A SHEAF OF GOOD INDIAN STORIES FROM HISTORY.
I. AN INDIAN STRATAGEM.
During the Revolutionary War, a regiment of soldiers was stationed upon the
confines of an extensive savanna in Georgia. Its particular office was to
guard every avenue of approach to the main army. The sentinels, whose posts
penetrated into the woods, were supplied from the ranks; but they were
perpetually surprised upon their posts by the Indians and borne off their
stations, without communicating any alarm or being heard of afterward.
One morning, the sentinels having been stationed as usual over night, the
guard went at sunrise to relieve a post which extended a considerable
distance into the wood. The sentinel was gone. The surprise was great; but
the circumstance had occurred before. They left another man, and departed,
wishing him better luck. "You need not be afraid," said the man, with
warmth, "I shall not desert."
The sentinels were replaced every four hours, and, at the appointed time,
the guard again marched to relieve the post. To their inexpressible
astonishment the man was gone. They searched around the spot, but no traces
of him could be found. It was now more necessary than ever that the
station should not remain unoccupied; they left another man and returned
to the guardhouse.
The superstition of the soldiers was awakened and terror ran through the
regiment. The colonel, being apprised of the occurrence, signified his
intention to accompany the guard when they relieved the sentinel they had
left. At the appointed time, they all marched together; and again, to their
unutterable wonder, they found the post vacant, and the man gone. Under
these circumstances, the colonel hesitated whether he should station a
whole company on the spot or whether he should again submit the post to a
single sentinel. The cause of these repeated disappearances of men whose
courage and honesty were never suspected must be discovered, and it seemed
not likely that this discovery could be obtained by persisting in the old
method.
Three brave men were now lost to the regiment, and to assign the fourth
seemed nothing less than giving him up to destruction. The poor fellow
whose turn it was to take the station, though a man in other respects of
incomparable resolution, trembled from head to foot.
"I must do my duty," said he to the officer; "I know that; but I should
like to lose my life with more credit." "I will leave no man," said the
colonel, "against his will." A man immediately stepped from the ranks and
desired to take the post. Every mouth commended his resolution.
"I will not be taken alive," said he, "and you shall hear of me at the
least alarm. At all events, I will fire my piece if I hear the least noise.
If a crow chatters, or a leaf falls, you shall hear my musket. You may be
alarmed when nothing is the matter; but you must take the chance as the
condition of the discovery."
The colonel applauded his courage, and told him he would do right to fire
upon the least noise that he could not satisfactorily explain. His comrades
shook hands with him, and left him with a melancholy foreboding. The
company marched back and awaited the event in the guardhouse.
An hour had now elapsed and every ear was upon the rack for the discharge
of the musket, when, upon a sudden, the report was heard. The guard
immediately marched, accompanied, as before, by the colonel and some of the
most experienced officers of the regiment.
As they approached the post they saw the man advancing toward them,
dragging another man on the ground by the hair of his head. When they came
up to him, it appeared to be an Indian whom he had shot. An explanation was
immediately required.
{Illustration: Needle Parker, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of
Quanah Parker.}
"I told you, colonel," said the man, "that I should fire if I heard the
least noise. That resolution I took has saved my life. I had not been long
at my post when I heard a rustling at some short distance; I looked and
saw a wild hog, such as are common in the woods, crawling along the ground,
and seemingly looking for nuts under the trees, among the leaves.
"As these animals are so very common, I ceased to consider it seriously,
but kept my eyes fixed upon it, and marked its progress among the trees;
still there was no need to give the alarm. It struck me, however, as
somewhat singular to see this animal making, by a circuitous passage, for a
thick grove immediately behind my post. I therefore kept my eye more
constantly fixed upon it, and, as it was now within a few yards of the
coppice, I hesitated whether I should fire.
"My comrades, thought I, will laugh at me for alarming them by shooting a
pig. I had almost resolved to let it alone, when, just as it approached the
thicket, I thought I observed it give an unusual spring. I no longer
hesitated; I took my aim, discharged my piece, and the animal was
immediately stretched before me, with a groan which I thought to be that of
a human creature.
"I went up to it, and judge of my astonishment when I found that I had
killed an Indian. He had enveloped himself with the skin of one of these
wild hogs so artfully and completely, his hands and his feet were so
entirely concealed in it, and his gait and appearance were so exactly
correspondent to that of the animals, that, imperfectly as they were always
seen through the trees and bushes the disguise could not be detected at a
distance, and scarcely discovered upon the nearest inspection. He was armed
with a dagger and a tomahawk."
The cause of the disappearance of the other sentinels was now apparent. The
Indians, sheltered in this disguise, secreted themselves in the coppice,
watched for the moment to throw off the hog skin, burst upon the sentinels
without previous alarm, and, too quick to give them an opportunity to
discharge their pieces, either stabbed or tomahawked them. They then bore
their bodies away and concealed them at some distance in the leaves, which
were thick on the ground.
II. THE MOHAWK'S LAST ARROW.
When the Grand Monarque, Louis XIV., ruled France, he appointed one of his
favorite courtiers, the Chevalier de Frontenac, Governor-General of New
France, or Konnedieya. {FN} Some years after Count de Frontenac became
viceregent, the war-like Five Nations (afterward six), "The Romans of
America," proved themselves soldiers of the highest order. This they did
not only by carrying their arms among the native tribes a thousand miles
away, and striking their enemies alike upon the lakes of Maine, the
mountains of Carolina and the prairies of Missouri; but they had already
bearded one European army beneath the walls of Quebec, and shut up another
for weeks within the defenses of Montreal, with the same courage that, half
a century later, vanquished the battalions of Dieskau, upon the banks of
Lake George.
* * * * *
{FN} Since corrupted into Canada, "Beautiful Water," probably so called
from the amber-like color of many of its streams.
To punish the savages for their "insolence," and bring them under
subjection, the commander-in-chief, the veteran Governor Frontenac,
organized an expedition to invade the country of the Five Nations, and
marshaled his forces at La Chine on July 4, 1696. The aged chevalier was
said to have other objects in view besides the political motives for the
expedition.
It seems that many years previous, when the Five Nations had invested the
capital of New France and threatened the extermination of that thriving
colony, a beautiful half-blood girl, whose education had been commenced
under the immediate auspices of the Governor-General, and in whom, indeed,
M. de Frontenac was said to have a parental interest, was carried off, with
other prisoners, by the retiring foe. Every effort had been made in vain
during the occasional cessations of hostilities between the French and the
Iroquois, to recover this girl; and though, in the years that intervened,
some wandering Jesuit from time to time averred that he had seen the
Christian captive living as the contented wife of a young Mohawk warrior,
yet the old nobleman seems never to have despaired of reclaiming his
"nut-brown daughter." Indeed the chevalier must have been impelled by some
such hope when, at the age of seventy, and so feeble that he was half the
time carried in a litter, he ventured to encounter the perils of an
American wilderness and place himself at the head of the heterogeneous
bands which now invaded the country of the Five Nations, under his command.
Among the half-breed spies, border scouts and mongrel adventurers that
followed in the train of the invading army was a renegade Fleming of the
name of Hanyost. This man in early youth had been made a sergeant-major,
when he deserted to the French ranks in Flanders. He had subsequently taken
up a military grant in Canada, sold it after emigrating, and then, making
his way down to the Dutch settlements on the Hudson, had become a sojourner
among their old allies, the Mohawks, and adopted the life of a hunter.
Hanyost, hearing that his old friends, the French, were making such a
formidable descent, did not hesitate to desert his more recent
acquaintances and offer his services as a guide to Count Frontenac the
moment he entered the hostile country. It was not, however, mere cupidity
or the habitual love of treachery which actuated the base Fleming in this
instance. Hanyost, in a difficulty with an Indian trapper, which had been
referred for arbitrament to a young Mohawk chief, Kiodago (a settler of
disputes), whose cool courage and firmness fully entitled him to so
distinguished a name, conceived himself aggrieved by the award which had
been given against him. The scorn with which the arbitrator met his charge
of unfairness stung him to the soul, and fearing the arm of the powerful
savage, he had nursed the revenge in secret, whose accomplishment seemed
now at hand. Kiodago, ignorant of the hostile force which had entered his
country, was off with his band at a fishing station, or summer camp, among
the wild hills, and when Hanyost informed the commander of the French
forces that by surprising this party his long-lost daughter, the wife of
Kiodago, might be once more given to his arms, a small but efficient force
was instantly detached from the main body of the army to strike the blow. A
dozen musketeers, with twenty-five pikemen, led severally by the Baron de
Bekancourt and the Chevalier de Grais, the former having the chief command
of the expedition, were sent upon this duty, with Hanyost to guide them to
the village of Kiodago. Many hours were consumed upon the march, as the
soldiers were not yet habituated to the wilderness; but just before dawn on
the second day the party found themselves in the neighborhood of the Indian
village.
The place was wrapped in repose, and the two cavaliers trusted that the
surprise would be so complete that their commander's daughter must
certainly be taken. The baron, after a careful examination of the hilly
passes, determined to head the onslaught, while his companion in arms, with
Hanyost to mark out his prey, should pounce upon the chieftain's wife.
This being arranged, their followers were warned not to injure the female
captives while cutting their defenders to pieces, and then, a moment being
allowed for each man to take a last look at the condition of his arms, they
were led to the attack.
The inhabitants of the fated village, secure in their isolated situation,
aloof from the war-parties of that wild district, had neglected all
precaution against surprise, and were buried in sleep when the whizzing of
a grenade, that terrible but superseded engine of destruction, roused them
from their slumbers. The missile, to which a direction had been given that
carried it in a direct line through the main row of wigwams which formed
the little street, went crashing among their frail frames of basket-work,
and kindled the dry mats stretched over them into instant flames. And then,
as the startled warriors leaped, all naked and unarmed, from their blazing
lodges, the French pikemen, waiting only for a volley from the musketeers,
followed it up with a charge still more fatal. The wretched savages were
slaughtered like sheep in the shambles. Some, overwhelmed with dismay, sank
unresisting upon the ground, and covering up their heads, after the Indian
fashion when resigned to death, awaited the fatal stroke without a murmur;
others, seized with a less benumbing panic, sought safety in flight, and
rushed upon the pikes that lined the forest paths around them.
Many there were, however, who, schooled to scenes as dreadful, acquitted
themselves like warriors. Snatching their weapons from the greedy flames,
they sprang with irresistible fury upon the bristling files of pikemen.
Their heavy war-clubs beat down and splintered the fragile spears of the
Europeans, whose corslets, ruddy with the reflected fires amid which they
fought, glinted back still brighter sparks from the hatchets of flint
which crashed against them. The fierce veterans pealed the charging cry of
many a well-fought field in other climes; but wild and high, the Indian
war-whoop rose shrill above the din of conflict, until the hovering raven
in mid air caught up and answered that discordant shriek.
De Grais, in the meantime, surveyed the scene of action with eager
intentness, expecting each moment to see the paler features of the
Christian captive among the dusky females, who ever and anon sprang
shrieking from the blazing lodges, and were instantly hurled backward into
the flames by fathers and brothers, who even thus would save them from the
hands that vainly essayed to grasp their distracted forms. The Mohawks
began now to wage a more successful resistance, and just when the fight was
raging hottest, and the high-spirited Frenchman, beginning to despair of
his prey, was about launching into the midst of it, he saw a tall warrior
who had hitherto been forward in the conflict, disengage himself from the
melee, and wheeling suddenly upon a soldier, who had likewise separated
from his party, brain him with a tomahawk before he could make a movement
in his defense. The quick eye of the young chevalier, too, caught a glance
of another figure, in pursuit of whom, as she emerged with an infant in her
arms, from a lodge on the further side of the village, the luckless
Frenchman had met his doom. It was the Christian captive, the wife of
Kiodago, beneath whose hand he had fallen. The chief now stood over the
body of his victim, brandishing a war-club which he had snatched from a
dying Indian near. Quick as thought, De Grais leveled a pistol at his head,
when the track of the flying girl brought her directly in his line of
sight, and he withheld his fire. Kiodago, in the meantime, had been cut
off from the rest of his people by the soldiers, who closed in upon the
space which his terrible arm had a moment before kept open. A cry of agony
escaped the high-souled savage, as he saw how thus the last hope was lost.
He made a gesture as if about to again rush into the fray, and sacrifice
his life with his tribesmen; and then perceiving how futile must be the
act, he turned on his heel, and bounded after his retreating wife, with
arms outstretched to shield her from the dropping shots of the enemy.
The rising sun had now lighted up the scene, but all this passed so
instantaneously that it was impossible for De Grais to keep his eye upon
the fugitives amid the shifting forms that glanced continually before him;
and when, accompanied by Hanyost and seven others, he had got fairly in
pursuit, Kiodago, who still kept behind his wife, was far in advance of the
chevalier and his party. Her forest training had made the Christian captive
as fleet of foot as an Indian maiden. She heard, too, the cheering voice of
her loved warrior behind her, and pressing her infant to her heart, she
urged her flight over crag and fell and soon reached the head of a rocky
pass, which it would take some moments for any but an American forester to
scale. But the indefatigable Frenchmen are urging their way up the steep;
the cry of pursuit grows nearer as they catch a sight of her husband
through the thickets, and the agonized wife finds her onward progress
prevented by a ledge of rock that impends above her. But now again Kiodago
is by her side; he has lifted his wife to the cliff above, and placed her
infant in her arms and already the Indian mother is speeding on to a cavern
among the hills, well known as a fastness of safety.
Kiodago looked a moment after her retreating figure, and then coolly swung
himself to the ledge which commanded the pass. He might now easily escape
his pursuers; but as he stepped back from the edge of the cliff and looked
down the narrow ravine, the vengeful spirit of the red man was too strong
within him to allow such an opportunity of striking a blow to escape. His
tomahawk and war-club had both been lost in the strife, but he still
carried at his back a more efficient weapon in the hands of so keen a
hunter. There were but three arrows in his quiver, and the Mohawk was
determined to have the life of an enemy in exchange for each of them. His
bow was strung quickly, but with as much coolness as if there was no
exigency to require haste. Yet he had scarcely time to throw himself upon
his breast, a few yards from the brink of the declivity, before one of his
pursuers, more active than the rest, exposed himself to the unerring
archer. He came leaping from rock to rock, and had nearly reached the head
of the glen, when, pierced through and through by one of Kiodago's arrows,
he toppled from the crags, and rolled, clutching the leaves in his death
agony, among the tangled furze below. A second met a similar fate, and a
third victim would probably have been added, if a shot from the fusil of
Hanyost, who sprang forward and caught sight of the Indian just as the
first man fell, had not disabled the thumb joint of the bold archer, even
as he fixed his last arrow in the string. Resistance seemed now at an end,
and Kiodago again betook himself to flight. Yet anxious to divert the
pursuit from his wife, the young chieftain pealed a yell of defiance, as he
retreated in a different direction from that which she had taken. The whoop
was answered by a simultaneous shout and rush on the part of the whites;
but the Indian had not advanced far before he perceived that the pursuing
party, now reduced to six, had divided, and that three only followed him.
He had recognized the scout, Hanyost, among his enemies, and it was now
apparent that that wily traitor, instead of being misled by his _ruse,_ had
guided the other three upon the direct trail to the cavern which the
Christian captive had taken. Quick as thought, the Mohawk acted upon the
impression. Making a few steps within a thicket, still to mislead his
present pursuers, he bounded across a mountain torrent, and then leaving
his foot-marks dashed in the yielding bank, he turned shortly on a rock
beyond, recrossed the stream, and concealed himself behind a falling tree;
while his pursuers passed within a few paces of his covert.
A broken hillock now only divided the chief from the point to which he had
directed his wife by another route, and to which the remaining party,
consisting of De Grais, Hanyost and a French musketeer, were hotly urging
their way. The hunted warrior ground his teeth with rage when he heard the
voice of the treacherous Fleming in the glen below him; and springing from
crag to crag, he circled the rocky knoll, and planted his foot by the roots
of a blasted oak, that shot its limbs above the cavern, just as his wife
had reached the spot, and pressing her babe to her bosom, sank exhausted
among the flowers that waved in the moist breath of the cave. It chanced
that at that very instant, De Grais and his followers had paused beneath
the opposite side of the knoll, from whose broken surface the foot of the
flying Indian had disengaged a stone, which crackling among the branches,
found its way through a slight ravine into the glen below. The two
Frenchmen stood in doubt for a moment. The musketeer, pointing in the
direction whence the stone had rolled, turned to receive the order of his
officer. The chevalier, who had made one step in advance of a broad rock
between them, leaned upon it, pistol in hand, half turning toward his
follower while the scout, who stood furthest out from the steep bank,
bending forward to discover the mouth of the cave, must have caught a
glimpse of the sinking female, just as the shadowy form of her husband was
displayed above her. God help thee now, bold archer! thy quiver is empty;
thy game of life is nearly up; the sleuth-hound is upon thee; and thy
scalp-lock, whose plumes now flutter in the breeze, will soon be twined in
the fingers of the vengeful renegade. Thy wife--But hold! the noble savage
has still one arrow left!
{Illustration: The Mohawk's Last Arrow.}
Disabled, as he thought himself, the Mohawk had not dropped his bow in his
flight. His last arrow was still gripped in his bleeding fingers; and
though his stiffening thumb forbore the use of it to the best advantage,
the hand of Kiodago had not lost its power. {FN} The crisis which it takes
so long to describe had been realized by him in an instant. He saw how the
French-men, inexperienced in woodcraft, were at fault; he saw, too, that
the keen eye of Hanyost had caught sight of the object of their pursuit,
and that further flight was hopeless, while the scene of his burning
village in the distance inflamed him with hate and fury toward the
instrument of his misfortunes. Bracing one knee upon the flinty rock, while
the muscles of the other swelled as if the whole energies of his body were
collected in that single effort, Kiodago aims at the treacherous scout, and
the twanging bowstring dismisses his last arrow upon its errand. The hand
of the Spirit could alone have guided that shaft! But Waneyo smiles upon
the brave warrior, and the arrow, while it rattles harmless against the
cuirass of the French officer, glances toward the victim for whom it was
intended, and quivers in the heart of Hanyost! The dying wretch grasped the
sword-chain of the chevalier, whose corslet clanged among the rocks, as the
two went rolling down the glen together; and De Grais was not unwilling to
abandon the pursuit when the musketeer, coming to his assistance, had
disengaged him, bruised and bloody, from the embrace of the stiffening
corpse.
* * * * *
{FN} The English mode of holding the arrow, as represented in the plate,
is not common among our aborigines, who use the thumb for a purchase.
What more is there to add. The bewildered Europeans rejoined their
comrades, who were soon after on their march from the scene they had
desolated; while Kiodago descended from his eyrie to collect the fugitive
survivors of his band, and, after burying the slain, to wreak a terrible
vengeance upon their murderers; the most of whom were cut off by him before
they joined the main body of the French army. The Count de Frontenac,
returning to Canada, died soon afterward, and the existence of his
half-blood daughter was soon forgotten. And--though among the dozen old
families in the State of New York who have Indian blood in their veins,
many trace their descent from the off spring of the noble Kiodago and his
Christian wife--yet the hand of genius, as displayed in the admirable
picture of Chapman, which we reproduce, has alone rescued from oblivion
the thrilling scene of the Mohawk's LAST ARROW!
III. AUDUBON'S NIGHT OF PERIL.
"On my return from the upper Mississippi," said John J. Audubon, the
celebrated ornithologist, "I found myself obliged to cross one of the wide
prairies which, in that portion of the United States, vary the appearance
of the country. The weather was fine; all around me was as fresh and
blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of Nature. My knapsack, my
gun and my dog were all I had for baggage and company. The track that I
followed was an old Indian trail, and as darkness overshadowed the prairie,
I felt some desire to reach at least a copse in which I might lie down to
rest. The night-hawks were skimming over and around me, attracted by the
buzzing wings of the beetles, which form their food, and the distant
howlings of wolves gave me some hope that I should soon arrive at the
skirts of some woodland.
"I did so; and almost at the same instant a fire-light attracted my
attention. I moved toward it, full of confidence that it proceeded from the
camp of some wandering Indians. I was mistaken. I discovered by its glare
that it was from the open door of a small log cabin, and that a tall figure
passed and repassed between it and me, as if busily engaged in house-hold
affairs.
"I reached the place, and presenting myself at the door, asked the tall
figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take shelter under her roof
for the night. Her voice was gruff and her attire negligently thrown about
her. She answered in the affirmative. I walked in, took a stool and quietly
seated myself by the fire.
"The next object that attracted my attention was a finely formed young
Indian resting his head between his hands, with his elbows on his knees. A
long bow rested against a log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and
two or three raccoon skins lay at his feet. He moved not--he apparently
breathed not.
"Accustomed to the habits of the Indians, and knowing that they pay little
attention to the approach of civilized strangers (a circumstance which in
some countries is considered to evince the apathy of their character), I
addressed him in French, a language not unfrequently partially known to the
people in that neighborhood.
"He raised his head, pointed to one of his eyes with his finger, and gave
me a significant look with the other. His face was covered with blood. The
fact was that about an hour or so before this, as he was in the act of
discharging an arrow at a raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had split
upon the cord and sprung back with such violence into his right eye as to
destroy it forever.
"Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect. Such a thing
as a bed was not to be seen, but many large untanned bear and buffalo hides
lay piled up in a corner. I drew a fine timepiece from my breast and told
the woman that it was late and that I was fatigued. She had espied my
watch, the richness and beauty of which seemed to operate upon her feelings
with electrical quickness. She told me that there was plenty of venison and
jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I should find a cake.
But my watch had struck her fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified by
an immediate sight of it. I took off the gold chain that secured it from
around my neck and handed it to her. She was all ecstasy, spoke of its
beauty, asked me its value and put my chain around her brawny neck, saying
how happy the possession of such a watch would make her.
"Thoughtless, and, as I fancied myself in so retired a spot secure, I paid
little attention to her talk or her movements. I helped my dog to a good
supper of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands of my own
appetite.
"The Indian rose from his seat as if in extreme suffering. He passed and
repassed me several times, and once pinched me on the arm so violently that
the pain nearly brought forth an exclamation of anger. I looked at him; his
eye met mine, but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into
the more nervous part of my system. He again seated himself, drew his
butcher's knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge as I would do
that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again taking his tomahawk
from his belt, filled the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me expressive
glances whenever our hostess chanced to have her back toward us.
"Never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the danger which I
now suspected to be about me. I returned glance for glance to my companion,
and rested well assured that whatever enemies I might have, he was not one
of their number. I asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under
pretense of wishing to see how the weather might probably be on the morrow,
took up my gun and walked out of the cabin. I slipped a ball into each
barrel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed the primings, and returning
to the hut, gave a favorable account of my observations. I now took a few
bearskins, made a pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side,
lay down, with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was to all
appearances fast asleep.
"A short time had elapsed when some voices were heard, and from the corner
of my eyes I saw two athletic youths making their entrance, bearing a dead
stag on a pole. They disposed of their burden, and asking for whisky,
helped themselves freely to it. Observing me and the wounded Indian, they
asked who I was, and why that rascal (meaning the Indian, who, they knew,
understood not a word of English) was in the house. The mother--for so she
proved to be--bade them speak less loudly, made mention of my watch, and
took them to a corner, where a conversation took place in a low tone, the
purport of which it required little shrewdness in me to guess. I tapped my
dog gently; he moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw his
fine eyes alternately fixed on me, and raised toward the trio in the
corner. I felt that he perceived danger in my situation. The Indian
exchanged a last glance with me.
"The lads had eaten and drunk themselves into such condition that I already
looked upon them as _hors de combat,_ and the frequent visits of the whisky
bottle to the ugly mouth of their dam I hoped would soon reduce her to a
like state. Judge of my astonishment, reader, when I saw this incarnate
fiend take a large butcher's knife and go to the grindstone to whet its
edge. I saw her pour the water on the turning stone, and watched her
working away with the dangerous instrument until the cold sweat covered
every part of my body, despite my determination to defend myself to the
last. Her task finished, she walked to her reeling sons and said, 'There,
that'll soon settle him. Boys, you kill the Indian and then for the watch!'
"I turned, cocked my gunlocks silently, touched my faithful companion, and
lay ready to startup and shoot the first that might attempt my life. The
moment was fast approaching, and that night might have been my last in this
world, had not Providence made preparations for my rescue. All was ready;
the infernal hag was advancing slowly, probably contemplating the best way
of despatching me whilst her sons should be engaged with the Indian. I was
several times on the eve of rising and shooting her on the spot; but she
was not to be punished thus. The door was suddenly opened, and there
entered two stout travelers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. I
bounced upon my feet, and making them most heartily welcome, told them how
well it was for me that they should have arrived at that moment. The tale
was told in a minute. The drunken young men were secured, and the woman, in
spite of her defense and vociferations, shared the same fate. The Indian
fairly danced with joy, and gave us to understand that as he could not
sleep for pain, he would watch over us. You may suppose we slept much less
than we talked.
"The two strangers gave me an account of their once having been themselves
in a somewhat similar situation. Day came, fair and rosy, and with it the
punishment of our captives. They were quite sobered. Their feet were
unbound, but their arms were still securely tied. We marched them into the
woods off the road, and having disposed of them as regulators were wont to
treat such wretches, we set fire to the cabin, gave all their skins and
implements to the young Indian warrior and proceeded, well pleased, toward
the settlements.
"During upward of twenty-five years, when my wanderings extended to all
parts of our country, this was the only time at which my life was in danger
from my fellow-creatures. Indeed, so little risk do travelers run in the
United States that no one born there ever dreams of any to be encountered
on the road; and I can only account for the occurrence by supposing that
the inhabitants of the cabin were not Americans."
IV. AN HOUR OF TERROR, AND MIDNIGHT FEAST.
The following story, though somewhat similar to the foregoing, had a very
different termination:
The year 1812 was one of anxiety and alarm to the frontier settlers of our
country, for the Indians, incited by British emissaries, were sullen, and
in many portions of the Ohio Valley and on the Canadian border openly
hostile to the Americans.
Three families dwelling in a little settlement on the banks of a small
stream which emptied into Lake Erie had refrained in every way possible
from giving offense to their Indian neighbors, the Miamis of the Lake,
whose nearest village was thirty miles distant. However, to be safe, they
built a block-house surrounded by a tall stockade, and always had their
guns and other weapons ready for use.
One dark night, Minor Spicer, who lived in one of these isolated cabins,
heard some one call in front of his house. It was late, and Spicer's
family, with the exception of himself and wife, had retired. Seizing his
rifle, Minor, in spite of his wife's entreaty that he should pay no
attention to the hail, opened the door and stepped outside.
A large Indian, mounted on a big raw-boned gray horse, with a deer across
the withers, and a rifle in each hand, confronted the settler.
"What do you want?" the white man asked. The Indian replied in the
Wyandotte tongue, a language perfectly unintelligible to Spicer.
"Speak English! Speak English!" shouted Spicer, "or as sure as a gun is
iron I will draw a bead on you."
The Indian was not alarmed by this threat, since he understood not one word
of it. But he knew three English, words, and now used them to good purpose.
Pointing to the cabin, he exclaimed, "Injun tired, cold, sleepy," and Minor
understood at once that he desired a night's lodging.
Now, among the frontiersmen, hospitality was universal. The latch string
literally hung on the outside. No matter how humble the guest, and whether
friend or foe, shelter was never denied, and even the last crust would be
divided with the stranger. In the present instance the request was promptly
granted, Spicer showing the Indian where to put his horse, and then, it
must be confessed with inward misgivings, leading the way into the house,
the Indian bringing in his venison.
The good woman fairly trembled with terror as she looked upon the towering
form and forbidding face of their savage guest, as he hung up his venison
with an air of proprietorship after which he placed his guns and tomahawk
in a corner of the backroom which served as kitchen.
With his scalping-knife the Indian now cut a large piece from the venison
and intimated by signs that he was hungry and desired Mrs. Spicer to cook
it for him. Mrs. Spicer complied with the request, her husband standing
near, his rifle always within reach, watching every movement of the
sullen-faced guest, regretting more and more that he had permitted him to
enter. He consoled himself with the thought that had he refused he would
have incurred his undying hatred, and resolved, while seemingly at ease, to
be on the alert for treachery, and repay it with death.
The wife broiled the meat upon the coals, seasoned it well with pepper and
salt, and motioned the Indian toward the table. He ate only a few
mouthfuls, and when he thought he was unobserved, slyly slipped the greater
portion of it in his pouch, clearly refuting, according to the watchful
white man's mind, his claim that he was hungry, and convincing Spicer that
mischief was intended.
The host and hostess signified their intention of retiring, and the Indian
lay down before the fire. Mr. and Mrs. Spicer retired to the front room,
which opened through a door from the kitchen, which was occupied by the
Indian. Of course, sleep was impossible, for their own lives and that of
their children, and indeed the fate of the whole settlement, might depend
upon their vigilance.
The door of the room they occupied was left wide open, so that the Indian
was in full view. Would the tall warrior, who had gained entrance to their
home under pretense of being weary and hungry, attempt to murder them
himself, or would he, when he thought the family sound asleep, unbar the
door to admit his confederates to assist him in his bloody work? The
husband and wife said nothing to each other regarding their fears, but the
necessity of remaining awake was fully understood and agreed upon between
them.
The bed upon which Spicer and his wife lay was without the circle of the
firelight, and in heavy shadow; and their faces were not discernible in the
gloom. They breathed deeply to deceive the Indian, whom they believed to be
as wakeful as they themselves, although he lay perfectly still for an hour.
At the end of that time he raised himself upon his elbow and listened. All
was silent, and he sat upright, and again listened as before. No sound
disturbed the silence but the deep breathing of the sleeping children in
the loft above him and the regular respiration of Spicer and his wife, who
were watching the Indian with mingled feelings of anger and alarm, for now
his evil intention seemed about to be made known. Rising to his feet, the
Indian stepped as swiftly and softly as a panther to the corner where his
weapons were piled.
{Illustration: Lone Wolf, Famous Orator and Principal Chief of the Kiowas.}
"Shall I shoot him in his tracks?" thought Spicer, whose hand was now upon
his gun. "No, I can't shoot a man in my own house whose back is toward me,
but if he draws the bolt of the outside door, or makes a motion to attack
us, he will find me ready."
By this time the savage had reached the corner, and stood silently
listening to see if he had awakened any one. Satisfied that he had not, he
took up his glittering scalping-knife. Mrs. Spicer shuddered as he passed
his fingers across the edge of the blade to assure himself of its keenness.
Already she seemed to feel the cold steel upon her naked flesh. She touched
her husband's hand as if to urge him to shoot. He gave her hand a
reassuring pressure, and grasped his gun, awaiting the Indian's onslaught.
The savage, however, seemed in no haste, and instead of turning toward the
door of the cabin, or the room in which Spicer and his wife lay, he quietly
stole toward the opposite corner of the room. Surprised and puzzled,
Spicer and his wife watched the Indian's mysterious movements, which in
another minute explained themselves.
Reaching the corner where the venison hung, he took it down, and laying it
upon the floor, deftly cut off a piece weighing a pound or two, and then
made his way back to the fire and placed it on the embers. Carefully wiping
his scalping-knife and placing it again with his weapons, he sat down
before the fire, watching his meat cook, and, when it was done to his
satisfaction, he devoured it with much apparent relish, and lay down again
and was soon sleeping the sleep of the weary.
Indians as a rule (especially those around the great fresh-water lakes)
dislike salt and pepper, and Mrs. Spicer had so seasoned the venison she
cooked for her guest that it was unpalatable, and with innate delicacy he
attempted to conceal the fact that it was not done to his liking by
slipping it into his pouch. Both Spicer and his wife knew in an instant
that this was the case, when the Indian, unconscious how near his dislike
for pepper and salt had brought him to death sat down to watch his venison
broil. Their minds at ease, they too, were soon peacefully sleeping.
Afterward, when the Indian, who came season after season to visit Spicer
and his family, learned enough English to speak quite well, he told them
that upon the occasion of his first visit to their cabin he had lost his
trail, and had been guided to their door by the light from the window. He
had left his father, who was too tired to travel farther, in an abandoned
hunting-hut they found in the woods, and had given him his blanket. The
other rifle was his father's, and the next morning he went back to him, and
the two found their trail and went onward to their village.
Every spring and autumn the Indian, who called himself "Heno," which is the
Wyandot for "Thunder," used to call at the cabin of the Spicer's with gifts
of game and skins, and when the settler, upon one of these visits, told him
of the hour of terror he spent watching his movements the first night of
their acquaintance, Heno, who was a merry fellow in spite of his looks,
chuckled softly to himself, the humor of the situation evidently striking
him forcibly.
Heno became very fond of the Spicer children, and upon his visits to their
home they would importune their father to tell again the tale of Heno's
midnight raid upon his venison, the Indian accompanying the narrator with
expressive pantomime, which much delighted himself and his auditors.
V. STORY OF AN HONEST INDIAN.
The inhabitants along the north shore of Lake Superior are nearly all
Indians, who are largely dependent upon the fisheries for their living;
when these fail or are good, so is their general condition. It has been my
good fortune, writes Stanley Du Bois, to spend many summers there.
My custom is to get a large Mackinac boat, the white man's improvement on
the birch bark canoe, to put into it my tent, stores, camping and other
equipment, and, together with a couple of Indians, to sail along the north
shore of the great lake, usually making a new camp every night, not bound
by any hard and fast rule to do so; staying longer if it is agreeable or
too stormy to make sailing safe or pleasant. Sometimes I have to anchor and
ride out a heavy swell, for there are hundreds of miles of shore line where
the rocky cliffs come down to the water's edge, and if there is any surf
there is no such thing as landing from a boat. One evening, having made a
landing, pitched the tent, and had a good supper, while sitting alone, the
Indians busy about the boat hauled up on the narrow beach, a huge dog came
stalking up to me. He was in a pitiable condition. Evidently he had been in
a fight with a bear or lynx, or some other fierce, powerful creature, for
nearly half his scalp had been torn loose from his skull and hung down over
his face, completely blinding one eye. At first I was uncertain how to
act, but I soon saw that he meant no harm, really in dog language he very
plainly gave me to understand that he looked to me for relief. Going into
the tent I got a needle and thread, and together we went down to the
water's edge, where I washed the dirt and vermin out of the great wound,
and then placing the skin back where it belonged sewed it up. The Indians
pricked a quantity of balsam blisters, and after smearing that plentifully
over the edges of the wound, we gave the dog his supper. During the night
he disappeared.
The Indians and myself finished the season according to our pleasure, and
the incident of the dog was fast becoming a fading memory. Two years later,
with these same two Indians, I was again sailing along the north shore of
Lake Superior. Seeing a little wooden pier put out into the water we headed
for it. As soon as we came near, some twenty-five or thirty half-wild,
savage dogs stormed out on the pier and threatened to eat us alive! An
elderly Indian came down from the shore, and with a stout club beat them
mercilessly and drove them to the shore; all except one, who, changing his
bark of anger and defiance to yelps of delight, fawned and whined on me
most unaccountably, and despite blows and commands refused to leave.
"Now I know who fix my dog; come to my house. I too wish to thank you as
well as my dog." That was the greeting I received, and the first I had
heard of the mutilated dog of two years previous.
The house was a log hut of one room only on the ground floor, with a low,
dark loft above; no luxuries and few comforts anywhere. His wife busied
herself to get us something to eat; it didn't take long, and when dinner
was called we sat down to the table. Reverently bowing their heads he asked
God's blessing on what was before us, a broiled whitefish and a bucket of
water, that was all, for the season's fishing so far had been a failure.
The man and children could speak fairly good English, his wife could not
speak it at all. After our meal I gave him a little bag of smoking tobacco.
It was the first he had used for several months, and you can hardly know
how happy he was. Moved by its influence and of gratitude for my care to
his dog, he told me a strange experience that had come into his life. I
have taken the liberty of altering his broken English and idioms into plain
talk, but the facts are just as he told me that beautiful summer day, with
the hum of the wind through the great pine trees over and back of his home,
and the wash of the waves on the rocky shore in front. But for the little
group around that home it was a grand solitude for hundreds of miles in
every direction. This is his story:
"Some thirty years ago there came to my cabin a young Englishman, not a
hunter or a fisherman, but one who would sit for hours at a time on that
old bent tree yonder, and make the strangest and sweetest music I ever
heard. I never saw an instrument like his. He made me forget myself, and
sometimes when he would play I would cry just like a dog. Then he would put
that aside and go off into the woods alone, taking with him a stranger and
even more curious instrument. What he was trying to do I do not know, but
he looked into it, and then made marks in a book. I said he went alone, but
that is hardly true; no white man went with him, only one of my little
boys. They are men grown now, and have families of their own. One day a
sailboat came to my little pier, and a gentleman called out, 'Hello Baker!
you must go back with me right away,' and after a few minutes' talk he
called out to me, 'I am going away, but will be back again. Keep what is
mine till I return,' and they sailed away.
"That was more than thirty years ago, and he has not returned yet. If you
care to see what he left with me I will show it to you."
We went back into the cabin, and his wife climbed into the loft overhead
and passed down a violin case, a theodolite, and a small, silver-trimmed
leather grip. Opening the case he took out as fine a violin as it has ever
been my pleasure to handle. There was no name of maker or owner on it. The
strings were loose, but after tuning it up as best I could after so long a
time out of use, I found it had a marvelously pure, sweet, strong tone. The
theodolite was of London make, and had seen much hard usage, but was in
good condition. Opening the grip, which was not locked, we took out and
laid on the table a surveyor's memorandum book, a few pencils, a silver
telescopic pen holder with a gold pen in its end, and an intaglio seal cut
in a red stone in the other end, the letter B, some postage stamps, some
sheets of paper and envelopes, and a small copy of Shakespeare's plays.
Turning to the fly leaf of the book I read the name in pencil, "S. Baker."
"This is not all," said the Indian to his wife, and she went up to the loft
again and brought down a canvas bag. It would have held about a quart.
Untying the string which closed it, he turned the contents out on the
table, gold and silver coins. We counted it. Sixty-two sovereigns and a few
small pieces of silver, all English money.
To say that I was amazed but mildly expressed my thoughts at the time. Here
was an Indian family, poor as poverty, yet with over three hundred dollars
in gold for years in their cabin, and knowing its purchasing power
perfectly well all the time. I asked him why he did not use it to buy
necessities at such a time as this. He gave me a look of mingled sorrow and
wonder that I would so much as suggest such a thing, and said that these
things were left with him for safe keeping, and that he would sooner starve
than betray his trust. They were starving then, and it was not the first
time so either. I tried to persuade him to use it, but he said "No," and
put it all back into the bag, and everything belonging to the young
stranger was taken up and put away in the loft.
The next day I went away. My summer trips took me elsewhere for several
years, but this past summer I was back to the north shore of Lake Superior
again. Having a mind to look up my old Indian friend, I went to the place
where we had parted company, but the little pier was wholly gone. We made
a landing and soon came upon the ruins of the house. The roof had fallen in
and the walls were partly rotted down. The little garden patch was a tangle
of briers and weeds; desolation reigned everywhere.
A couple of days later, still sailing along the shore, we came in sight of
a long, strong, handsome pier, with a tall flag staff on its outer end.
Back of it, about a hundred yards up the shore, was a tiny Indian village
of maybe two hundred souls. Landing at the dock, a handsome young man
greeted me and called me by name. He was a grandson of my old Indian
friend. I immediately asked him of his grandfather.
"Come and see where we have laid him," was his answer; and taking me by the
hand he led me to a beautiful little grassy plot, surrounded with a neat
white paling fence. There, beside the wife of his youth, who had shared
with him his privations, his joys and his sorrows, there his children had
reverently laid him away.
We then went to the home of the young Indian. He had a neat
story-and-a-half house, nearly covered with trailing vines. It was well
furnished, a cabinet organ, a sewing machine, some books and pictures, a
gasoline stove, carpets, curtains and other furniture of civilization. He
was a prosperous lumberman, and a full-blooded Indian.
I asked him regarding the violin, theodolite, books, money, etc. The money
had been used after his grandfather's death, the other articles he has in
his possession now.
Going back as well as we could we came to the conclusion that they
originally belonged to the man who afterward became Sir Samuel Baker, but
we could not be certain. Of this we are sure, that the keeping of the money
and other valuables so many years was a rare example of fidelity. And the
strangest part of it all is, that my knowledge of it, and yours, should
come about through kindness to a dog in distress. I have had considerable
experience with Indians, from the far North of our land to South America,
from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Times without number have I trusted my
person and valuables to them, and in not a single instance was the
confidence misplaced.
VI. "GO!" A STORY OF RED CLOUD.
The new El Dorado was in sight, writes Calkins. Gordon's party of twelve
tired frontiersmen had mounted the high divide which separates the sources
of the Running Water from those of the Cheyenne. For five weeks the men had
shoveled drifts, buffeted blizzards and kept a constant vigil among the
interminable sand-hills. By means, too, of stable canvas, shovels, axes,
iron picket-pins and a modicum of dry feed, they had kept in good condition
the splendid eight-mule team which drew their big freighter.
In fact "Gordon's outfit" was a model one in every respect, and probably no
similar body of men ever faced our snow-bound, trackless plains, better
equipped for the adventure. And now the muffled marchers cheered as "Cap"
Gordon halted them and pointed to a blurred and inky upheaval upon the far
rim of a limitless waste of white. The famous Black Hills, a veritable
wonderland, unseen hitherto by any party of whites save the men of Custer's
expedition, lay before them.
Two more days and the gold-seekers would gain the shelter of those
pine-covered hills, where their merry axes would "eat chips" until shelter,
comfort and safety from attack were secured. Out of the bitter cold, after
weeks of toil and danger, into warmth and safety--no wonder they were glad.
As yet they had seen no sign of the hostile Sioux, but their frosty cheers,
thin and piping, had hardly been borne away by the cutting wind when a
moving black speck appeared on the western horizon.
The speck drew nearer, and resolved itself into a solitary horseman. Could
it be that a single Sioux would approach a party of their strength? They
watched the rider without anxiety. They were so near the goal now that no
war party of sufficient strength to become a menace was likely to be
gathered. They were equipped with an arsenal of modern guns, with fifty
thousand rounds of ammunition, and had boasted they were "good to stand off
three hundred Sioux."
Nearer and nearer drew the horseman, his pony coming on in rabbit-like
jumps to clear the drifts. Speculation ceased. It was an Indian--probably a
hunter strayed far from his village, half-starved and coming to beg for
food. Well, the poor wretch should have frozen bread and meat, as much as
he could eat they could not stop to give him better fare.
It was as cold as Greenland. The bundled driver upon the great wagon
slapped his single line, and yelled at the plodding mules. Eleven
buffalo-coated, fur-encased men with feet clad in snow-packs, marched at
the tail of the freighter. In such weather their cold "shooting-irons" were
left in the wagon, nor did they deem it necessary now to get them out.
They were prepared for a begging Indian, but the apparition which finally
rode in upon the monotony of the long march seemed to them a figure as
farcical as savage. As the Sioux horseman confronted them he lowered his
blanket, uncovering his solemn, barbarian face, and stretching out one long
arm, pointed them back upon their trail. "Go!" he said, and he repeated
the command with fierce insistence.
The freight wagon rattled on, but the footmen halted for a moment to laugh.
{Illustration: Kiowa Annie, noted Indian beauty.}
The Indian stretched his lean arm and shouted, "Go!" still more savagely.
It was immensely funny. Gordon's men jeered the solitary autocrat, and
laughed until their icicled beards pulled. They bade him get into a drift
and cool off; asked him if his mother knew he was out, and whether his feet
were sore, and if it hurt him much to talk, and if he hadn't a brother who
could chin-chin _washitado?_
His sole answer to their jeering, as he rode along side, was "Go! go! go!"
repeated with savage emphasis and a flourish of his arm to southward.
The footmen were plodding a dozen rods in the rear of their freight wagon,
and still laughing frostily at this queer specimen of "Injun," when the
savage spurred his pony forward. A few quick leaps carried him up to the
toiling eight-mule team. His blanket dropped around his hips, and a
repeating carbine rose to his face. Both wheelers dropped at the first
shot, killed by a single ounce slug. A rapid fusillade of shots was
distributed among the struggling mules, and then the Sioux was off, shaking
his gun and yelling defiance, his pony going in zigzag leaps and like the
wind.
Men ran tumbling over each other to get into the wagon and at their guns.
The teamster and two or three others, who, despite the cold, carried
revolvers under their great coats, jerked their mittens and fumbled with
stiff fingers for their weapons. They had not been nerved up with
excitement, like the Sioux, and before they could bring their guns to bear,
the savage was well out upon the prairie.
And when these men tried, with rifle or revolver, to shoot at the swiftly
moving erratic mark presented by the cunning Sioux and his rabbit-like
pony, the cutting wind numbed their fingers and filled their eyes with
water, the glistening snow obscured their front sights, and they pelted a
white waste harmlessly with bullets.
The anger which raged in them when they knew the Sioux had escaped
Scot-free was something frightful. Six mules of the splendid eight lay
weltering in blood; another was disabled, and only one had come off without
hurt. Half the counties of northwestern Iowa had been scoured to get
together "Gordon's Pride," as this fine freight-team had been named before
the party left Sioux City.
The blight of their hopeful expedition, the frightful peril of their
situation, were lost sight of in the absorbing desire for revenge which
burned in every man of them as they gazed upon the stricken, stiffening
heap of animals. All were for giving chase immediately. They believed they
could easily overtake the Sioux among the drifts of the lower lands, where
creeks and snow-filled ravines must cause him to shift his course
continually.
"Boys," said Gordon, when some of them had hastily begun to strip for the
chase, "boys, this is my particular affair. You make camp and fix it for
fightin'. I'll either get that Sioux, or he'll fetch his tribe back an' get
us."
Cy Gordon was their captain. He had been a hay and wood contractor for many
years in the Sioux country, and his word was law to this little band.
There was no need to argue that no man could have even guessed at the
daring and disaster they had looked upon. The performance had been too
appallingly simple and easy. It had come as unexpectedly as the flood of a
cloudburst or the bursting of a gun.
While his men stood vengefully watching the flying Sioux, Gordon stripped
himself of superfluous wrappings, stocked his pockets with frozen bread and
cartridges, slipped on a pair of snowshoes kept for emergency, tightened
his belt, and launched himself in pursuit.
Horse and rider were again no more than a speck upon the vast snowfield.
Gordon, with an "express" rifle under his arm, took the long, swinging
stride of the accomplished snowshoer. In an hour the speck upon the snow
had not grown smaller.
At high noon, by the sun, upon a broad flat where tall grass held the snow,
Gordon came almost within bullet range of the Sioux. An hour later, among
a tangle of drifted ravines, there was an exchange of shots, and the
Sioux's pony dropped in its tracks. The Indian dodged out of sight, and
Gordon pushed wearily on with a grin of hate under his icicles.
He took up the Sioux tracks, and noted with satisfaction that the Indian's
moccasined feet punched through the light crust at every other step. In
just a little while!
But he followed an hour or more among a seemingly interminable tangle of
gullies without catching a glimpse of the wary dodger. Then he emerged into
a wider valley, to find that the artful rascal had escaped out of range and
out of sight upon a wind-swept stretch of river ice.
Gordon ground his teeth and swept over the smooth surface, sweating,
despite the sharp cold, from fierce exertion. At a turn in the river he saw
the Sioux; but there were others, more than a score of them, mounted and
approaching the runner. The mule-killer's camp or town was close at hand.
Exhausted from his long run, Gordon, in his own language, "threw up the
sponge." He hastily sought the cover of river-drifts, and scooped himself a
kind of rifle-pit. Then, with a pile of cartridges between his knees and
slapping his hands to keep his fingers ready for action, he waited, meaning
to do what execution he could before the end.
There was considerable parley among the Sioux, and then only a single
Indian advanced toward the white man. This one came on foot within gunshot,
then stopped and shook his blanket in token that he wanted to approach and
talk.
Gordon laughed. The situation seemed to him grimly humorous. He motioned to
the Indian to come on, and kept him well covered with his rifle. A moment
later, however, he lowered his gun.
Whatever fate awaited Gordon, he knew that he stood in no danger of a
treacherous stroke from the approaching Sioux. It was the chief, Red Cloud.
Gordon arose, and the chief came forward with a hand out-stretched. "My
young man has killed your mules," was Red Cloud's greeting in the Sioux
Tongue.
Gordon understood. "Yes," he said, "and I will not take your hand until you
have done right."
The grave old chief drew his blanket about his shoulders with a shrug.
"Now listen," he said. "If one of your soldiers had approached a party of
my soldiers and had killed all their horses, and so crippled them and
escaped, your people would have made him a big captain. It is so. My young
man is very brave. He did as he was told. You can not come here and take my
country--not yet. I have watched your advance and complained to your
soldiers at White River. When I saw they did not go out and catch you as
our Great Father has said they should do, I sent my young man to stop you.
You will find your soldiers at the three forks of White River. Now go!"
And without another word, Red Cloud turned upon his heel and stalked away.
This time Gordon was glad enough to obey the injunction to "go." Three days
later his little party filed in at the military camp on White River, and
when, some time afterward, their boxes of freight had been recovered, not
so much as a blanket or a pound of sugar had been taken by Red Cloud's
Sioux.
VII. McDOUGAL AND HIS KIND INDIAN NEIGHBOR.
One James McDougal, a native of Argyleshire, having emigrated to upper
Canada, from anxiety to make the most of his scanty capital, purchased a
location where the price of land was merely nominal, in a country sparsely
settled, and on the extreme verge of civilization. His first care was to
construct a log house in which to live, and a barn for his few domestic
animals, consisting of cattle, sheep and hogs. This task finished, he
busily employed himself in bringing a few acres of ground under
cultivation, and, though his task was hard and slow, yet he became in a
rough way fairly comfortable, as compared with the poverty he had left
behind.
His greatest discomforts were distance from his neighbors, the church, the
markets and even the mill; and along with these the suspension of those
endearing charities, and friendly offices, which lend such a charm to
social life.
On one occasion, Mr. McDougal found it necessary to take a sack of grain to
the nearest mill, about fifteen miles distant, over a rough country. He got
an early start, hoping to make the journey and return by sunset of the same
day. In his absence, the care of the cattle devolved on his wife, and as
they did not come up to the barn as usual at the close of day the careful
matron went in quest of them.
Beyond the mere outskirts of the cleared land there was a forest, which to
her, unpracticed in woodcraft, became a _terra incognita;_ tall trees arose
on every side--"a boundless contiguity of shade"--and with neither compass
nor notched trees to guide her, it is not surprising that she soon found
herself completely lost. Having wandered aimlessly until almost exhausted
and completely discouraged, she dropped down by a large tree and wept
bitterly.
At this moment the noise of approaching footsteps was heard. Her heart
almost ceased beating with terror, for she knew that fierce wild beasts
roamed through that forest. It proved to be neither bear nor panther, but
what has been designated as "The still wilder Red Man of the Forest." An
Indian hunter stood before her, a veritable "stoic of the woods, a man
without fear."
Mrs. McDougal knew that Indians lived at no great distance, but as she had
never seen a member of the tribe, her emotions were those of terror,
quickening every pulse and yet paralyzing every limb. The Indian's views
were more comprehensive; he had observed her, without being observed
himself. He recognized her person, knew her home, comprehended her mishap,
divined her errand and immediately beckoned her to follow him. The
unfortunate woman understood his signal, and obeyed it, as far as terror
left her power; and after a lengthened walk, which added not a little to
her previous fatigue, they arrived at the door of an Indian wigwam.
Her conductor, by signs, invited her to enter; but this she persistently
refused to do, dreading the consequence, preferring death in the open air
to the tender mercies of cannibals within. Perceiving her reluctance, and
surmising her feelings, the hospitable Indian rushed into his wigwam and
held a hasty consultation with his wife, who, in a few minutes, also
appeared, and, by certain signs and sympathies known only to females,
calmed the stranger's fears, and induced her to enter their lowly abode.
Venison was instantly prepared for supper, and Mrs. McDougal, though still
alarmed at the strangeness of her situation, found the food well cooked,
and, in her hungry condition, delicious. Aware that their guest was weary,
the Indians stretched two deerskins across the wigwam, thus dividing it
into two apartments. Mats and soft furs were then spread upon the floor of
each, and the visitor was given to understand that the further room from
the entrance was for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed
her, and to the most pressing entreaties she replied by signs, as well as
she could, that she would prefer to sit and sleep by the fire. This
determination seemed to puzzle the two entertainers sadly, often they
looked at each other and conversed softly in their own language, and, at
last, the red took the white woman by the hand, led her to her couch and
became her bedfellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and
anxious to depart, without further delay--but her host and hostess would on
no account permit it. Breakfast was prepared--another savory and
well-cooked meal--and then the Indian conducted his guest to the very spot
where the cattle were grazing. These he kindly drove from the woods, on the
verge of which Mrs. McDougal saw her husband running about everywhere,
hallooing and seeking for her in a state of mind bordering on distraction.
Great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her Indian benefactor, who
was invited to the house and treated to the best the larder afforded, and
presented on his departure with a suit of clothes.
Some time after this the Indian returned and endeavored to induce Mr.
McDougal to follow him into the forest. But this invitation was positively
declined--and the poor savage went on his way obviously grieved and
disappointed. But again he returned and renewed his entreaties, yet without
effect. At last he hit upon an expedient, which none save an Indian hunter
would have thought of.
The McDougals had a nursling in the crib only a few months old, a fact the
Indian failed not to observe. So, after his pantomimic eloquence availed
nothing, he approached the crib, seized the child, wrapped a blanket around
it, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The alarmed
parents instantly followed (as he knew they would) supplicating and
beseeching at the top of their voices. But the Indian's resolves were as
fixed as fate--and away he went, slow enough to encourage his pursuers, but
still in the lead by a good many paces. The Indian was in no hurry, only
aiming to keep out of the reach of McDougal's arms, and glancing back now
and then to see that his pursuers were still following. The parents
noticed, too, that the Indian carried the babe very gently and took pains
to keep the blanket carefully wrapped around it. They now realized that he
meant no harm to the child, but they were still puzzled to know what he did
mean. After traveling in this manner several miles the savage stopped
abruptly on the margin of a most beautiful little prairie, teaming with the
richest vegetation and comprising several thousand acres of choice land.
When McDougal and his wife reached the Indian, he quietly restored the babe
to its mother, and spreading both hands toward the little paradise, he
uttered the only English word he had acquired, which was, "look!"
The shrewd Scotchman did look with astonishment and delight, and the more
he examined it the better he liked the prospect. He found the soil to be of
the best quality of black prairie loam, which would need but the tickle of
the plowshare to make it laugh with the golden harvest. As McDougal had
sufficient cattle to break it, he could begin farming operations at once
without the slow, laborious process of cleaning up forest. Moreover a good
sized stream gushed out of a near-by cliff, affording abundance of never
failing water for flocks and herds, and a fine mill site. It was one of the
most beautiful and fertile spots in all Canada, and the white man
immediately saw the propriety of the advice given by the untutored one.
By a sort of tacit agreement, a day was fixed for the removal of the
materials of our countryman's cabin, goods and chattels; and the Indian
friend, true to his word, brought a detachment of his village to assist in
one of the most romantic "flittings" ever undertaken. In a few days a roomy
log house was erected near the headwaters of the beautiful little stream,
just in the edge of the prairie, with a forest on the north for a
windbrake. A garden was enclosed, and preparations made to break the virgin
prairie.