feathers and beads and bits of porcupine quill. They put leggins on his
legs and moccasins on his feet, and, seating him upon a bear-skin, gave
him flint and steel to strike a light with; then a pouch, a tomahawk,
some tobacco, and a long pipe. Then the chiefs seated themselves beside
him, and smoked in silence. Tom knew well enough that he was expected to
smoke too, and filled and lit his pipe accordingly, never dreaming of
the consequences. Old as he was, nearly twenty, this was his "first
smoke," and very soon the poor fellow found himself growing deadly sick.
He could feel the cold chills creeping one after another into his very
face. Finally, something within him seemed to turn somersaults, when,
yielding to a sudden impulse, he flung the pipe upon the ground, and
rushed into the recesses of the wigwam, where he usually slept. This
the Indians, who attach an almost sacred importance to the pipe, took as
a great affront; and only when Tom afterward, by the most earnest
gestures, explained to them the real cause of his conduct, did they
allow their injured feelings to be pacified; though it cut him sorely to
notice the expressions of contempt, and ridicule that were soon lavished
upon him. Whether this proof of what seemed in Indian opinion a want of
manliness had anything to do with their conduct or not, I cannot say,
but certain it is that no further ceremonies towards making him a
red-man were performed though he was allowed to wear his Indian costume.
Neither did they allow him to hunt with them, as he had hoped. Whenever
they went forth to shoot the bison or deer, or to trap the beavers, or
wage war with hostile tribes, they always left him with the squaws, the
old men, and the warriors who remained at home to take charge of the
settlement.
Rudolph and Kitty were sorely frightened when they first saw the strange
figure, "half Indian, half Tom," as Rudolph afterward described him,
stalk into Ka-te-qua's wigwam. His bald head and painted body struck
poor Kitty with dismay. When he spoke soothingly to her, and gave her a
handful of bright feathers, she ventured to approach him, though she
cried pitifully all the time for Tom, dear, big Tom, who knew papa and
mamma, and Bessie and Bouncer.
Neither Kitty nor Rudolph had forgotten the brave dog through all these
days of absence, and they loved to hold long conversations with Tom
about him; though the little creatures oftener talked of their parents
and Bessie, as they lay at night upon their beds of dried grass.
[Footnote 2: See American Adventure by Land and Sea. Harper Bros. 1842.]
[Footnote 3: _Wampum_. Beads made of shells, used by North American
Indians as money, the shells run on strings, and are wrought into belts
and ornaments.]
VIII.
BOUNCER'S WORK.
There was another person in the settlement besides the captives, who was
not likely to forget Bouncer very soon. This was an Indian who, wounded
and exhausted, had reached the settlement four days after the arrival of
the prisoners. He had an ugly mark upon his throat, and another on his
chest, and he sulked aside from the rest of his tribe as though he felt
that his wounds were ignoble, and a dishonor to his Indian birth. It was
his blood that Farmer Hedden had seen on that fearful night; and when
more than once the agonized father had listened to what seemed to be the
tread of some skulking wolf, he had heard this very Indian, who, half
dead with pain and loss of blood, was dragging himself slowly through
the depths of the forest.
This discomfited warrior had looked upon Tom and the two little
pale-faces with dislike, from the hour when he first saw them as
prisoners in the encampment. They were constant reminders to him of his
mortifying struggle with the dog. He felt it all the more because,
though his jacket and leggings were trimmed with the scalps of his
enemies, he had lately been forced to receive charity from the white
man's hand, This was when, starving and nearly frozen, he had fallen
helpless in the forest, after an unlucky trapping excursion; a settler
had found him there, given him food and drink and sent him on his way
with a bountiful supply of provisions.
Big Tom saw the dark looks of this Indian, and regarded him with
suspicion; but little Kitty was quite unconscious of the resentful
feelings of "the sick man," as she called him. In fact, as soon as she
grew more familiar with the Indians, she often sought him in preference
to the rest, and loved to sit upon the ground beside him, and trace
with her tiny fingers the patterns worked upon his leggings and
moccasins.
At first the grim warrior repulsed these familiarities; but when, as he
began to mingle with his tribe, he heard her sweet voice calling him by
name, and saw her day after day display her store of beads and feathers
at his feet, his feelings gradually softened. Before long he ceased to
scowl upon her when she lifted her sunny face to his, and, on rare
occasions, he even allowed her to count his arrows.
Once, when Rudolph had shot a wild turkey, he rushed to Ka-te-qua's
wigwam with his prize, for he had learned to love the strange old squaw,
though he feared her, too, sometimes. Kitty clapped her hands with
delight at her brother's skill, and begged him to go with her and show
the dead bird to her favorite Indian.
"Come, Rudolph; come show 'Nokah,'" she pleaded, pulling the young
hunter by the arm. "Come twick! he goin' away."
Rudolph suffered himself to be led. They found Po-no-kah standing alone
by a tree, fully equipped for the hunt.
He looked at the turkey and gave a grunt, not particularly flattering to
Rudolph's vanity.
"I've shot THREE!" said the boy, holding up three fingers to make his
meaning clearer.
"Ugh!" grunted the savage again. "Paleface no shoot much."
"But I'm growing," persisted Rudolph. "When I'm big, I'm going to shoot
bears and bison. Did you kill the bears to get all these claws?" he
added, pointing up to Po-no-kah's necklace, which was formed entirely of
huge bear-claws, strung through the thickest end.
"Ugh," replied the Indian, nodding his plumed head, "me shoot him."
"And these scalps," said Rudolph, shuddering as he pointed to the fringe
of human hair hanging from the buckskin leggings; "did _you_ get all
these?"
"Ugh," he answered grimly, nodding the plumes again.
"You are bad, then," exclaimed Rudolph, looking fearlessly into
Po-no-kah's eyes. "I know _you_," he added suddenly, after gazing at him
intently for an instant. "Father brought you into our kitchen last
winter, and I ran behind the door. Mother gave you meat and hot drink,
and father warmed you and gave you a bag of potatoes. Oh!" he continued,
clasping Po-no-kah's knee, "_you_ know where our home is. Nearly every
night I dream that mother is calling us. Show me the way, please do.
Ka-te-qua says there are dreadful things in the forest that will eat me
up, but I am not afraid. Oh, do tell us the way home!"
The Indian gave a sharp look at the sobbing boy, and seemed in part to
understand his words. Stooping, he whispered in a stern tone: "No speak;
no tell Ka-te-qua;"--and without one glance of encouragement, he stalked
away to the spot where the other Indians had assembled, preparing for
the hunt.
The children saw him no more for weeks. Rudolph remembered his parting
words, and though he could not fully understand Po-no-kah's motive, he
faithfully obeyed his command. Not even to Tom did he relate what had
occurred.
IX.
INDIAN LIFE.
Rudolph and Kitty learned many things from the Indians that they never
would have studied in the rough school-house near their pretty home; and
they soon became familiar with many singular customs that at first
filled them with wonder.
For instance: when they, or any of the little papooses, were naughty or
disobedient, they were put under what might be called the water-cure
treatment. Instead of being whipped or locked up in a dark pantry--as
was, I am sorry to say, the custom among some white people--they were
simply "ducked" under water until they became manageable. Winter or
summer, it was all the same. A bad child would very soon become a wet
child, if there were any water within a mile.
There are bright sides, as well as dark, to the Indian character; and in
considering their cruelties and inhuman practices, we must remember that
the white man has not always been just to him or set a good example to
his uncivilized brother, or been careful not to provoke him to deeds of
resentment and wrong. An Indian rarely forgets a kindness, and he never
tells a lie. He is heroic, and deems it beneath a man's dignity to
exhibit the slightest sign of pain under any circumstances. Among the
Sioux tribe of that time, the boys were trained from the first to bear
as much hardship as possible. They had a ceremony called the Straw
Dance, in which children were forced to maintain a stately and measured
step, while bunches of loose straws tied to their naked bodies were
lighted and allowed to burn slowly away. Any poor little creature who
flinched or "broke step" was sorely punished and held in disgrace.
There were certain dances among the Indians performed by the warriors,
before going either to battle or to the hunt. If to battle, they spent
hours, and often whole days and nights together, in the fearful
war-dance, accompanied by clashing on their drumlike instruments, and
whoops that rang long and loud amid the echoing hills. If to the hunt,
the Bear-Dance or the Buffalo-Dance was kept up nights and days before
starting, in order to propitiate the Bear Spirit or Buffalo Spirit,
whichever it might be. They had a funeral dance also, which was very
solemn and impressive. And if a chieftain was to be buried, either in
the river, or, as among the Mandans, on a rough platform erected on
poles high up from the ground, the warriors danced before his wigwam,
and assigned to a few of their number the duty of seeing that his widow
and children, if he left any, should never be without food and shelter.
Kitty and Rudolph often looked on with, mingled feelings of terror and
delight, while some of these strange ceremonies were being enacted. It
was curious to see the stalwart warriors, with bent backs and glum
faces, and many a grunt or whoop, stamp through the measured dance.
Often Kitty would clutch her brother's arm in terror, when, in strange
concert, the savages would suddenly halt, and with fiendish look and
stealthy gesture, seem to be listening to the approach of an enemy.
Sometimes, too, the women danced, but always apart from the men. Even in
their games the warriors and squaws never played together. Among the
Crow Indians, famous for their long black hair, it was not uncommon for
a thousand young men to play in one game of ball for three or four
consecutive days without interruption. As soon as one player retired,
exhausted, another took his place. Often hundreds of women played
together, and they were generally as expert as the men in throwing and
catching the ball.
Another strange feature among Indian customs, was the importance
attached to the _medicine-bag_. Every warrior had one, and would no
sooner hunt, or go to battle, or appear among his tribe without it, than
he would neglect to wear his bow or his scalping-knife. Not that the bag
contained any medicine, such as we understand by the word--for it was
nothing but a small piece of skin sewed like a bag, curiously
ornamented, and stuffed with straw or leaves--but because he regarded it
as a _charm_. With him, "medicine" meant some mysterious power that
would protect and guide him, and propitiate the unseen powers in his
favor. When about to obtain his medicine, the young Indian went alone to
some solitary river or lake in the depths of the forest, or mounted to
some lonely peak. Here he fasted, and remained until, sleeping, he
dreamed. The first animal he dreamed about, whether it were a bear,
buffalo, deer, weasel, or bird or reptile of any kind, became his
"medicine" forever. He at once hunted until he found one, and obtained
its skin for a bag.
Rudolph and Kitty looked with awe upon many of the rare medicine-bags of
the tribe, though they were never on any account allowed to touch them.
Indeed, Kitty had managed to make a rough little one for Rudolph, dotted
with clumps of beads, and he wore it next his heart with secret pride.
The little fellow had once, while tramping through the forest with
Katequa, seen a number of deer gathered around a spring, or salt-lick,
as it is called, and had quivered with frightened delight to see the
finest one fall wounded by her arrow. When the large eyes of the wounded
creature had turned plaintively toward him, he had tried not to feel
sorry, but his heart ached in spite of his efforts,
"I shall be a mighty hunter one of these days," he said to Kitty on his
return; "but I won't shoot deer, for they look at you just as if they
wanted to speak. I'll get bears though, lots of 'em, and buffalo; and
I'll have a fine trap when I get home, and catch badgers and foxes, just
as the Indians do."
Tom and Rudolph saw with indignation that, throughout the village, the
labor and drudgery were forced upon the squaws, while the warriors
stretched themselves lazily upon the ground, or smoked their pipes under
the spreading trees. As for Kitty, she was too busy watching the women
cook, dig, chop, and carry, to make any moral reflections.
She loved, also, to sit beside them when they prepared the skins brought
in from the hunt, or while they were busy with their curious sewing, so
different from that with which she had seen her mother occupied.
Bright-colored rags, feathers, beads, porcupine-quills, and even scraps
of tin, were the ornaments upon which the squaws relied to make the
toilets of their tribe "stylish" and beautiful; and Kitty--tiny little
woman that she was--soon grew to agree with them perfectly in matters of
taste.
To be sure, the Indian women never did anything quite so barbarous as to
put their little girls' feet into narrow shoes with high heels, nor
fasten tight belts about their waists, so that the God-given machinery
within could hardly work. But they did many preposterous things, for all
that. They painted their bodies and tattooed their skins, by pricking
figures on the flesh and rubbing in some staining juice when the blood
appeared. They even pierced their noses so that bright rings could
dangle from them. Many, too, hung bits of metal from their ears in a
similar way--but that may not strike my civilized readers as being a
very barbarous custom.
X.
KA-TE-QUA'S "GOOD NIGHT."
Thus weeks and months passed away, not so wearily to the prisoners, as
to the poor, sorrowing hearts that mourned for them at home. Tom's brain
was always busy in planning some mode of escape for himself and his
little charges. But, as he was still closely guarded, never being left
alone for an instant, night or day, and as the children slept in the
wigwam of Ka-te-qua, whose eyes seemed never intended to close, he
concluded to wait patiently rather than to risk the lives of all three
by an unsuccessful attempt.
Meantime, Ka-te-qua's strong arms grew feeble, her arrow became less
fatal in its aim, and her strange fits of moodiness filled Rudolph and
Kitty with dread.
For hours she would sit at the entrance of her wigwam, chanting
mournfully in the Indian tongue. At such times she would compel the
children to remain within,--becoming frantic with crazy rage should they
attempt to force past her into the pleasant sunshine; and they would sit
together in the shadow, hoping that by some whim she would walk away, or
that the long, long chant would cease. One afternoon she kept them
waiting in this way for hours. The sun sank lower and lower into the
distant prairie, and the crimson clouds faded to a dull gray. Rudolph
and Kitty sat listening to the wailing tones of Ka-te-qua's voice until,
as the evening grew dark and chilly, they found for themselves a scanty
supper of parched corn, and after whispering their simple prayer, groped
their way to bed.
The strange old creature ceased singing after a while, and entered the
wigwam. They could distinguish her form as she slowly moved about,
before throwing herself down near the entrance to indulge in her usual
cat-like sleep. Afraid to speak to her, for they were not quite sure in
what mood she might be, they watched her movements as well as they
could, and at last felt sure that she was tottering slowly toward them.
Kitty clasped Rudolph's neck more tightly, and broke into a frightened
sob. In an instant, they felt her hand steal very gently over their
tumbled curls.
"Night! night!" she whispered softly.
"Good-night, Ka-te-qua," they answered in a breath, for their fear was
all gone now.
"Night, night," repeated the voice, as kindly as their own mother could
have said it, and after giving each a caressing stroke, their old friend
moved softly away.
Very early the next morning the children were awakened by a buzzing of
many voices. Ka-te-qua had been found lying stiff and cold at the
entrance of her wigwam. Not a trace of injury of any kind was upon her.
The Indians, crowding round, shook their heads gravely. Ka-te-qua was
wise, they said, but Manitou had sent for her. She had gone to the happy
Hunting Grounds of her fathers.
XI.
FIRE-WATER BECOMES MASTER.
After a long absence, the hunting party returned. As soon as Po-no-kah's
stalwart form appeared in sight, Rudolph and Kitty rushed, with a cry of
joy, to meet him; but, to their great dismay, he pushed them away with a
frown and a grunt that told them plainly that they were to be familiar
with him no more. Poor children!--Ka-te-qua gone, Po-no-kah changed, and
Tom scarcely heeding them,--they felt friendless indeed. Kind words they
never heard now, and kind looks rarely, except when Tom threw them a
hasty glance that warmed their hearts, though they scarcely knew why.
They did not know how his feelings yearned towards them, nor how eagerly
he would have joined in all their simple pursuits, had he dared to do
so; but the poor fellow had discovered that any notice he took of the
children aroused suspicion, and he therefore concluded to pursue a
prudent course.
In the meantime the children had one great joy. Their love for each
other was always the same. Kitty trusted in the belief that "mammy"
would send for them; but Rudolph looked ever up to the Great Love that
he knew was watching over them and the dear ones at home.
"If it's _right_, Kitty," he would whisper, "I _know_ we'll go home one
of these days. Don't be afraid. God will take care of us."
"But Dod took Te-qua away," Kitty would sometimes say.
"Yes, I know He did, Kitty," and Rudolph's eyes would look sadly up to
the blue sky, "I know He did, but then I think she was tired and wanted
to go."
Summer, autumn, and winter had passed away, and now came the season when
the Indians carried their largest supply of furs and skins to sell in
the city far over the prairies. Often, after their hunts, they had met
with traders, and exchanged the skins they had taken for such articles
as the white man had to give--guns, blankets, knives, powder, pipes, and
fire-water;[4] but this was the grand trading excursion of the year.
When the party returned, after a few weeks' absence, they brought with
them among other things, a keg of whisky. After the first welcome was
over, the savages held a council.
It was soon evident that a fearful scene was to be enacted. The
prisoners had seen something of the kind before, but never on so large a
scale as this.
The Indians had decided to hold a revel, in which nearly all the men
were to drink fire-water until they could take no more.
Even these savages knew the horrible consequences of parting with their
wits in this manner. Before the drinking commenced, they appointed a few
able-bodied Indians who were to remain sober and take care of the rest.
They then deprived themselves of all their dangerous weapons--tomahawks,
clubs, guns, arrows, and knives, and prepared for their fearful riot.
The scene that followed need not be described.
Soon the confusion became fearful. The few sober chiefs were constantly
risking their lives in their efforts to prevent mischief. Squaws were
screaming, and frightened children were hiding in every direction.
Tom, who was half forgotten in the general excitement, saw Po-no-kah
whisper hurriedly to one of the women. In a moment she caught Rudolph
and Kitty by their hands and stole cautiously with them into the forest.
Tom's suspicions were aroused. He started up only to feel a strong arm
force him back to the log upon which he had been seated.
"No move!" muttered a voice, close by his ear. "Soon come.--Be very
drunk."
In a few moments, while the tumult and uproar were at their height, Tom
saw Po-no-kah reeling toward the forest.
Wondering what the fellow meant to do, yet filled with a wild hope, Tom
watched his chance, staggered past the rioters, and managed to follow
the warrior by another path, without creating any suspicion.
When, at last, they met, Po-no-kah had Rudolph and Kitty in his arms,
and, staggering no more, was hurrying through the forest, armed with
bow, quiver, and traveling pouch. The astonished prisoner, after taking
Kitty from his companion's arms, followed him in silence. Not for hours
did Po-no-kah look back or speak, and then it was but to say a few
broken words:
"Po-no-kah was hungry. The father of the little pale-faces fed him.
Po-no-kah no snake--he remember--Po-no-kah take 'em home."
[Footnote 4: Brandy, rum, and all alcoholic liquors.]
XII.
SHOWING HOW THE BAG OF POTATOES CAME BACK AGAIN.
Farmer Hedden was busily at work in the fields, looking ten years older
than on that sunny day, nearly a year before, when he had shouted a
laughing "good-bye" to Tom and the little ones.
Bessie was trudging alone from school, wondering why the birds sang less
sweetly than they did the May before, and wishing that the noble dog
that bounded by her side looked a little more like the first Bouncer.
Mrs. Hedden sat with her brother in the lonely cottage, talking on the
old, old theme; the memory of that terrible night had never left her
heart.
"No, no, Robert," she said at length, in reply to some appeal from her
brother, "we must not go. I know it would be better for us to sell out
and go to Philadelphia. But it cannot be; we must never leave this
spot."
"Surely, Betsy," urged her brother, "you cannot be so wild as to
suppose--"
"No!" she interrupted, "I never dare even hope for that now. I know my
lost darlings are not in this world, and yet--and yet why not hope? why
not think that perhaps--"
A shadow fell upon the threshold. What wonder that the mother sprang
forward with a cry of joy! What wonder that Farmer Hedden, looking from
the field, came bounding toward the house! Po-no-kah was
there--Po-no-kah and little Kitty!
Laughing,--crying,--clasping her dear Kitty frantically to her heart,
then gazing at her at arms' length, Mrs. Hedden raised her eyes to the
Indian, and gasped faintly--
"Rudolph? the boy--is he--"
She could say no more.
"Yes--boy all good," answered Po-no-kah, eagerly, "white man say break
heart see two--he here."
Just then Farmer Hedden, Tom Hennessy, and Rudolph rushed in.
Oh, what a meeting that was! And Bessie, too, was there before they knew
it. Such laughter--such tears--such shouts of rejoicing had never been
known in the Hedden cottage before!
Soon the barking of a dog was heard. Rudolph sprang from his father's
arms:
"Oh, it's Bouncer!" he cried; "let me see him. Here, Bouncer!"
Bouncer indeed came leaping in at the call, but it was not _the_
Bouncer, though it was a great, shaggy fellow, worthy of the name.
Rudolph started back; the dog, too, eyed him with a suspicious look.
"That isn't Bouncer! Where is he, mother?" exclaimed the poor boy,
looking up with a bewildered glance.
Po-no-kah slunk aside.
"Do tell me where Bouncer is," he repeated,
"We are all here but him. Here, Bouncer! Bouncer!" and he ran to the
door.
Bessie wound her arms about his neck.
"Rudolph, darling," she sobbed, "don't cry. Bouncer was killed on _that_
day. He saved my life, Rudolph--"
"Bouncer dead!" screamed the boy.