The conclusion of our first notice of "The Americans and the
Aborigines," saw Hodges, the midshipman, on his way to the Mississippi,
and, if he could find it, to his ship; whilst Tokeah and his Indians
returned to their village upon the banks of the Natchez. There, upon the
day after the arrival of the warriors, we find the Indians assembled and
deliberating in their council-house. Some important matter is evidently
in agitation: an ominous gloom hangs over the village; and Canondah, to
whom her father has not spoken since his return, and who is in complete
ignorance of what passed between him and Hodges, is shut up in her
wigwam with Rosa. The absence of one of the Indians, sent as a guide
with the Englishman, the silence of Tokeah, and their state of
semi-captivity, render the two girls sad and anxious, and they busy
themselves with a thousand conjectures as to what has occurred, when a
shrill whistle attracts them to the window. The sight that there
presents itself chases the blood from the cheeks of Rosa, and causes her
to sink, terrified and half-fainting, into the arms of her friend.
A large boat, of similar build to the one in which Hodges had arrived,
ascended the river, impelled by the strokes of six vigorous rowers.
Besides these, two other men were seated in the skiff, which now entered
the creek where the canoes were moored. The Englishman's boat was
amongst the latter, and seemed to attract the particular notice of one
of the two men; he glanced sharply at it, and then made a remark to his
companion, who nodded his head, as if assenting to his observation. The
man who had spoken stepped on shore. He was of the middle height and
slightly made, with a sunburnt complexion, hollow cheeks, in which the
smallpox had left black, unpleasant-looking scars, and a pointed and
rather red nose. The expression of his eyes, which were sunken and of a
dark-grey colour, and his enormous whiskers and mustaches, gave him any
thing but an agreeable physiognomy. There was an air about him as if he
strove to appear natural and unassuming, but at times his false
side-glances and malicious smile more than neutralized all his efforts.
His dress was a short blue frock, buttoned up to the chin, trousers of
the same colour, and a cap. After addressing a few words to his
companion, who had also come ashore, he walked with a quick step and
military gait towards the Miko's wigwam. Just then the Indian council
broke up; the old chief strode slowly and gravely towards his dwelling;
whilst the warriors hurried in various directions to their respective
wigwams. It seemed as if they avoided the new-comer; for not one of them
crossed his path, although he evidently expected them so to do. He gazed
silently after the receding groups, shook his head, and entered the
Miko's hut.
"Here I am, friend Tokeah!" cried he, with a forced smile, stretching
out his hand to the Miko, who was seated upon his couch, calm, and with
his head bowed upon his breast. "I'm a man of my word, you see. Arrived
only last night in the bay; but the devil take me if I could keep quiet:
started off again, and rowed all night and all day; and here you see me,
old friend, as hungry as a sea-lawyer, and as dry as a dolphin." He
spoke in English, fluently enough, but with a strong French accent.
Tokeah knocked with his finger upon the table, and Canondah came out of
her room.
"Canondah!" cried the man, stepping forward with an air of gallantry to
salute her. The young girl avoided his embrace, and with the single
word, "Welcome!" slipped out at the door. Our guest appeared
thunderstruck.
"What does this mean, friend Miko?" cried he. "Am I in disgrace? Should
really be sorry for it. As I came across the meadow, your people made
all sail from me, as if I had been a privateer; and now you are as cold
as a nor'-wester, and your daughter as stiff as a frozen cable.
Apropos--you have had a visit. The young Englishman, I see, has been
amongst you."
As he spoke these last words, the stranger cast a lowering glance at the
old man.
"Of whom does my brother speak?" said the chief.
"Of a prisoner--a young fellow who escaped whilst I was at sea."
"My young brother has been here and is gone," replied Tokeah, dryly.
"Gone!" repeated the other; "you probably did not know that he had
escaped from me. But it matters not," added he, indifferently.
"The Miko knew," replied the old man in a firm tone, "that his young
brother had escaped from the chief of the Salt Lake. My brother ought
not to have made him prisoner."
"What! would not the Miko of the Oconees seize the Yankee who came as a
spy into his wigwam?"
"And was my young brother a Yankee?" inquired Tokeah, with a penetrating
glance.
"Not exactly; but an enemy"--
"My brother," interrupted the Miko, "has too many enemies--the Yankees,
and the warriors of the great father of the Canadas."
The man bit his lips. "Pshaw!" said he; "you have the Americans on the
wrong side of your heart, and I have both. That's all the difference."
"The Miko," said the old chief, "lifts the war-hatchet to protect his
people against the palefaces, and to avenge his slain brethren. But my
brother has lifted the tomahawk against every one, and, like a thief,
steals women and children."
A burning crimson overspread the countenance of Tokeah's visitor, and
his teeth chattered with rage. "Truly, Miko," said he, "you say things
which I can hardly stomach;" and with gleaming eye he measured the old
man from head to foot. Suddenly, however, resuming his former
smile--"Nonsense," said he; "we won't quarrel about trifles. Let every
man do what he likes, and answer for what he does."
"When the Miko of the Oconees gave his right hand to the chief of the
Salt Lake, and welcomed him to his wigwam, he held him for a friend and
a brother, who had declared war against the Yengheese. Had he known that
he was a thief"----
"Monsieur Miko!" interrupted the pirate, threateningly.
"He would not have taken him for his friend. Tokeah," continued the
Indian with dignity, "lifted the tomahawk against the palefaces as the
Miko of his people, but the chief of the Salt Lake has made him a
robber. What shall he, the chief of the Oconees, say to the Yengheese
warriors when he falls into their snares? They will hang him on a tree."
The truth, thus fearlessly and decidedly spoken, made an impression upon
the pirate. He walked several times hastily up and down the room, and
then again stopped opposite to the old man.
"We'll say no more about that, friend Tokeah," said he. "I do not count
the scalps that you have stripped from the skulls of the Yankees, and
you must not reckon too severely with me. What is done is done; but the
future will be very different. I am fully decided to abandon my wild
course of life, and then we'll sit down quietly, and live together in a
little paradise, half a l'Indienne, half a la Franccaise. Jovial and
joyous."
"The Miko of the Oconees," replied Tokeah, "has never stained his hand
with the blood of his friends. He is poor, but his hand has never
touched what belonged not to him. His fathers would look down on him
with grief, if he lived in friendship with a thief; the Great Spirit
would hide his face, if he disgraced his people by an alliance with the
robber."
The Frenchman had listened to these words more tranquilly than might
have been expected, but with a slight twitching of his features, that
showed they touched him to the quick. Suddenly he turned away.
"Is that your way of thinking?" said he. "You fancy you can get on
better without Lafitte? I've no objection. If I had known it sooner, I
would have spared myself the trouble of listening to your insolence, and
you that of uttering it. Adieu! Monsieur Miko."
"My brother is hungry," said the Indian, starting up, and greatly
shocked. "He must eat. Canondah has prepared his favourite repast."
"And after he has eaten, he may make himself scarce?" said the pirate,
surlily.
"My brother is welcome in the wigwam of the Miko. His hand never closes
when it has once been opened," said the old nan, soothingly.
"Come, that sounds like reason. I thought my old friend had only caught
a fit of spleen from the Englishman. I trust it will soon be over.
Meanwhile, we'll see what the ladies are doing."
He stepped up to the curtain, and tried to open it, but in vain.
"Is it not allowed?" said he to the old man.
"My brother must seek another squaw. Rosa shall not enter his wigwam."
In the adjoining chamber a sound was heard. It resembled a cry of joy,
but presently subsided into a gentle murmur, of one in prayer.
The pirate stood stupefied opposite to the curtain. "Our alliance broken
off, the door shut in my face!" muttered he. "_Eh bien! nous verrons._"
And so saying, he left the hut. The next minute he again put his head in
at the door.
"I suppose I may make use of my own boat?" said he. "It is likely that I
may have unwelcome visitors during my absence."
"When the chief of the Salt Lake is on the war-path, he knows how to
meet his foes."
"Sensibly spoken for once," said the pirate.
"My brother is hungry," said the Miko, pointing to his daughter, who now
entered the room with several dishes.
"We'll come directly. Duty before pleasure."
And so saying, the bucanier hurried down to the shore, and approached
his companion, a short square-built man, who was walking up and down
with folded arms, and whose dark olive countenance was so buried in an
enormous beard, that scarcely any part of it, except a long fiery
Bardolphian nose was visible. This man, so soon as he saw the pirate,
assumed a less _nonchalant_ attitude, and his hands fell by his side
into the position proper to a subordinate.
"Nothing happened, lieutenant?" said Lafitte.
"So little, that I should almost doubt this to be the Miko's village,
did not my eyes convince me of it. Beg pardon, captain, but what does it
all mean?"
"I might ask you the same question," replied the other, sulkily.
"On our former visits," continued the lieutenant, "it was like a fair;
but to-day not a creature comes near us. The squaws and girls seemed
inclined to come down, but the men prevented them."
The lieutenant paused, for his commanding-officer was evidently getting
more and more out of humour.
"How many hands have we below on Lake Sabine?"
"Thirty," was the reply. "To-morrow, the others will have finished
clearing out."
"Giacomo and George," said the pirate, in a sharp peremptory tone, "will
go back and take them orders to come up here. Let every man bring his
musket and bayonet, pistols and hanger, and let them wait instructions
in the great bend of the river, two miles below this place. Don't look
down stream, and then at me," said he angrily to the lieutenant, who had
cast a glance down the river. "The young Englishman has been here, and
the old savage has let him go."
"That's what you did with his companions, captain. I wouldn't have done
it."
"There are many things that Monsieur Cloraud would not have done,"
replied the pirate, sarcastically. "But this younker has made an
infernal confusion."
"Any thing else happened, captain?"
"Nothing particular, except that the old man is tired of our alliance."
"Pshaw! we don't want him any more, and may well indulge the people with
a merry hour."
The bucanier glanced at his subordinate with unspeakable scorn.
"And therefore, as Monsieur Cloraud thinks, do I send for the men. The
hour's pleasure would be dearly bought. I hate such folly. You shall
learn my intentions hereafter."
The lieutenant's low bow showed that the lawless pirate was on no very
familiar footing even with his first officer, and that he well knew how
to make his captain's dignity respected. Monsieur Cloraud now turned to
the rowers, and communicated to them the orders he had received. In a
few seconds, the boat, in which the Englishman had come, was pushed off,
and glided swiftly down the stream.
"Now then, to dinner. Have some wine brought up, lieutenant."
The person addressed made a sign to one of the sailors; the man took up
several bottles, and followed his officers to the wigwam of the chief.
"Take no notice, lieutenant," said Lafitte; "be as cheerful and natural
as possible. We must try and find out what the old fellow has got upon
his mind."
The two men entered the wigwam, and took their places at the table. A
buffalo hump, that most delicious of all roast-beef, which Canondah had
carefully cooked under the embers, was smoking upon it.
"You won't refuse to drink with me?" said the pirate, filling three
glasses, and offering one to the chief.
"Tokeah is not thirsty," was the reply.
"Well, then, rum?" said Lafitte. "Have a bottle brought, lieutenant."
"Tokeah is not thirsty," repeated the chief in a louder tone.
"As you please," said the pirate, carelessly. "Isn't it strange,"
continued he to his lieutenant, "that the whole juice and strength of
the beast should centre in this hump? If this is to be the food of the
Indians in their happy hunting-grounds, it would be almost worth while
turning Indian. Enjoyments of this kind are rather more substantial than
the lies of our hungry priests."
As in duty bound, the lieutenant laughed heartily at the facetiousness
of his commander. The Miko, who was sitting in his usual attitude, his
head sunk upon his breast, looked up, gazed for a few seconds at the
pirate, and then relapsed into his previous brooding mood.
"Make the most of it, lieutenant," said the pirate. "We shall not enjoy
many more such tit-bits. The Great Spirit would hide his face from us if
we despised his gifts. But come, friend Miko, you must empty a glass to
the health of your guests, unless you wish to see them depart this very
night. I like a little pride, but too much is unwholesome."
"My brother," said the Miko, "is welcome. Tokeah has never raised his
tomahawk against the stranger whom he received in his hut, nor has he
counted the suns that he dwelt with him."
"I am certain," said the Frenchman, "that Tokeah is my friend; and, if
an evil tongue has sown discord on the path between us, the wise Miko
will know how to step over it."
"The Oconees are men and warriors," said the chief; "they listen to the
words of the Miko, but their hands are free."
"Yes, yes, I know that. Yours is a sort of republic, of which you are
hereditary consul. Well, for to-night let the matter rest. To-morrow we
will discuss it further."
The lieutenant had left the wigwam; night had come on, and the moon's
slender crescent sank behind the summits of the western trees. The old
Indian arose, and with his guest stepped silently out before the door.
"My brother," said he, with emotion in his voice, "is no longer young;
but his words are more silly than those of a foolish girl, who for the
first time hangs glass beads around her neck. My brother has foes
sufficient; he needs not to make an enemy of the Great Spirit."
"Oh!" said the pirate laughing, "we won't bother our heads about him."
"My brother," continued the Indian, "has long deceived the eyes of the
Miko; but the Great Spirit has at last opened them, that he may warn his
people. See," said he, and his long meagre form seemed to increase to a
gigantic stature as he pointed to the moon swimming behind the topmost
branches of the trees; "that great light shines on the shores of the
Natchez, and it shines in the villages of the whites; neither the chief
of the Salt Lake nor the Miko of the Oconees made it; it is the Great
Spirit who gave it brightness. Here," said he, pointing to the palmetto
field, whose soft rustle came murmuring across the meadow, "here is
heard the sighing of the Miko's fathers; in the forest where he was born
it howls in the storm; both are the breath of the Great Spirit, the
winds which he places in the mouths of the departed, who are his
messengers. Listen!" he continued, again drawing up his weather-beaten
form to its utmost height; "the Miko has read your book of life; when
yet a young man he learned your letters, for he saw that the cunning of
the palefaces came from their dead friends. That book says, what the
wise men of his people have also told him, that there is one Great
Spirit, one great father. The Miko," he resumed, after a moment's pause,
"was sent from his people to the great father of the palefaces, and when
he came with the other chiefs to the villages where the whites worship
the Great Spirit in the lofty council wigwams, he found them very good,
and they received him and his as brothers. Tokeah spoke with the great
father--see, this is from him"--he showed a silver medal with the head
of Washington. "He asked the great father, who was a wise father and a
very great warrior, if he believed in the Great Spirit of his book, and
he answered that he did believe, and that his Great Spirit was the same
whom the Red men worship. When the Miko returned to his wigwam and came
towards the setting sun, his soul remembered the words of the great
father, and his eyes were wide open. So long as he saw the high walls of
the council wigwams, where the palefaces pray to their Great Spirit, the
Red men were treated as brothers; but when they approached their own
forests, the countenances of the white men grew dark, because the Great
Spirit no longer lighted them up. Tokeah saw that the men who did not
worship the Great Spirit were not good men. And my brother scoffs at the
Great Spirit, and yet would be a friend of the Oconees? He would be a
friend of the Miko, who would already have sunk under his burden had not
his fathers beckoned to him from the happy hunting-grounds! Go," said
the old man, turning away from the pirate with a gesture of disgust;
"you would rob the Miko and his people of their last hope."
"Good-night," said Lafitte, yawning. "There's been a good Methodist
parson spoilt in you." And so saying he turned towards the council
wigwam, his usual dwelling when at the village. Tokeah stepped back into
his hut. No night-song soothed the oppressed spirit of the old chief;
and only the shrill whistle of the watch, repeated every two hours from
the shore and before the wigwam of the pirate, told of the presence of
living creatures in the village.
Upon the following morning Lafitte's lieutenant rouses him from his
sleep, and informs him that there is an unusual stir and bustle amongst
the Indians. The pirate hastily dresses, and repairs to the wigwam of
the Miko, whom he finds restless and excited. The cause of this soon
becomes apparent.
On a sudden the village resounded with a long joyous shout, which,
spreading like wildfire from hut to hut, swelled at last into one wild
and universal chorus, in which men, women, and children united their
voices. The Miko had betaken himself in haste to the council wigwam, and
the whole village was in an uproar. From behind each hedge, from out of
every hut, the Oconees emerged and rushed towards the council-house;
even the presence of Tokeah was insufficient to keep them within bounds.
On the further side of the Natchez was seen a party of thirty Indians,
all on horseback. Some of them were seeking a ford; but presently a
young man, impatient of the delay, plunged with his horse into the
water, and all thirty followed him, in the same order in which they had
approached the river. The breadth of the stream, opposite to the wigwam,
was about five hundred feet, and the depth considerable. Nevertheless
the gallant little troop seemed in their element, and, almost without
breaking their ranks, they swam their steeds across. Meanwhile the
pirate stood upon the shore, watching their approach with the most
uncontrolled fury depicted on his countenance.
"Had we but ten good marksmen," muttered he to the lieutenant.
"_Pardon, capitaine_, they are not Oconees, but those devils of
Comanches. I made their acquaintance in my Mexican campaigns."
The little squadron had now reached the creek. Swinging their legs over
their horses, they sprang upon shore, drew the animals after them, and
again flung themselves upon their backs with a swiftness and dexterity
that recalled the fable of the centaur. The foremost of the strangers
had arrived within a few paces of the Oconees, who, with the Miko at
their head, were assembled in front of the council-house, when the
circle opened, and Tokeah stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
"The great chief of the mighty Comanches, and of the Pawnees of the
Toyask, is welcome," said he, gravely.
The young Indian to whom these words were addressed, halted and listened
attentively, and with head reverently bowed, to the greeting. When the
old chief had spoken, he sprang from his horse and advanced towards him,
his right hand extended. Coming close up to Tokeah, he again bowed
himself, took the Miko's hand, and placed it upon his own head. The
interchange of greetings was remarkable for dignity, and derived a
peculiar interest from the contrast between the two chiefs. Nothing
could be in stronger opposition than the gaunt meagre form of the Miko,
who stood like the weather-beaten trunk of some gigantic tree, stiff,
mute, and melancholy, and the open, manly, dignified and yet gentle
aspect of the young chief of the Comanches. His oval-shaped head was
covered with a picturesque head-dress of fur and feathers; his high,
arched forehead, and blooming complexion of a light copper colour,
scorned the wild war-paint of his companions; the expressive black eyes
and aquiline nose were in admirable harmony with the manly contour of
his person, which his style of dress and equipment showed off to the
greatest advantage. A doublet of blue fox fur covered his breast, and
from his shoulders, on which it was fastened by golden clasps, hung the
skin of a panther, draping a form that would have enchanted Thorwaldsen
or Canova. It was a magnificent model of manly beauty, that had grown up
untrammelled and without blemish in the enchanting prairies of Mexico,
and in the midst of a mighty people owning no master but the Great
Spirit. A dagger, with a hilt of wrought gold, a short rifle, and a
lance nine feet long, decorated with a horse-tail, completed an
equipment which for richness and utility combined could scarcely be
surpassed. The young chief's horse, of extraordinary beauty, was almost
covered with a panther skin, secured on its back and shoulders by four
golden buckles. It had neither saddle nor stirrups, but on either side,
at the end of a strap, hung a small leathern bucket, in which the muzzle
of the rifle and butt of the lance reposed.
Similar to those above described were the dress and arms of other four
of the warriors, also belonging to the powerful Indian tribe of the
Comanches. They wore their hair combed back on either side of the
forehead; their complexion was a mixture of olive and copper-colour.
Their bearing was proud, and they seemed almost to look down upon the
Pawnees who accompanied them. Round the necks of their steeds hung the
lasso, that terrible weapon with which the Mexican riders capture, with
wonderful skill and dexterity, the horse, the buffalo, or a human foe.
The remainder of the troop were Pawnees of the Toyask tribe. Their heads
were clean shaven, excepting of one carefully plaited tuft upon the
crown. Upon their shoulders were buffalo skins, the leather dyed red,
the hair worn inwards; and similar hides served them for saddles. They
wore broad girdles, to which their calico under-garment was fastened.
About half of them were armed with muskets and rifles, but all had
lances, a long knife, or rather hanger, and the tomahawk. They were
well-made and powerful men, compared with whom the thin-armed,
narrow-shouldered Oconees had the appearance of children.
"My brother is thrice welcome," repeated the Miko after a pause, during
which his eyes dwelt with an expression of the purest satisfaction upon
his stately guest and his companions. "Has the great El Sol reflected on
the words which Tokeah sent him through his runners?"
"His ears are open and his heart large," replied the young chief
gravely. "Are the words of the great Miko for El Sol alone, or may the
warriors of the Comanches and Pawnees also hear them?"
"The chiefs and warriors of the Comanches and Pawnees are welcome in the
council wigwam of the Oconees. They are their brothers."
When the Miko had spoken these words, the four Comanches and a like
number of Pawnees dismounted from their horses, and followed the chiefs
to the council wigwam. The others also dismounted, and forming a
semi-circle, stood leaning against their horses' shoulders. Nearer to
the council-house were ranged the Oconee warriors, armed only with their
long scalping-knives; and behind them, at a respectful distance, the
young men of the village had stationed themselves, also in a half
circle. Again, far behind these, were the squaws and children, to whom
the strict rules of Indian etiquette did not allow a nearer approach.
The village had gradually assumed the appearance of a little camp, with
various corps of troops formed up in it. On the shore stood the four
pirates leaning on their muskets, whilst their captain and lieutenant
paced up and down among the bushes. With the exception of a sharp quick
glance occasionally cast towards the groups of Indians, they appeared to
take no particular interest in what was passing.
El Sol, the young chief of the Comanches, is the affianced husband of
Canondah, whom he has come to make his bride. In the council now held,
it is decided that the alliance between Tokeah and the pirate shall be
broken off, and that the remnant of the Oconees shall be incorporated
with the powerful tribes of the Comanches and Pawnees. The former part
of this decision is communicated to Lafitte who makes violent but
unsuccessful claim upon the hand of Rosa, and finally enters his boat
and descends the stream. El Sol, who greatly distrusts him, advises
Tokeah to be on his guard against treachery; but the Miko denies the
possibility of danger, on account of the distance of the pirate's haunt,
and because, on the following morning, the village is to be abandoned,
and the Oconees and their visitors are to proceed together to the
country of the Comanches. He either forgets that the pirate had sent off
a boat on the preceding morning, or thinks it unnecessary to increase
the uneasiness of his guest by adverting to so unimportant a
circumstance. In spite of what he has recently learned, he still
entertains a feeling of kindness for Lafitte, with whom he has so long
been on terms of friendship, and thinks him incapable of acting towards
him in a base or hostile manner.
That evening the nuptials of Canondah and El Sol are celebrated; but the
Indian maiden, although fondly attached to the young chief, is weighed
down by a foreboding of evil which she finds it impossible to shake off.
On her marriage day she is sad and in tears.
"And does Canondah," said the bridegroom mildly, "enter the wigwam of El
Sol with a sorrowful heart?"
"El Sol," replied the maiden, "is dearer to Canondah than her own life;
his voice is music in her ears, and his love the limit of her wishes;
but Canondah's heart is heavy to bursting. The Great Spirit whispers to
her, and she has no words to express his whisperings." She clasped Rosa
in her arms, and pressed a long and feverish kiss upon her lips. "Rosa,"
said she, in a stifled voice, "will you be a daughter to the Miko when
Canondah is no more?"
"I will," sobbed Rosa.
"Will you promise, by the Great Spirit, not to forsake him?"
"I promise it," replied Rosa, her tears flowing fast.
The Miko, who stood silent, and sunk in thought, now made a sign; El Sol
threw his arm round Canondah, and led her away in the direction of the
council wigwam.
The wedding has been celebrated with great rejoicings; the Indians, who
have indulged largely, many of them to excess, in the fire-water of the
palefaces, retire to their huts, to sleep off the effects of their
libations, and soon the village is sunk in silence and repose. We
extract the chapter that follows:--
It was past midnight, and the village and its environs were buried in
profound repose, when a man, carrying a naked sabre under his arm,
advanced with stealthy steps from the shore, towards the Miko's wigwam.
He reached the trees in front of the dwelling; and after casting a
cautious and searching glance around him, was about to retrace his
steps, when, with the quickness of light, a noose of buffalo hide
encircled his neck, and he was thrown to the ground with a shock so
sudden and irresistible, that it seemed caused by a supernatural rather
than a human power. His sabre fell from his hand, before he had time to
raise it to his neck and sever the noose; and so rapidly and silently
did all this take place, that a group of armed men, stationed between
the creek and the cottage, at scarcely forty paces from the latter, were
perfectly unaware of what occurred. Now, however, a yell that might have
roused the dead from their graves was heard; the door of the council
wigwam, in which the bridal-bed of Canondah and El Sol had been spread
was burst furiously open; and by the flash of several muskets, just then
fired from the shore, a powerful figure, bearing something heavy in its
arms, was seen to rush out and plunge into the neighbouring thicket.
Other cries, proceeding apparently from a thousand throats, multiplied
themselves in every direction, behind hedge and bush, over land and
water, in accents as wild and fierce as if the demons of hell had been
unchained, and were rejoicing in a nocturnal revel. Simultaneously with
this uproar, a regular platoon fire commenced upon the shore, and blue
flames issued from various cottages of the peaceful Indian hamlet,
rapidly increasing till they burst out into a bright red blaze, that
spread hissing and crackling over wall and roof. In the midst of this
frightful tumult another shout was uttered, resembling the roar of the
lion when he rages in his utmost fury. It was the war-whoop of El Sol.
The noble Mexican had been lulled to sleep by the night-song of his
bride, when the well-known yell of his tribe awakened him. Clasping his
beloved wife with one arm, he grasped his knife and rifle, and darted
through the door of the wigwam. A discharge of musketry greeted his
appearance. The chief felt his left arm pierced by a ball; he trembled,
and a slight shudder came over him. "Canondah!" cried he, in a hoarse
tone, leaping the hedges like a wounded deer, and hurrying towards the
forest; "Canondah, fear nothing--you are in the arms of El Sol!"
She answered not; her head had sunk upon her breast, her body writhed
with a convulsive spasm, and then again stretched itself out. For one
moment a horrible thought paralysed the very soul of her husband;--but
no--it was impossible; his arm had received the bullet, her silence was
the result of sudden terror, the blood that flowed over him was from his
own wound. He was still flying from his treacherous and invisible foe,
when his howling warriors came almost instinctively to join him; and,
before he reached the forest, he found himself surrounded by the most
trusty of his followers. "It is the pirate," he whispered to his wife;
and then, pressing a kiss upon her lips, he laid her softly upon the
grass, stepped forward into the midst of his warriors, and uttered his
terrible war-cry. "Behold," cried he, pointing to the blazing cottages,
"the faith of the white thief!"
It was a wildly beautiful, almost an awful sight. Already more than
thirty huts were converted into blazing piles, lighting up the whole of
that glorious shore, reflected in ruddy brilliancy from the still
surface of the water, and illuminating the avenues of cypress and
mangroves with long streaks of flame. Scattered shots were still heard,
and after each report another hut began to blaze. In the group of
Indians assembled round El Sol a deep silence now reigned, only broken
by the tardy arrival of some yelling Pawnee or Oconee, who, roused out
of his drunken slumber, was scarcely even yet aware of the cause of the
uproar.
"Where is the Miko?" fifty voices suddenly demanded.
There was no reply. Just then a woman's scream was heard, proceeding
from the brink of the water. El Sol had stood silent, his eyes fixed
upon the burning huts, beyond which, near to the crest of the shore, the
polished musket-barrels of the pirates gleamed in the firelight. Not
more than five minutes had elapsed since the first yell proclaimed the
presence of a foe, but already the young warrior had combined his plan,
and he now gave his orders in a short decided tone, betraying the habit
of command, and the certainty of prompt and implicit obedience. One of
the Comanches, followed by the majority of the Pawnees and Oconees,
glided away through the thick bushes; whilst El Sol himself, with the
three remaining Comanches, and a troop of chosen Pawnees, hurried
rapidly along the skirt of the forest.
The broad belt of land over which the village was scattered, rose near
the shore, as already mentioned, into a sort of crest overgrown with
mangroves and myrtle bushes, through the middle of which ran a broad
footpath. The elevation of this ridge was about twenty feet, and it
continued along the whole length of the hamlet, excepting opposite to
the creek, where nature had broken it down into a small harbour. Near
this the glitter of arms betrayed the presence of a strong picket,
placed there doubtless to guard the boats. This picket was each moment
strengthened by the return of one or other of the pirates who had been
detached to fire the wigwams. Along the bush-crowned ridge several
advanced posts were stationed, intended to maintain the communication
between the picket at the creek, and a second party which had pressed
forward to the habitation of the Miko, and to support either, as need
might be. From the whole arrangement, it was evident that the pirate had
planned the carrying off the Miko and his adopted daughter; and this he
might possibly have accomplished before creating an alarm, had not two
of the Comanches taken upon themselves, according to the custom of their
nation, to keep guard during the bridal night in front of the wigwam of
their chief. These warriors, it is true, had partaken largely of the
Miko's extravagant hospitality; but their senses, although duller than
usual, were not sufficiently deadened to prevent their overhearing the
step of the white men, a sound so easily recognised by Indian ears.
During his two years' intercourse with the Oconees, the pirate had
become too well acquainted with their habits, not to appreciate the
danger of attacking them in broad daylight, when each of his men would
furnish an easy target for the Indians, who, on their side, would be
sheltered behind trees and in the brushwood. He had therefore chosen the
night for his attack; and, in order to ensure himself as much as
possible against a counter-surprise in the darkness, and at the same
time to spread terror amongst the assailed, he had caused the huts to be
fired. Three practised marksmen were posted at a short distance from the
council wigwam, for the express purpose of shooting the young Mexican
chief, whom Lafitte justly deemed the most formidable of his opponents.
The pirate himself, with a party of picked men, pressed forward to the
Miko's dwelling, surrounded it, and seized its two inmates. Tokeah,
usually so abstemious, had probably upon this festive occasion
overstepped the bounds of sobriety, and he fell unresisting into the
hands of his foe. So well arranged, indeed, and rapid had all the
movements been, that the first call to arms had hardly died away, when
the Miko and Rosa were in the power of the bucaniers. Lafitte then
formed his men into a small square, and retreated steadily but in double
quick time towards the shore. Not an Indian was to be seen. The little
phalanx was already in the neighbourhood of the creek, and at only a few
yards from the picket; another dozen paces and they would be in their
boats, which a very few strokes of the oar would send into the middle of
the stream, and out of bullet range. A pursuit by canoes, in which each
Indian would offer an easy mark, was not to be thought of. Such had been
the pirate's calculation, and his plans seemed likely to be crowned with
complete success. He was within a step of the shore, when suddenly there
was a movement in the bushes immediately opposite to him, and glimpses
were caught of the copper-coloured forms of the Indians, glowing redly
in the firelight.
"Steady!" cried the pirate to his men, who marched firmly and calmly
onwards, gazing in a sort of wonderment at the bushes, which waved to
and fro as if hundreds of anacondas had been winding their way through
them. The pirates joined the picket and opened their square.
Lafitte threw Rosa into the arms of a sailor, and then pushed the Miko
over the edge of the bank into the boat. The old man sank down like a
lifeless mass in the bottom of the skiff, and Lafitte again turned to
his men. The picket had already retired behind the ridge, where they
were sheltered from the enemy's fire; the square alone was stationary,
and seemed destined to observe the movements of the Indians, and to
cover the retreat. It was a small but desperate looking band of about
four-and-twenty-men, to the composition of which nearly every nation and
quarter of the globe, every colour and language, contributed its quota.
Thirst of blood gleamed in their eyes as they stood formed in column, in
deep silence, and with fixed bayonets, waiting the signal to fire.
Suddenly the Indian warwhoop burst from a hundred throats. A second time
the frightful yell was repeated, rendered more hideous by the shrill
tones of the squaws and maidens, who struck up the death-song, and were
seen running and dancing like demons round the blazing huts. The next
instant, with brandished arms and shouts of fury, the Indians rushed
towards the creek.
A malicious smile played over the hard features of the pirate as the Red
men came charging down upon his band.
"Reserve, forward!" cried he, turning to the picket. The order was
obeyed. In profound silence Lafitte allowed the howling Indians to
advance to within ten paces of the musket muzzles, and then uttered a
hoarse "Fire!" A deadly volley was poured in, and the first rank of the
assailants fell to a man. Their comrades started back, but instantly
returning to the charge, threw themselves with a desperate leap upon the
pirates. The latter coolly tossed their muskets into the hollow of their
left arms, and drew their pistols; a second volley in which the fire of
the reserve picket mingled, threw the Red men into utter confusion. The
slope of the shore was covered with killed and wounded, and the
survivors fled howling to the cover of the thicket.
"March!" commanded Lafitte. The picket again approached the boat,
followed by the main body.
At that moment, when to all appearance the retreat of the pirates was
ensured, four heavy splashes in the water were heard, and Lafitte saw
the four men who had been in charge of the boats, rise to the surface of
the water and then disappear for ever. At the same time the boats
themselves, impelled by some invisible power, shot, with the swiftness
of an arrow, into the centre of the stream.
"'Tis the Mexican!" exclaimed the pirate, gnashing his teeth with fury,
and firing a brace of pistols at the boat. A hollow laugh replied to the
shots. The pirates looked around them, saw that their boats had
disappeared, and for a moment stood thunderstruck, but speedily
recovering themselves, they reloaded their muskets, and, firm as rocks,
awaited a fresh assault. They had not long to wait. A volley from the
river warned them of the proximity of a new foe; a second, still better
directed, stretched a third of them upon the ground. And now once more
the terrible war-cry resounded along the shore, and the Indians, roused
to madness by their previous repulses, rushed for a third time upon
their enemy. Another volley from the boats, and then the Mexican and his
companions sprang like tigers upon the terrified pirates. The struggle
was short. Unable to resist the furious attack upon their front and
rear, the pirates threw away their weapons, and flung themselves
headlong into the river to escape the tomahawks of their raging foes.
Lafitte was the only one who stood firm, and seemed determined to sell
his life dearly. His back against the bank, his sabre in his right hand,
a pistol in his left, he parried a blow dealt him by an Oconee, who
fell, the next instant, with his head nearly severed from his shoulders.
A bullet finished another of his assailants, and he was raising his
sabre for the second time, when a lasso was flung over his head, and he
fell helpless to the ground. The long and terrible yell that now rang
along the shore, and was re-echoed from the adjacent forest, proclaimed
the complete and bloody triumph of the Red men.
The bullet that grazed the arm of El Sol pierced the heart of Canondah,
and the day subsequent to the sanguinary conflict above described,
witnesses her interment, and that of the Indians who fell in the fight.
At the funeral a difference of opinion arises between the Oconees and
Comanches. The number of slain pirates is insufficient to furnish a
scalp to be buried with each of the dead Indians, and, to supply the
deficiency, the Oconees are anxious to immolate Lafitte and twelve of
his companions who have fallen alive into their hands. To this El Sol
and his warriors, free from many of the barbarous prejudices of their
new brethren, object. Two of the pirates are sacrificed to an outbreak
of Indian fury, but the others are saved by El Sol, and it then becomes
a question how they are to be disposed of. It is proposed to deliver
them over to the Americans, that they may deal with them according to
their laws; but Tokeah, with a refinement of hatred towards the white
men, devises an amendment upon this plan. Sooner or later, he says, they
will come to the tree upon which they are to hang. Meanwhile let them go
at large, and cause the blood of the palefaces to flow, as that of the
Oconees has done.
This singular proposition at first startles the vindictive and
bloodthirsty Oconees, but when they fully understand it, they receive it
with a burst of applause. Lafitte and his companions are unbound, and
allowed to depart.
The funeral over, the Indians set out for the hunting-grounds of the
Comanches, but Tokeah does not accompany them. He has had a dream,
enjoining him to disinter his father's bones, which lie buried several
hundred miles within the limits of the United States, in a district
formerly possessed by the Oconees. He wishes Rosa to accompany the tribe
to their new residence; but the young girl, mindful of her promise to
Canondah, insists upon encountering with him the perils of the long and
wearisome journey he is about to undertake. Whilst the main body of the
Indians set off in a westerly direction, Rosa, a young Indian girl,
Tokeah, El Sol, and four warriors, turn their steps towards the country
of the white men. Thither we will now precede them.
It was a bright cool December morning, and the sunbeams had just
sufficient power to disperse the fog and mist which at that season
frequently hang for a week together over the rivers and lakes of
Louisiana. In the county town of Opelousas there was a great and unusual
crowd. It seemed astonishing how so many people could have been got
together in that thinly populated neighbourhood, and a person who had
suddenly arrived in the midst of the concourse would have been sorely
puzzled to conjecture its occasion. To judge from the drinking, dancing,
fighting, and pranks of all sorts that went on, a sort of festival was
celebrating; but weapons were also to be seen; men were formed up by
companies and nearly every body had something more or less military in
his equipment. Some wore uniforms that had served in the revolutionary
war, and were consequently more than thirty years old; others, armed
with rifles, ranged themselves in rank and file, and, by a lieutenant of
their own election, were manoeuvred into a corner, out of which no
word of command that he was acquainted with was sufficient to bring
them. Another corps had got a band of music, consisting of one fiddler,
who marched along at the side of the captain, sawing his catgut with
might and main. Those individuals who had not yet attached themselves to
any particular corps, shouldered rifles, fowling-pieces, or, in some
instances, an old horse-pistol, with nothing wanting but the lock; and
the few who had no fire-arms, had provided themselves with stout
bludgeons.
These, however, were merely the outposts. In the centre of the town the
flower of the citizens was assembled, divided into two groups. One of
them, consisting of the younger men, had fixed its headquarters in front
of a tavern, the destination of which was indicated by a sign, whose
hieroglyphics, according to our firm belief, neither Denon nor
Champollion could have deciphered. Under these was written, for those
who could read it, the customary announcement of "Entertainment for Man
and Beast." In the interior of the establishment a second fiddle was to
be heard; the performer upon which, of a less martial turn than his
rival, was performing a lively jig for the benefit of a crowd of
dancers.
The other group, more gravely disposed, had chosen a more respectable
parade-ground, and established itself in front of a store, containing a
miscellany of earthen jugs, rolls of chewing tobacco, felt hats, shoes,
knives, forks, and spoons, and (the most essential of all) a cask of
whisky and a keg of lead and powder. Above the door was a board, with
the inscription, "New Shop--Cheap for Cash;" and on the wall of the
crazy frame-house was written in chalk--"Whisky, Brandy, Tobacco,
Post-office."
On the stump of a tree stood a man who, to judge from his new beaver
hat, clean shirt-collar, and bran-new coat and breeches of a pompadour
red, was a candidate for some one of the offices in the gift of the
sovereign people. Near him were several other men of equally elegant
exterior, to all appearance also aspirants to the vacant post, and who
seemed to wait with some impatience for the termination of his harangue.
Comparatively speaking, tranquillity and order reigned here, only
excepting the noise of the dancers, and the occasional bellowing of some
noisy toper stumbling about through the mud, with which the single
street of the little town was covered knee-deep. Such interruptions,
however, the orator seemed totally to disregard, and he continued in
stentorian tones to inform his auditors how he would whip them damned
British, whom he hated worse than skunks. This he was setting forth in
the clearest possible manner, when the attention of his hearers was in
some degree distracted by a loud "Hallo!" proceeding from two boon
companions, who, after having for some time floundered about the street,
had at last rambled towards the edge of the forest, and now suddenly
began to shout violently, and to run as fast as their unsteady condition
would allow. Amongst their vociferations, the words, "Stop, you cussed
Redskin!" were clearly distinguishable--sounds far too interesting not
to create a sensation amongst backwoodsmen. A dozen of the orator's
audience slipped away, just to see "what was the matter with the d----d
fools, and why they made such a devil of a row." The example found
imitators, and presently not above thirty listeners remained collected
round the speaker. Insubordination also broke out in the different corps
that were exercising, and a full third of the men left their ranks and
scampered towards the wood. Only the group in front of the chandler's
store remained grave and steady in the midst of the general excitement.
From out of the dark cypress forest that stretches southwards from the
shore of the Atchafalaya, a figure had emerged which judging from its
dress, belonged to the Indian race. The savage had crept along the edge
of the forest in order to get near the town; but alarmed perhaps by the
crowd and noise in the latter, he had not ventured to take the road
leading to it, but had struck into a side-path across a cotton field. He
was about to climb over the fence, when he was descried by the two
idlers already mentioned, who no sooner saw him than, although their
heads were tolerably full of whisky, they commenced a rapid pursuit. One
of the first took the precaution to place his pint glass in safety
behind a hedge, and then followed his companion, a swift-footed son of
the west, who already had the Indian in his clutches. The Redskin was so
exhausted that he would evidently not have been able to proceed much
further. The staggering and unsteady state of his captor, however, did
not escape him, and he gave him a sudden push, which stretched him at
full length in the mud.
"Stop!" shouted the backwoodsman, no way disconcerted by his fall;
"Stop! or I will so maul your ugly face that you sha'n't be able to eat
for a week."
The Indian seemed to understand, and stopped accordingly, at the same
time assuming an attitude indicative of a firm resolution to defend
himself. He grasped his knife, and boldly confronted his pursuers, who
on their part examined him with looks of curiosity and of some
suspicion. The appearance of an Indian in this neighbourhood was nothing
very unusual, seeing that they had a village scarcely a hundred miles
off to the north-west, and that they continually made excursions of
several hundred miles into the States in all directions, and even to the
capital. For a long time past their diminished numbers had not allowed
then to attempt any thing hostile against their white neighbours, who
each year drew nearer to them: and their increasing wants, particularly
their insatiable greed after the precious fire-water, had reduced them
to be, _de facto_, little better than slaves to fur-dealers and
storekeepers, for whom they hunted, and who paid the poor wretches in
whisky scarcely the tenth part of the value of their skins.
In the present instance the two backwoodsmen had no evil intention
against the Indian; all they wanted was to give him a glass of
Monongahela, and to amuse themselves a little at his expense. So at
least it appeared from the words of the one who had been knocked down,
and who, without taking his tumble at all in ill part, now roared out,
that "he must drink a half-pint of whisky with him, or he would put him
in his pocket."
"Come, young Redskin," cried the other; "come along. You shall help us
to fight the cussed Britishers, and drink, ay, drink like a fish."
By this time the little group was surrounded by deserters from the
parade-ground, examining the Indian with a rude and unceremonious, but
not an ill-natured, curiosity. Without permission or apology they
inspected his wardrobe, tried the edge of his scalping-knife, examined
his mocassins, and one of them even made an attempt to remove the cap
from his head. By these various investigations the stranger seemed more
surprised than gratified. His exterior was, it must be confessed,
somewhat singular. A foxskin cap covered his head and extended down over
his ears, concealing his light brown hair, an attempt at disguise which
the long fair down upon his upper lip rendered tolerably unsuccessful.
His deerskin doublet denoted the Indian, but his trousers were those of
a white man. One of his mocassins--the other he had left in some
swamp--was of Indian workmanship; one of his cheeks was still daubed
with the red and black war-paint, which had been nearly rubbed off the
other; his hands, although burnt brown by the sun, were those of a white
man. If any doubt could have remained, his features would have settled
it; the bold blue eye could no more have belonged to an Indian than
could the full rosy cheek and the well-formed mouth. The crowd stared at
him with the same sort of stupefaction which they might have shown had
they entered a thicket expecting to find a fat deer, and encountered in
its stead a growling bear.
"I should think you've looked at me enough," said the stranger at last,
in good English, and in a sort of half-humorous, half-petulant tone; at
the same time delivering a blow, with the flat of his knife, upon the
horny hand of a backwoodsman, who had again attempted to lift his cap
with a view to examine his hair.
It was, as the reader will already have conjectured, our young
Englishman, who, having been guided by the Indian runner into the path
to the Coshattoes, had at last succeeded in making his way over and
through the innumerable swamps, rivers, and forests with which that
district is so superabundantly blessed. The comparative coolness of the
season, and the shallowness of the swamps and rivers, of the former of
which many were entirely dried up and converted into meadows, had
favoured his journey, or else he would scarcely have succeeded in
reaching the banks of the Atchafalaya. For the preceding three weeks he
had lived upon wild-geese and ducks, which he had killed and roasted as
the Indians had taught him. He had now just emerged from the wilderness,
and, however great his wish undoubtedly was to find himself once more in
civilized society, the grim aspect of the Goliath-like backwoodsmen,
their keen eyes and sunburnt visages, and long horn-handled knives, were
so uninviting, that he was almost tempted to wish himself back again.
Nevertheless, he seemed rather amused than disconcerted by the frank,
forward familiarity of the people he had come amongst.
"And d--n it!" exclaimed one of the men after a long pause, during which
Hodges had been the observed of all eyes, "who, in the devil's name, are
you? You are no Redskin?"
"No, that I'm not," replied the young man, laughing; "I am an
Englishman."
He spoke the last words in the short decided tone, and with all the
importance of a baron or count, who, having condescended to arrive in
disguise amongst his dependents, on a sudden thinks proper to lay aside
his incognito. There was in his look and manner, as he glanced over the
crowd, a degree of self-satisfaction, and a curiosity to see the
impression made by the announcement, mingled with the feeling of
superiority which John Bull willingly entertains, and which he at that
time was wont to display towards Brother Jonathan, but which has since
entirely disappeared, and given place to a sort of envious uneasiness--a
certain proof, in spite of the scorn in which it disguises itself, of
his consciousness of the superiority of the detested Brother Jonathan,
aforesaid.
"An Englishman!" repeated twenty voices.
"A Britisher!" vociferated fifty more, and amongst these a young man in
a grass-green coat, who had just come up with an air of peculiar haste
and importance.
"A Britisher!" repeated the gentleman in green; "that's not your only
recommendation, is it?"
The person addressed glanced slightly at the speaker, who was measuring
him with a pair of lobster-eyes of no very friendly expression, and then
carelessly replied--
"For the present, it is my only one."
"And d--n it, what has brought you to Opelousas?" demanded the green
man.
"My legs!" replied Hodges. But the joke was not well taken.
"Young man," said an elderly American, "you are in Louisiana state, and
see before you citizens of the United States of America. That man
there"--he pointed to green-coat--"is the constable. Jokin' is out of
place here."
"I come from on board my ship, if you must know."
"From on board his ship!" repeated every body, and every brow visibly
knit, and a low murmur ran through the crowd.
The news of the landing of British troops had just reached the town, and
the same courier had brought the unwelcome intelligence of the capture
of the American gunboats on the Mississippi. Trifling as this disaster
was, compared with the brilliant victories achieved on Lakes Champlain
and Erie, and on the ocean, at every meeting, by American ships over
British, it had, nevertheless, produced a general feeling of
exasperation.
The constable stepped aside with several other men, and talked with them
in a low voice. When they returned, and again surrounded the Englishman,
their conference had produced a marked change in their manner. Their
rough familiarity and friendly inquisitiveness had given place to a
repulsive coldness; the humorous cheerfulness of their countenances was
exchanged for a proud, cold earnestness, and they measured Hodges with
keen distrustful glances.
"Stranger," said the constable, in a tone of command, "you are a
suspicious person, and must follow me."
"And who may you be, who take upon yourself to show me the way?"
demanded the midshipman.
"You have already heard who I am. These men are citizens of the United
States, presently at war with your country, as you probably know."
The green-clad functionary spoke these words with a certain emphasis,
and even dignity, which caused the young man to look with rather less
disdain at his shining beaver-hat, and verdant inexpressibles.
"I am ready to follow," said he; "but I trust I am in safety amongst
you."
"That you will soon see," replied the constable, dryly.
And so saying, he, his prisoner, and the crowd, set off in the direction
of the town.
If, as appears from the preceding extract, our author is ready enough to
expose the peculiarities and failings of the English, whose foibles, in
various parts of this book, he sets forth with at least as much severity
as justice, he, on the other hand, and although his sympathies are
evidently American, gives some curious specimens of their deficiency in
military organization and discipline, and of the loose manner in which
public affairs were carried on in the then newly formed state of
Louisiana. The young midshipman is taken before our old acquaintance,
Squire Copeland, who, with the restlessness characteristic of his
countrymen, has emigrated some three years before from Georgia to the
infant town of Opelousas, and holds the double office of justice of the
peace and major of militia. Hodges is examined on suspicion of being an
emissary from the British, sent to stir up the Indian tribes against the
Americans. He scrupulously observes his promise, made to Tokeah and
Canondah, not to reveal their place of abode; and, hampered by this
pledge, is unable to give a clear account of himself. Suspicion is
confirmed by his disguise, and by certain exclamations which he
imprudently allows to escape him on hearing Major Copeland and his wife
make mention of Tokeah, and of Rosa, their foster-child, of whom they
now for seven years have heard nothing. The result of his examination,
of which the good-natured and unsuspicious squire, having his hands full
of business, and being less skilled in the use of the pen than the
rifle, requests the prisoner himself to draw up the report, is, that
Major Copeland, the constable, and Hodges, set off for a town upon the
Mississippi, then the headquarters of the Louisianian militia. What
occurs upon their arrival there, we will relate in a third and final
notice of the book before us.