THE INDIAN PLOT.
One sultry August night a party of Sac and Fox Indians were encamped in
a grove of oaks opposite Rock Island, on the western side of the
Mississippi. Among them were Main-Pogue and Waubeno.
The encampment commanded a view of the burial hills and bluffs of the
abandoned Sac village.
As the shadow of night stole over the warm, glimmering twilight, and the
stars came out, the lights in the settlers' cabins began to shine; and
as the Indians saw them one by one, their old resentment against the
settlers rose and bitter words passed, and an old warrior stood up to
rehearse his memories of the injustice that his race had suffered in the
old treaties and the late war.
"Look," he said, "at the eyes of the cabins that gleam from yonder
shore. The waters roll dark under them, but the lights of the canoes no
more haunt the rapids, and the women and children may no more sit down
by the graves of the braves of old. Our lights have gone out; their
lights shine. Their lights shine on the bluffs, and they twinkle like
fireflies along the prairies, and climb the cliffs in what was once the
Red Man's Paradise. Like the fireflies to the night the white settlers
came.
"Rise up and look down into the water. There--where the stream runs
dark--they shot our starving women there, for crossing the river to
harvest their own corn.
"Look again--there where the first star shines. She, the wife of Wabono,
floated there dead, with the babe on her breast. Here is the son of
Wabono.
"Son of Wabono, you ride the pony like the winds. What are you going to
do to avenge your mother? You have nourished the babe; you are good and
brave; but the moons rise and fall, and the lights grow many on the
prairie, and the smoke-wreaths many along the shore. Speak, son of
Wabono."
A tall boy arose, dressed in yellow skins and painted and plumed.
"Father, it is long since the rain fell."
"Long."
"And the prairies are yellow."
"Yellow."
"And they are food for fire."
"Food for fire."
"I would touch them with fire--in the east, in the west, in the north,
and in the south. The lights will go out in the cabins, and the white
woman will wander homeless, and the white man will hunger for corn. They
shot our people for harvesting our corn. I would give their corn-fields
to the flames, and their families to the famine in the moons of
storms."
"Waubeno, you have heard Wabono. What would _you_ do?"
"I would punish those only who have done wrong. The white teacher taught
so, and the white teacher was right."
"Waubeno, you speak like a woman."
"Those people should not suffer for what others have done. You should
not be made to bear the punishments of others."
"Would you not fire the prairies?"
"No. I may have friends there. The Tunker may be there. He who spared
Main-Pogue may be there. Would I burn their cabins? No!"
"Waubeno, who was your father?"
"I am the son of Alknomook."
"He died."
"Yes, father."
"There was neither pity nor mercy in the white man's heart for him. You
made your vow to him. What was that vow, Waubeno?"
"To avenge his enemies--not our friends."
"Brothers, listen. The white men grow many, and we are few. In war we
are helpless--only one weapon remains to us now. It is the
thunderbolt--it is fire.
"Warriors, listen. The moon grows. Who of you will cross the river and
ride once more into the Red Man's Paradise, and give the prairies to the
flames? The torch is all that is left us now."
Every Indian raised his arm except Main-Pogue and Waubeno, and signified
his desire to unite in the plan for the desolation of the prairies.
"Main-Pogue, will you carry your torch in the night of fire?"
"I have been saved by the hand of a white man, and I will not turn my
hand against the white man. I could not do it if I were young. But I am
old--my people are gone. Leave me to fall like the leaf."
"Son of Alknomook, what will you do?"
"I will follow your counsel for my father's sake, but I will spare my
friends for the sake of the arm that was stretched out over the head of
Main-Pogue."
"Then you will go."
"I would that I were dead. I would that I could live as the white
teacher taught me--in peace with every one. I would that I had not this
blood of fire, and this memory of darkness, and this vow upon my head.
The white teacher taught me that all people were brothers. My brain
burns--"
Late in the evening Waubeno went to Main-Pogue and sat down by his side
under the trees. The river lay before them with its green islands and
rapid currents, serene and beautiful. The lights had gone out on the
other shore, and the world seemed strangely voiceless and still.
"How did _he_ look, Waubeno?"
"Who look?"
"That man who saved you--stretched his arm over you."
"His arm was long. His face was as sad as an Indian's; and he was tall.
He was a head taller than other men; he rose over them like an oak over
the trees. The men laughed at him; then his face looked as though it was
set against the people--he looked like a chief--and the men cowered,
and jeered, and cowered. I can see how he looked, but I can not tell
it--I can see it in my mind. I told him that I would tell Waubeno, and
he seemed to know your name. Did you never meet such a man?"
"Yes, in the Indiana country. He was journeyed from the Wabash."
The Indians, after the council we have described, began to cross the
Mississippi by night, and to make stealthy journeys into the Rock River
country, once known as the Red Man's Paradise. Rock River is a beautiful
stream of the prairies. It comes dashing out of a bed of rocks, and runs
a distance of some two hundred miles to the Mississippi. Here once
roamed the deer and came the wild cattle in herds. Here rose great
cliffs, like ruins of castles, which were then, as now, cities of the
swallows. Eagles built their nests upon them, and wheeled from over the
flowers of the prairies. The banks in summer were lined with wild
strawberries and wild sunflowers. Here and there were natural mounds and
park-like woods, and oaks whose arms were tangled with grapevines.
Into this country ran Black Hawk's trail, and not far from this trail
was Prairie Island, with its happy settlers and new school. The German
school-master might well love the place. Margaret Fuller (Countess
Ossoli) came to the region in 1843, and caught its atmosphere and
breathed it forth in her Summer in the Lakes. Here, in this territory of
the Red Man's Paradise, "to me enchanting beyond any I have ever seen,"
where "you have only to turn up the sod to find arrow-heads," she
visited the bluff of the Eagles' Nest on the morning of the Fourth of
July, and there wrote "Ganymede to his Eagle," one of her grandest
poems.
"How happy," says this gifted soul, "the Indians must have been here! I
do believe Rome and Florence are suburbs compared to this capital of
Nature's art."
Black Hawk's trail ran from this region of perfect beauty to the
Mississippi; and long after the Sacs and Foxes were compelled to live
beyond the Mississippi, the remnants of the tribes loved to return and
visit the scenes of the land of their fathers.
The Indians who had plotted the firing of the prairies made two stealthy
journeys along the Rock River and over the old trail under the August
moon. In one of these they rode round Prairie Island, and encamped one
night upon the bluff of the Eagles' Nest, under the moon and stars.
Waubeno went with them, and gazed with sad eyes upon the scenes that had
passed forever from the control of his people.
He saw the new cabins and corn-fields, the prairie wagons and the
emigrants. One evening he passed Prairie Island, and saw the lights
glimmering among the trees, and heard the singing of a hymn in the
school-house, where the people had met to worship. He wished that his
own people might be taught these better ways of living. He reined up his
pony and listened to the singing. He wished that he might join the
little company, though he did not know that Jasper was there.
He rode away amid the stacks and corn-fields. He saw that the fields
were dry as powder.
Out on the prairie he turned and looked back on the lights of the
settlement as they glimmered among the trees. Could he apply the torch
to the dry sea of grasses around the peaceful homes?
Once, revenge would have made it a delight to his eyes to see such a
settlement in flames. But Jasper's teaching had created a new view of
life and a new conscience. He felt what the Tunker taught was true, and
that the young soldier who had spared Main-Pogue had done a nobler deed
than any act of revenge. What was that young man's motive? He pondered
over these things, and gave his pony a loose rein, and rode on under the
cool cover of the night under the moon and stars.