as if I had no business with them.
I could not understand how I had so easily deceived my shipmates, and
every instant I expected them to be after us. At last we lost sight of
them in the gloom; but Tom, even then, was unwilling to get up and take
his paddle. I told him that, if he didn't, we should have a greater
chance of being caught. The moment I said that, up he jumped, and
paddled away so hard that I could scarcely keep the canoe in the right
course for the place where we wanted to land. The stars helped us with
their light; and, as we got close in with the shore, we found the mouth
of a stream.
"Though we had so longed to get on shore we felt afraid to land, not
knowing what we should do with ourselves. The shore looked so strange,
and we expected to see all sorts of wild animals and snakes which we had
heard talk of. Tom was the most timid, `It was bad aboard, Bill,' said
he, `but if we was to meet a bear or a buffalo what what should we do?'
I couldn't just answer him; but when we found the river we agreed that
we would pull up it as far as we could go, and it would carry us some
way into the country at all events. We little knew the size of this
mighty land, or of the big, long, long rivers running for hundreds of
miles through it. This America of yours is a wonderful country, friend
Redskin, if you did but know it. Well, up the river we pulled for some
miles; it was but a mere brook, you'll understand, but we thought it a
great river. It was silent enough, for there were no habitations except
a few native wigwams. We had all the night before us, that was one
thing in our favour. As on we went we heard a roaring, splashing noise,
which increased. `Hillo! here's a heavy sea got up; I see it
right-a-head,' cried Tom. `We must go through it, however,' said I; and
so I tried to paddle the canoe through it. We very nearly got swamped;
it was, you see, a waterfall and rapid, and higher up even our canoe
could not have floated. We now agreed that go on shore we must, like it
or not; I stepped out first, and then helped Tom, or in his fright he
would have capsized the canoe. There we were both of us on firm ground
for the first time since, as little boys, we left old England. I did
feel strange, and when I tried to walk, I could scarcely get along.
"Tom rolled about as if he was drunk, hardly able to keep his feet. The
rough ground hurt us, and we were every instant knocking our toes and
shins against stumps and fallen branches. We both of us sat down ready
to cry. `How shall we ever get along?' asked Tom. `We shall get
accustomed to it,' I answered; `but it does make me feel very queer.'
We found a good supply of provisions in the canoe, and we loaded
ourselves with as much as we could carry, and we then had the sense to
lift our canoe out of the water, and to carry her some way till we found
a thick bush in which we hid her. `If they find out we got away in the
canoe they'll think we are drowned, and not take the trouble to look for
us,' observed Tom, as we turned our backs on the spot. We were pretty
heavily laden, for we didn't know where we might next find any food; and
as we walked on we hurt our feet more and more, till Tom roared out with
pain, and declared he would go no further. `Then we shall be caught and
flayed alive, that's all, Tom,' said I. `But let us see if we can't
mend matters; here, let us cut off the sleeves of our jackets and bind
them round our feet.' We did so, and when we again set off we found
that we could walk much better than before. We hadn't been so many
years at sea without learning how go steer by the stars. What we wanted
was to get to the east; as far from the sea and our hated ship as
possible: that one thought urged us on. Through brushwood which tore
our scanty clothes to shreds, and over rough rocks which wounded our
feet, and across marshes and streams which wetted us well nigh from head
to foot, we pushed our way for some hours--it seemed to us the whole
night--till we got into an Indian track. We didn't know what it was at
the time, but found it was an easy path, so we followed it up at full
speed. On we ran; we found that it led in the right direction, and
that's all we thought of. Unaccustomed to running or walking as we
were, it seems surprising how we should have held out; but the truth is
it was fear helped us along, and a burning desire to be free.
"Daylight found us struggling up a high hill or ridge, rather running
north and south; we reached the top just as the sun rose above a line of
lofty and distant mountains. We turned round for a moment to look on
the far-off blue waters which lay stretched out below us, and on which
we had spent so large a portion of our existence. `I've had enough of
it,' cried Tom, fiercely shaking his fist; and then we turned along
again, and rushed down the ridge towards the east. It was the last
glimpse I ever had of the wide ocean. Still we did not consider
ourselves safe. We should have liked to have put a dozen such ridges
between our tyrants and ourselves. On we went again till at last our
exhausted strength failed, and we stopped to take some food. Once
having sat down it was no easy matter to get up again, and before we
knew what was happening we were both fast asleep. We must have slept a
good many hours, and I dreamed during that time that the mate, and cook,
and a dozen seamen were following us with flensing-knives, and
handspikes, and knotted ropes, shrieking and shouting at our heels. We
ran, and ran for our lives, just as we had been running all night, but
they were always close behind us. The mate--oh! how I dreaded him--had
his hand on my shoulder, and was giving a growl of satisfaction at
having caught me, when I awoke; and, looking up, saw not the mate, but
the most terrible-looking being I had ever set eyes on, so I thought.
"I had, to be sure, seen plenty of savages who came off to the ship from
the islands at which we used to touch, but they were none of them so
fierce as he looked. I won't describe him, because he was simply a
redskin warrior in his war paint and feathers. It was his hand that was
on my shoulder; his grunt of surprise at finding us awoke me. I cried
out, and Tom and I jumped to our feet and tried to run away; a dozen
Indians however surrounded us, and escape was impossible. `Let us put a
bold face on the matter, Tom,' I sang out; `I don't think they mean to
kill us.' Our captors talked a little together and they seemed pleased
with the way we looked at them, for they showed us by signs that they
meant us no evil. They were a portion of a war party on their way to
destroy the pale-face settlement on the coast. They guessed by our
dress and looks, and from our clothes being torn, that we were runaway
English seamen; and, knowing that we should not wish to go back to our
ship, considered that we should prove of more value to them alive than
our scalps would be if they took them. We understood them to say that
they wanted us to go with them to attack their enemies, but we showed
them by our feet that we could not walk a step, and as they were not
ill-tempered people they did not insist on it. After a talk they lifted
us up--two taking Tom, and two me between them--and carried us along at
a quick rate for some miles to their camp; there we saw a large number
of Indians collected, some armed with bows, and some few with fire-arms.
"There were a few women, in whose charge we were placed. We could not
make out whether we were considered prisoners or not; at all events, we
could not run away. Leaving us, the whole party set forth towards the
west on their expedition. Two days passed, and then, with loud
shoutings, and shriekings, and firing of muskets, the party appeared,
with numerous scalps at the end of their spears, and some wretched
captives driven before them, I remember, even now, how I felt that
night, when the war-dance was danced, and the prisoners tortured; how
fearfully the men, and even the women, shrieked, and how the miserable
people who had been taken, as they were bound to stakes, writhed under
the tortures inflicted on them. While we looked on, Tom and I wished
ourselves back again, even on board the ship, thinking that we ourselves
might next be treated in the same manner. At last the savages brought
fire, and then, as the flames blazed up, we saw three people whom we
knew well,--the captain, and mate, and one of the men, who had been
among the worst of our tyrants. Though their faces were distorted with
agony and horror, as the light fell on them, there was no doubt about
the matter. They might have seen us. If they did, it must have added
to their misery. They had come on shore to visit some of the settlers,
we concluded, and, at all events, were found fighting with them. We got
accustomed, after a time, to such scenes, and learned to think little of
them, as you doubtless do, friend Peter; but at that time, I went off in
a sort of swoon, as the shrieks and cries for mercy of the burning
wretches reached my ears. The Indians had got a great deal of booty,
and having taken full revenge for the injury done them, and expecting
that they would be hunted out if they remained in the neighbourhood,
they judged it wise to remove to another part of the country. Our feet
had sufficiently recovered during the rest of two days to enable us to
walk, or I am not certain that we should not have been killed, to save
our captors the trouble of carrying us. It took us a week to reach the
main camp, where most of the women and children were collected. We
limped on, with difficulty and pain, thus far concealing our sufferings
as much as we could. We could not have gone a mile further, had not the
tribe remained here to decide on their future course. The rest, and the
care the women took of us, sufficiently restored our strength to enable
us to move on with the tribe to the new ground they proposed taking up.
Your Indian ways, friend Peter, were very strange to us at first, but by
degrees we got into them, and showed that we were every bit as good men
as the chief braves themselves. Whatever they did, we tried to do, and
succeeded as well as they, except in tracking an enemy, and that we
never could come up with. They, at first, treated us as slaves, and
made us work for them, as they did their women; but when they saw what
sort of lads we were, they began to treat us with respect, and soon
learned to look upon us as their equals. We both of us became very
different to what we were at sea, Tom especially. There we were cowed
by our task-masters, here we felt ourselves free men; and Tom, who was
looked upon as an arrant coward on board ship, was now as brave as the
bravest warrior of the tribe. We were braver, indeed; for while they
fought Indian-fashion, behind trees, we would rush on, and never failed
to put our enemies to flight.
"We were of great service to our friends in assisting them to establish
themselves in their new territory, and to defend themselves against the
numerous foes whom they very soon contrived to make. Still we held our
own, and our friends increased in numbers and power. Our chief was
ambitious, and used every means to add fresh members to his tribe, by
inducing those belonging to other tribes to join us. His object, which
was very clear, excited the jealousy of a powerful chief, especially, of
the great Dakotah nation, inhabiting the country north-east of our
territory. He, however, disguised his intentions, and talked us into
security by pretending the greatest friendship. Through his means, our
other enemies ceased to attack us, and we began to think that the
hatchet of war was buried for ever. Tom and I had been offered wives--
daughters of chiefs--and we had agreed to take them to our lodges, when
we both of us set out on a hunting expedition, to procure game for our
marriage feast, and skins to pay for the articles we required. We had
great success, and were returning in high spirits, when night overtook
us, within a short distance of the village. We camped where we were, as
we would not travel in the dark, hoping to enter it the next morning in
triumph. About midnight, both Tom and I started from our sleep, we knew
not why. Through the night air there came faint sounds of cries, and
shrieks, and shouts, and warlike noises. We thought it must be fancy;
but presently, as we stood listening, there burst forth a bright light
in the direction of the village, which went on increasing, till it
seemed that every lodge must be on fire. What could we do? Should we
hasten on to help our friends? It was too late to render them any
assistance. We must wait till daylight to learn what way the foe had
gone, and how we could best help our friends; so we stood watching the
flames with grief and anger, till they sunk down for want of fuel. We
had not lived so long with Indians, without having learned some of their
caution; and concealing our game and skins, as soon as it was dawn we
crept on towards the village. As we drew near, not a sound was heard--
not even the bark of a dog. We crept amid the bushes on hands and feet,
closer and closer, when from a wooded knoll we could look down on the
lately happy village, or, I should say, on the spot where it lately
stood.
"By the grey light of the morning a scene of desolation and bloodshed
was revealed to us, which, in all my experience of warfare, I have never
seen equalled. Every lodge was burnt to the ground; here and there a
few blackened posts alone remaining to show where they once stood: but a
burnt village I have often seen. It was the sight of the mangled and
blackened bodies of our late friends and companions thickly strewed over
the ground which froze the blood in our veins. For some moments we
could scarcely find breath to whisper to each other. When we did, we
reckoned up the members of the tribe, men, women, and children, and then
counting the bodies on the ground, we found that our foes had killed
every one of them, with the exception of perhaps a dozen, who might have
been carried off. This told us, too correctly, how the event had
occurred. In the dead of night the village had been surrounded, torches
thrown into it, and, as the people rushed out confused, they were
murdered indiscriminately--old and young, women and children. Were our
intended wives among them? we almost wished they were; but we dared not
descend to ascertain. The place was no longer for us. `I wish that I
was back in England, Tom,' said I. `So do I, Bill, right heartily,'
said he. `East or west, Tom?' said I. `Not west! no, no!' he answered,
with a shudder; `we might be caught by another whaler.' `East, then,'
said I, pointing to the rising sun; `we may get there some day, but it's
a long way, I've a notion.' `If we keep moving on, we shall get there
though, long as it may be,' said Tom. So we crept back to where we had
left our goods, and having taken food for a couple of days, we went and
hid ourselves in some thick bushes, where we hoped our enemies would not
find us. For two days and nights we lay hid, and on the third morning
we agreed that we might as well chance it as stay where we were, when
the sound of voices, and of people moving through the woods reached our
ears, and, peeping out, we saw several warriors passing along at no
great distance. From the way they moved we knew that they were not
looking for any one, nor believing that any enemy was near; but still,
should any one of their quick eyes fall on our trail, they would
discover us in an instant. I never felt my scalp sit more uneasy on my
head. Suddenly they stopped and looked about; I thought that it was all
over with us; the keen eyes of one of them, especially, seemed to pierce
through the very thicket where we lay. We scarcely dared to breathe,
lest we should betray ourselves. Had there been only five or six we
might have sprung out and attacked them with some chance of success, but
there were a score at least, and more might be following, and so the
odds were too great. They were most of them adorned with scalps--those
of our slaughtered friends, we did not doubt, and we longed to be
avenged on them. On they came, and just as we thought that we had seen
the end of them, more appeared, and several of them looked towards us.
How we escaped discovery I do not know. Long after the last had passed
on into the forest we came out of our hiding-place, and gathering up all
our property, prepared to commence our journey. We pushed on as fast as
our legs would carry us, every moment expecting to come upon some of our
enemies, or to have them pouncing out upon us from among the trees or
rocks. All day we pushed on, almost without stopping, and for several
days resting only during the hours of darkness, till at last we hoped
that we had put a sufficient distance between our enemies and ourselves
to escape an attack. We now camped to catch more game, and to make
arrangements for our course. We had got some little learning at school,
though most of it was forgotten; but we remembered enough to make us
know that England was to the north-east of us, and so we determined to
travel on in that direction. I won't tell you now all about our
journey. We had not got far before we found the country so barren that
we were obliged to keep to the north, which brought us into the
territory owned by the Dakotah people. We knew nothing of the way then,
except from the accounts picked up over the camp fires of our former
friends, and we had managed hitherto to keep out of the way of all
strangers. We were ignorant, too, of the great distance we were from
England; and of another thing we were not aware, and that was of the
cold of winter. We were still travelling on, when the nights became so
cold that we could scarcely keep ourselves from freezing, though
sleeping close to our camp fires. It got colder and colder, and then
down came the snow, and we found that winter had really set in. To
travel on was impossible, so we built ourselves a lodge, and tried to
trap and kill animals enough to last us for food till the snow should
disappear. They became, however, scarcer and scarcer, and we began to
fear that the supply of food we had collected would not last us out till
summer. We had, however, a good number of skins, and though we had
intended to sell them, we made some warm clothing of them instead.
"We had too much to do during the day in hunting and collecting wood for
our fire to allow of the time hanging very heavy on our hands. At first
we got on very well, but our food decreased faster than we had
calculated; and then Tom fell down from a rock, and hurt himself so much
that I could scarcely get him home. While he was in this state I fell
sick, and there we two were, in the middle of a desert, without any one
to help us. Tom grew worse, and I could just crawl out from our bed of
skins and leaves to heap up wood on our fire, and to cook our food.
That was growing less and less every day, and starvation stared us in
the face. Our wood, too could not hold out much longer, and though
there was plenty at a little distance, I was too weak to go out and
fetch it and cut it up, and poor Tom could not even stand upright. Day
by day our stock of food decreased. All was gone! There was wood
enough to keep our fire alight another day, and then we knew that in
one, or, at most, two days more, we must be starved or frozen to death.
Tom groaned out that he wished we had but a bottle of rum to keep us
warm, and drive away dreadful thoughts. So did I wish we had. That was
a hard time, friend Peter."
"Fire water! was that all you thought of? Did you never pray? Did you
never ask God to deliver you?" inquired the Indian in a tone of
astonishment. "No! What had God to do with us poor chaps in that
out-of-the-way place? He wouldn't have heard us if we had prayed; and,
besides, we had long ago forgotten to pray," answered the old man in an
unconcerned tone. "Ah! but He would have heard you, depend on that.
The poor and destitute are the very people He delights to help,"
observed the Indian. "Ah! old friend, you little know what God is when
you fancy that He would not have heard you." As he spoke he produced a
Testament in the Ojibway tongue, from which he read the words, "God is
love," and added, "This is part of the Bible, which your countrymen, the
missionaries, have translated for us into our tongue."
"Ay! maybe," remarked the old man, after considering a time; "I remember
about the Bible when I was a boy, and it's all true; but I don't fancy
God could have cared for us."
"Why? is that wisdom you speak, old friend?" exclaimed Peter. "See, God
did care for you, though you did not even ask Him, or you wouldn't be
alive this day. He has cared for you all your life long. You have
already told me many things which showed it, and I doubt not if you were
to tell me everything that has happened to you since you can remember up
to the present day, many, many more would be found to prove it. Was it
God's love which sent me to you when you were on the point of death, or
was it His hatred? Was it God's love which softened the hearts of the
Sioux towards us? Come, go on with your history. I doubt not that the
very next thing that you have to tell me will prove what I say."
"Well, friend Redskin, what you say may be true, and I don't wish to
differ with you," answered the hunter, still apparently unmoved. "As I
was saying, Tom and I expected nothing but starvation. It was coming,
too, I have an idea; for my part I had got so bad that I did not know
where we were or what had happened. The hut was dark, for I had closed
up the hole we came in and out at with snow and bundles of dry grass, or
we should very quickly have been frozen to death.
"The last thing I recollect was feeling cold--very cold. Suddenly a
stream of light burst in on my eyes, and, that waking me up, I saw
several Indians, in full war-dress, standing looking at Tom and me. I
felt as if I did not care whether they scalped me or not: I was pretty
well past all feeling. One of them, however, poured something down my
throat, and then down Tom's throat: it did not seem stronger than water
though it revived me. I then saw that their looks were kind, and that
they meant us no harm. The truth was that our forlorn condition touched
their hearts: it is my opinion, friend Peter, that nearly all men's
hearts can be moved, if touched at the right time. These men were
Sioux--very savage, I'll allow--but just then they were returning home
from a great meeting, where, by means of a white man, certain matters
were settled to their satisfaction, and they felt, therefore, well
disposed towards us. Who the white man was I don't know, except that he
was not a trader, and was a friend of the Indians. The Sioux gave us
food, and lighted our fire, and camped there for two days, till we were
able to move on, and then took us along with them. We lived with them
all the winter, and soon got into their ways. When we proposed moving
on, they would, on no account, hear of it, telling us that the distance
was far greater than we supposed, and that there were cruel, treacherous
white men between us and the sea, who were always making war on their
people to drive them off their lands, and that they would certainly kill
us. The long and the short of it is that Tom and I gave up our
intention of proceeding, and, having wives offered to us much to our
taste, we concluded to stay where we were. Every day we got more
accustomed to the habits of our new friends; and we agreed also, that
our friends in England would not know us, or own us, if we went back.
We were tolerably happy; our wives bore us children; and, to make a long
story short, we have lived on with the same tribe ever since. Tom has
grown stout and cannot join in the hunt, but his sons do, and supply him
with food. If Tom had been with the rest, he would not have left the
neighbourhood of the ground where I fell without searching for me. It
is through he and I being together that I can still speak English, and
recollect things about home and our early days. We have been friends
ever since we were boys, and never have we had a dispute. Four of my
children died in infancy, and I have a son and a daughter. The only
thing that tries me is leaving Tom and them, for their mother is dead;
and yet I should like to go and hear more of the strange things you have
told me about, and see some of my countrymen again before I die. They
won't mourn long for the old man: it is the lot of many to fall down and
die in the wilds, as I should have died if you had not found me. Tom,
maybe, will miss me; but of late years, since he gave up hunting, we
have often been separate, and he'll only feel as if I had been on a
longer hunt than usual."
"And your children?" said Peter. "They'll feel much like Tom, I
suppose," answered the white hunter. "You know, friend Redskin, that
Injun children are not apt to care much for their old parents. Maybe I
will send for them, or go for them, if I remain with the pale-faces."
The Indian was silent for some time. He then observed gravely, "Maybe,
old friend, that the merciful God, who has protected you throughout your
life, may have ordered this event also for your benefit; yet why do I
say `maybe.' He orders all things for the best: this much I have
learned respecting Him--the wisest man can know no more."
Were not the Indians of North America indued with a large amount of
patience they could not get through the long journeys they often
perform, nor live the life of trappers and hunters, nor execute the
curious carved work which they produce. Patience is a virtue they
possess in a wonderful degree. Day after day Peter travelled on,
slowly, yet patiently, with his charge, at length reaching the banks of
the Assiniboine River, a large and rapid stream which empties itself
into the Red River, at about the centre of the Selkirk settlement. The
banks, often picturesque, were, in most places, well clothed with a
variety of trees, while the land on either side, although still in a
state of nature, showed its fertility by the rich grasses and clover
which covered it. The old hunter gazed with surprise. "Why, friend
Peter, here thousands and thousands of people might live in plenty, with
countless numbers of cattle and sheep!" he exclaimed. "I knew not that
such a country existed in tiny part of this region."
"We are now on the territory of the English, a people who treat the red
man as they should--as fellow men, and with justice," answered the
Indian. "It may be God's will that, ere many years are over, all this
vast land, east and west, may be peopled by them, still leaving ample
room for the red men, who, no longer heathen hunters, may settle down in
Christian communities as cultivators of the soil, or keepers of flocks
and herds."
Still more surprised was the old hunter when, a few days after this,
they came upon several well cultivated fields, and saw beyond them a
widely-scattered village of neat cottages, and the spire of a church
rising amid them towards the blue sky. "What! are those the houses of
English settlers?" asked the old man; "it will do my heart good to see
some of my own countrymen again."
"You will see few of your countrymen here, father; the inhabitants are
settlers, truly, but nearly all my people. There is, however, here a
good minister, and a school-master, white men, who will welcome you
gladly. Their hearts are full of Christian love, or they would not come
to live out here, far removed from relatives and friends, labouring for
the souls' welfare of my poor countrymen."
The old man shook his head, "No, no; I have no desire to see a parson.
I remember well the long sermons--the last I ever heard was when I was
at school--the parson used to give, and I used to declare that when I
was a man I would keep clear of them, on this account."
"You would not speak so of our minister here, were you to hear him,"
said the Indian. "I will not ask you to do what you dislike--but here
is my house--those within will give you a hearty welcome." An Indian
woman, neatly dressed, with a bright, intelligent countenance, came
forth with an infant in her arms, to meet Peter, several children
following her, who clung around him with affectionate glee. A few
words, which Peter addressed to his wife, made her come forward, and,
with gentle kindness, assist the old man into the cottage, where the
elder children eagerly brought a chair and placed him on it. One boy
ran off with the horse to a stable close at hand, and another assisted
his mother to prepare some food, and to place it on a table before his
father and their guest.
The old man's countenance exhibited pleased surprise. "Well! well! I
shouldn't have believed it if I had heard it," he muttered. "I remember
many a cottage in the old country that did not come up to this." Many
and many a cottage very far behind it, the old hunter might have said--
and why? Because in them the blessed Gospel was not the rule of life;
while in that of the Indian God's law of love was the governing
principle of all. Christ's promised gift--the gift of gifts--rested on
that humble abode of His faithful followers.
Several days passed by, and, to Peter's regret, the old hunter showed no
desire to converse with the devoted missionary minister of the
settlement. He came more than once, but the old man, shut up within
himself, seemed not to listen to anything he said. At length he
recovered sufficiently to go out, and one evening, wandering forth
through the village, he passed near the church. The sound of music
reached his ears as he approached the sacred edifice; young voices are
raised together in singing praises to God for His bounteous gifts
bestowed on mankind:--
"Glory to Thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings!
Beneath Thine own Almighty wings."
The old hunter stopped to listen: slowly, and as if in awe, he draws
near the open porch. Again he stops, listening still more earnestly.
The young Christians within are singing in the Indian tongue. Closer he
draws--his lips open--his voice joins in the melody. Words long, long
forgotten, come unconsciously from his lips. They are the English words
of that time-honoured hymn, often sung by children in the old country.
Scarcely does his voice tremble: it sounds not like that of a man, but
low and hushed, as it might have been when he first learned, from his
long-lost mother, to lisp those words of praise. The music ceases. The
old hunter bursts into tears--tears unchecked. Now he sinks on his
knees, with hands uplifted--"Our Father, which art in Heaven,"--he is
following the words of the missionary within. Are a mother's earnest,
ceaseless prayers heard--prayers uttered ere she left this world of
trial? Yes; undoubtedly. But God's ways are not man's ways: though He
tarry long, yet surely He will be found--aye, "Found of them who sought
Him not."
The children's prayer meeting is over. The old man remains on his
knees, with head bent down, and hands clasped, till the shades of
evening close over him.