IMPRESSING SAVAGES.
The negro stationed himself a little behind the old chief, where,
with the greatest trepidation, but with many smiles and genuflexions,
he greeted the band of astonished savages who came crowding into the
little hut.
They were as wild and uncouth-looking as well could be. All were more
or less painted; and only Running Water, their seeming leader, was
fully clad in a hunting suit of undressed deerskin; the soiled and
frayed condition of which fully entitled him to the sobriquet which the
negro had so innocently bestowed upon him.
He might have been called an old man but for the contrast between him
and the decrepit chief; certainly, he was not less than sixty, though
he was seemingly in the full vigor of manhood.
There was a heavy scowl on his forehead when he entered the hut, and
his tomahawk was upraised in his hand. But, after a brief glance at the
propitiatory motions of the negro, and at the unharmed veteran, the
scowl subsided and he returned his hatchet to its place in his belt.
Not so others--for several of his followers had already presented
their guns at Joe; and one, who was doubtless emulous of the glory of
being the first to bring the strange enemy down, rushed furiously upon
him, and aimed a blow at him, which the negro avoided only by leaping
backward and crouching to the ground.
He begged piteously for mercy, but his words were lost in the clamor
of voices which ensued, and as many of the squaws had by this time
crowded in and others were looking in at the door and window, and were
adding their shrill chorus to the general outcry, the tumult became
very great.
Running Water’s voice could not be distinguished in the uproar, and
Joe’s minutes would have been few had not the Indian leader rushed
forward and forcibly held back the foremost of the assailants.
His wishes, being thus made known, were at once acquiesced in, and
something like order was restored while he addressed his companions,
angrily enough at first, but with a voice which subsided into gentle
and more persuasive tones as he proceeded.
There was nothing savage in this man’s appearance except the inevitable
scalp lock, and the few dashes of paint with which his cheeks were
besmeared; yet this was not the terrifying war paint, but the rouge of
the red man’s toilet, intended for a beautifying effect, and answering
its purpose in the main quite as well as the cosmetics of civilized
life.
In one respect it had a marked advantage over them, for there was no
false pretense about it. It did not claim to be nature’s pure bloom. It
was paint--open, honest, undisguised paint.
Running Water was a tall man, with a high, smooth forehead, and, as he
now motioned to the negro to rise, and addressed him in broken English,
his manner was anything but threatening.
“Sarvant, sah!” said Joe, coming slowly forward and bowing repeatedly,
yet keeping a watchful eye upon the bystanders. “Hope you’s well,
sah--you and Mrs. Running Water, sah, and de chillen----”
“Who you be?” asked the Indian.
“I’m Joe, sah. Joe Congo, one ob de stewards, sah, to de _Enterprise_,
wot was lost, sah. You must hab seen it in de newspapers, sah”--and
Joe was rattling off a long story when the red man interrupted him.
“Speakum slow,” he said, “and don’t chatter-chatter.”
“Yes, sah--sartain! Den--dat’s all! Dat’s who I am.”
Joe became conscious now, for the first time, that he was an object of
the greatest curiosity to the whole crowd. Their alarm having subsided,
they were pressing closely to him on all sides, looking narrowly at
him, and some reaching out their fingers gently to touch his hands and
his face, until, being rebuked by their leader, they drew back, and
contented themselves with staring.
“Are you great medicine man?” asked Running Water, after a pause for
reflection.
“Not very,” replied Congo. “I don’t often take medicine. I berry
well--t’ank you.”
“Ware you git your paint?”
“Paint?”
“Uh! Ware you git um?” repeated the savage, rubbing his fingers over
the negro’s hands, and then looking at them to see if the color came
off.
“Jingo! Dat ain’t paint, cap’n! Dat’s my nat’ral color, sah. Didn’t you
nebber see culled gemmen before?”
The chief did not reply, but gave some direction in his own tongue to
one of his people, who disappeared, and presently appeared with a gourd
of water, which he put down before Congo.
Running Water pointed first to the water and then to the left hand of
the negro, and said:
“Wash! Make um white!”
“Golly! But I wish I could, sah! I can’t!”
“Make um white!” repeated the other severely.
Joe laughed, and, dipping the hand into the water, scrubbed away at it
with the other for some minutes, and then held it up, black as before,
saying:
“Dare, sah--you see, I can’t and dat water is jes’ as clean as it was
afore; not quite, dough--but dat is only de dirt.”
“More water!” said the chief, looking at the discolored fluid.
“I tell you it’s no use, sah! It won’t come off. I only wish it would.”
Another experiment failing to make the hand any whiter, and leaving the
liquid scarcely discolored. Running Water seemed satisfied, and said:
“Good paint! Stick fast. Have you got um?”
Puzzled for a reply, Joe hesitated for a moment, and then, pointing to
the sky, said:
“Up dar. I was borned so.”
The Indian bowed profoundly.
“From the Great Spirit?” he said.
“Yes, sah.”
More convinced now than before that Joe was a great medicine man,
endowed with power to heal the sick, to give success in war and
the chase, or to harm them with an evil eye, Running Water and his
followers treated him with the respect which was due to his supposed
character.
They set food before him, but Joe, though very hungry, stopped only
to swallow a few large mouthfuls before resuming his negotiations in
behalf of his friends, from whom he had been absent so long that he
feared they might return to their boats without him.
He informed Running Water of the nature of his errand, told him of the
money which he had given to the old chief, which, by the way, that old
man was keeping very close and showed no disposition to disgorge.
Running Water listened with evident surprise to this story, and then
addressed a few sharp words to the aged chief, who nodded his head
quickly in reply--as if he had only just remembered it--and handed out
about half the coin, after which he seemed to relapse into a comatose
state.
“Is this all?” the younger leader asked, at the same time handing the
money back to Joe and compelling him to take it.
“Yes, sah; near enough,” responded the negro, fearful of giving offense
in any quarter. “Let de old gemman keep de rest and welcome.”
But Running Water fumbled in the belt of the seemingly sleeping
patriarch until he had recovered most of the silver and returned it to
Congo.
Then he addressed the negro in a sort of chant, the burden of which was
the duties of hospitality.
The strangers, he said, must not pay for food or rest in their tents,
but were welcome to come and partake of their corn and venison, and the
coldest water from their springs.
Their young men should wait upon them, and their maidens should watch
their sleep, and drive off the lizard and the spotted toad from their
couch.
His song being ended, he added a more prosaic but seemingly cordial
invitation to Joe to go and bring his friends to the wigwams, and he
pointed to the pile of game outside the hut as the source from which
their bountiful feast should be supplied.
But they must come unarmed, he said, for otherwise their women would be
frightened, and their little children would run and hide.
But Joe well knew that his white companions would not trust themselves
so unreservedly in the power of the savages.
“T’ank you berry much,” he said, “but dey ’fraid to leave all deir
rifles and ’volvers, ’cause some bad Injuns from ’nudder tribe might
come along and stole ’em. Dey ’fraid to go out of sight o’ deir boats,
too, ’cause dere is two little cannon in each of dem dat might get
pitched into de lake.”
The Indians looked at each other in alarm at this intelligence, and
even their leader seemed disconcerted; for savage men, it is well
known, have a most exaggerated opinion of the power of artillery.
“What! Have my white brothers brought thunder guns here?” asked Running
Water.
“Yes, sah! Thunder an’ lightnin’, sah, and brimstone! Dey could blow
all your wigwams right up to de sky, sah; but dey goody men, and dey
won’t do it--not at all. Dey only want victuals, and dey is quite
willin’ to pay for dem. I t’ink you’d better send two or t’ree quarters
of deers, Cap’n Running Water, and take de money, and dat will be de
end ob it.”
The chief consulted with a few of the braves, and in a few moments, to
the great joy of Congo, he announced their decision to send the largest
deer and some sweet corn dried on the ear; but said that they would
take no money from their white brothers.
“It is a gift,” said Running Water. “Speak no more of it. Four of my
young men shall carry it.”
But here arose another difficulty. The bearers of the provisions
would discover, and report, that the strangers were unarmed, and if
the Indians were evil-disposed they might pursue them and attack them
before they could get in their boats, or at least before they could
obtain a safe offering.
Doubtless, also, they had canoes moored somewhere on the shore, with
which they could give chase upon the water.
These thoughts occurred to the sagacious negro, and he tried hard to
avert the danger by proposing to take a single quarter of the venison
to his friends, and then return to get another, which, he said, would
be enough to last them several days until they came to where food was
plenty.
He would not trouble “de gemmen” to carry it for him--not at all.
But Running Water was equally polite, and would hear of no such
arrangement. His young men were idle. Three at least of them should
go with his guest, each carrying one quarter of the venison, while
Congo might, if he chose, shoulder the fourth himself. He seemed very
amiable--his eyes gleamed with a soft, genial light, and it was easy to
doubt that he was acting in perfect good faith.
Finding it useless further to protest, Joe acquiesced in his plan,
trusting to his white friends to foresee and in some way to avoid the
danger--if danger there were.
The quarters of a large buck--which had been skinned and cut up where
it fell--were quickly selected, and the three porters, being designated
by the chief, at once took their stations near their respective loads,
prepared to shoulder them, and to follow Congo as soon as he was ready
to start.
“Good-by, den, cap’n,” said the negro, extending his hand to Running
Water. “Ef you come my way, gib me a call, sah, and I’ll be glad to see
you.”
“Wait!” said the savage, who was not yet ready to let his visitor
depart, for he had given orders to have a patient brought in, to obtain
the benefit of his healing powers.
In a few minutes, a tall, olive-colored lad was led in, and was
conducted up to Joe, evidently in a state of considerable apprehension.
“Him sick,” said the chief. “Burn, burn now, by an’ by shaky--shaky
with cold--un’stan’?”
“Goodness gracious--yes! He’s got the fever an’ agur, I s’pose.”
“Cure him!” said Running Water.
“Wot! I cure him!”
“Yes--you wise man--medicine man,” repeated the other persuasively.
Joe laughed and reflected. It could do no harm to encourage this
notion, and might do some good. He happened to have in his pocket a
corkscrew, and he was pretty sure that the Indian had never seen such a
utensil.
He took it out gravely, opened it, and all crowded nearer to see. It
was a large one of shining steel.
“Did you ebber see anyt’ing like dis afore?” he asked of Running Water.
The chief shook his head solemnly, and gazed with awe at the mysterious
implement.
“It’s a screwemcorkibus!”
“Ugh! Good!”
“It draws out de sickness, sah. Make de boy sot down, an’ you all keep
berry still, an’ I show you.”
Joe said this very gravely, and his orders being promptly obeyed,
he approached the alarmed lad and slowly introduced the end of the
corkscrew into one of his ears, and turned it around several times,
being careful to inflict no wound.
Then removing it, he affected to examine the spiral part very
carefully--wiped it--pronounced it all right, and repeated the
operation on the other ear, the savages manifesting the profoundest
interest, and fairly holding their breath in order to preserve the
strict silence which had been enjoined.
“Dat ’ar is all,” said Congo solemnly. “I hab drawn de feber out ob one
ear, and de agur out ob de oder. In two days de boy will be well, sah.
He won’t nebber shake ag’in after dat.”
Running Water asked permission to examine the wonderful implement with
which this cure had been wrought, and he handled it a minute or so with
the greatest respect, while others of the warriors pressed forward and
barely touched it with their fingers, perhaps thinking that they thus
secured to themselves immunity from the dreaded disease.
The chief returned it to Congo with a regretful look at parting with
such a treasure, and the negro was about magnanimously presenting it to
him, when it occurred to him that such a course would have a tendency
to lower their estimation of its powers and his own.
He, therefore, wiped it carefully, closed it, and returned it to his
pocket, after which he again essayed to depart, but the red men had not
yet done with him.
They brought forward their guns, their fishing tackle, and their bows
and arrows, and begged that the medicine man would pass them through
his hands, which process they believed would impart some of his
mysterious power to them.
Joe complied, repeating the chorus of an old song in a croaking,
ravenlike voice, as he manipulated the weapons, and thus giving the
most unbounded satisfaction to the savages.
“Ef dem guns and bows don’t shoot straight arter dis, gemmen, it will
be your own fault,” he said, “and ef you put good bait on dem hooks and
go where de fish is, you’ll ketch ’em. Mind, I tell you! How you feel?”
This question was addressed to the lad, who did not understand it until
it was repeated by the chief in the Indian tongue. According to that
linguist’s report, the boy replied that he felt “much gooder.”
“All right,” said Joe, “you jes’ wait a day or two and you won’t know
yourself. Good-by, Running Water; good-by, gemmen and ladies! Do ole
grandfer is asleep, I see, so I won’t shake hands with him.”
So Congo and his followers at last set out, each bearing his backload
of venison.