AN INDIAN MESSENGER--FROZEN TO DEATH.
The evening hour drew on. Little Wolf lay upon her bed feverish with
pain. Her arm was in bandages, and Dr. Goodrich stood by soothing and
encouraging her. Louise Sherman having arrived, kindly relieved Mrs.
Hawley, who embraced the opportunity to slip out and regale herself
with a cup of tea.
As she approached the kitchen, the sound of Daddy's voice reached her
ear, and the few words that she caught hastened her footsteps
thither.
"It was as much as ever I could du fur to hold Fleet Foot," he was
saying as she opened the door.
"Go on, Daddy," said Mrs. Hawley as he paused at her entrance, "I want
to hear all about it."
"Wall, as I was a tellin Sorrel Top," he continued, "I was pretty nigh
done out a holdin Fleet Foot, when we got tu that are long hill, fur I
was a leetle afeared he might git the better on me, but the Honey
want, she ain't never afeared of nothin nor never was, but she was
oncommon quiet, she hadn't spoke for a long time--when, all at once,
jest as we was agoin up the hill, what should we see but Wycoff's big
team a tearin down like Jehu. He was a swearin and a cussin and there
want no dodging of him. I riz right up and hollered, and the Honey riz
up and hollered and shook her handkerchief, but it want no use. Down,
down it cum like lightning, sled and all. Fleet Foot got skeered with
the hollerin and he jest _went it_. Wall, the Honey ketched up Fanny
in a jiff, and tossed her out, and was out herself afore I knowed it,
and I was jest a goin fur to git out when the teams cum together
kersmash, and I was pitched head fust clean over Wycoff's sled inter
the road, and would no doubt hev been killed but my time hadn't come.
'Tween you and me, it is _foreordinated_ that we won't die till our
time comes. Fur you may pitch a man about, and break him all tu bits
and he lives and gits well. But when his time comes, the prick of a
pin will kill him and nothin on airth ken save him. Wall, the fust
thing I did when I found myself alive, was to look for the Honey, and
afore I hed a chance fur to help her, that are Sherman happened along,
and left me in charge of his hoss, while he went fur to fetch her. The
fust thing I hearn was a great hollerin fur a bottle of wine that he
had in his sleigh. Wall, I took the infarnel stuff and slung it as fur
as I could see and told him there want nun there."
"Miss DeWolf would give you fits if she knew what you'd done," said
Sorrel Top, "the wine want yourn."
"Wall, it was the devil's, and I slung it tu him," retorted Daddy
triumphantly, "that are Sherman was riled, and I let him sweat, fur I
want a goin fur to hev him pour pisen down the Honey. No doubt, if he
had gin it tu her, her blood would hev got heated and fever hev sot
in. Some folks don't seem to know nothin about them things," said the
speaker darting a contemptous glance at Sorrel Top.
"Well, Daddy, what happened next?" said Mrs. Hawley, soothingly.
"I ain't a goin fur to tell nothin more tonight," said Daddy
decidedly. "If folks can't listen without interruptin me, they may
wait till they ken," and he shot another meaning glance at the
offending Sorrel Top.
"I guess," said Sorrel Top with some asperity "you're not the only one
that can tell me about it, is he Fanny?" she said turning to Fanny
Green, whom she discovered to have fallen fast asleep in her chair.
"'Tween you an me," said Daddy rather dryly, "I guess you won't hear
no more of that are story to-night."
Sorrel Top's temper was slightly ruffled and she began to shake Fanny
rather roughly. "Wake up, Fanny," said she "wake up."
"Oh! Mrs. Wycoff, don't whip me," mourned Fanny piteously, as she
opened her eyes, "I didn't mean to go to sleep, but I was so tired."
"Don't you know no better than to treat a little motherless thing in
that are way?" said Daddy coming indignantly forward. "Come here,
Fanny," and he took the child tenderly in his arms; "if anybody speaks
a cross word to you in this are house, they'll git reported."
By degrees Fanny awoke, and was borne off to bed by Mrs. Hawley.
Scarcely had they gone when a new object of interest attracted Daddy's
attention. There was a slight rustling at the outside door, and in
stalked a sturdy Indian in blanket and leggins and soft moccasins,
causing his firm tread to fall noiselessly, and giving Daddy a
superstitious start, as if he had seen an apparition. The red man
stated in broken English that he had brought a letter a long way from
the "lodge of the pale face, to the Wolf squaw."
Daddy hastened to put the letter in Little Wolf's hand. It proved to
be a rather lengthy communication from Antoinette La Claire, and as
all were interested, at Little Wolf's request, Louise proceeded to
read it aloud.
"Fairy Knoll, Jan. 20th, 18--.
MY DEAR MISS DEWOLF:
A faithful Indian, known for a long time to cousin John, has
called here on his route to Chimney Rock and I embrace the
opportunity to write to you, as it will probably be the last
I shall have before spring opens.
Cousin John has fitted up a cosy little room for me in the
loft. It is hung around with skins and blankets, and is made
comfortably warm by the fire below. There is one little
window from which I obtain a fine view of the "City of
Trees," which you used so much to admire. They are now shorn
of their foliage, and snow and ice cover the branches, and,
forsaken by their summer inhabitants, they stand and sadly
moan day and night.
But these mournful sounds pass unheeded, by the happy couple
in this peaceful cottage. Not a cloud has yet darkened their
"honeymoon." All their hours are pleasant hours, and all
their dreams are pleasant dreams. On these wintry mornings we
rise rather late; after the sun has peeped in at the window a
long time.
Cousin John goes out in the warmest part of the day to split
rails, but, even then, he finds it convenient to take his
brandy bottle with him. He is a firm believer in the efficacy
of brandy to keep out the cold. But when, with the experience
I have had, I see him in perfect strength and health, go out
day after day with that little flask in his side pocket, I
pray that it may never become a snare to him.
Yesterday morning, as he was about starting, I ventured to
remonstrate with him. "Cousin John" I said, "I would not
take the brandy to-day, I do not think you will miss it." He
laughed good naturedly, and turning to Cousin Maria, he said,
'Maria dear, Antoinette is concerned about my morals. Shall I
tell her of a certain lady who drained Mr. Sherman's wine
bottle on her way to Fairy Knoll?"
Cousin Maria blushed and said, "I am sorry John that I ever
touched it. Let us now mutually pledge ourselves never again
to drink anything that will intoxicate." But Cousin John only
laughed, and kissed his young wife tenderly and went away to
the wood, taking the brandy bottle with him.
When he came home at night, and the supper was over, and he
had, as usual, seated himself by Maria and taken her hand in
his, (at which signal I invariably become suddenly sleepy and
am obliged to retire,) I stole away from the scene, and
sitting down by my little window, looked out into the faint
moonlight, and thought much and long upon the joys and
sorrows of earth, but most upon its sorrows, for the "whole
creation groaneth," and my own heart is always sorrowful.
I do not know why, but it may have been, and probably was,
because all the anguish and sorrow that has ever come under
my personal observation, has been occasioned by that drink
that "biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder,"
that the scene of the morning mingled with the thought of my
cousins below eagerly quaffing their cup of bliss; the
sweetest that earth offers to youthful lips. 'Can bitter
drops ever mingle there?' thought I. 'Can the honey become
wormword and gall, and every joy be forgotten? Can the little
speck that I thought I saw this morning on the horizon become
a great cloud and overshadow us all?' In imagination I saw
lovely cousin Maria pale and faded, and careworn, and cousin
John's noble and manly countenance bloated and brutish, as I
have seen men become by the use of stimulating drinks, and
involuntarily I threw up my hands and cried, 'Is there none
to help?'
It may have been a morbid condition of the mind that wrought
these sad fancies, and I am sure those who have never
realized the danger of the cup would treat them lightly, but
you dear friend, know that from just such beginnings the most
harrowing sorrows have sprung.
I know cousin John would smile if he knew what a serious
matter I have made of a thing that he considers so trifling,
and he is so good and kind to me, and his whole soul so free
from vice, that I almost regret having put these thoughts on
paper. But out of the fulness of my anxious heart I have
written as perhaps I ought not.
God grant that all my fears may prove groundless, and that
the serpent's sting may never, never more through another's
infatuation reach our hearts, or yours.
I was at length aroused from my reverie by our Indian
visitor. I caught a glimpse of him just as he emerged from
the woods, and before I could go down to announce his coming,
he was within, and by his noiseless footfall had taken my
cousins greatly by surprise. Maria was smoothing her rumpled
hair and looking rather annoyed at the unceremonious
intrusion, while cousin John and his visitor were deep in the
mysteries of "jargon," which being interpreted by my humble
self was truly startling and shocking.
He stated that two "pale faces," were lying a short distance
off, frozen to death. His supposition was that they had
indulged too freely in "fire water."
Cousin John immediately accompanied him to the spot, and
found indeed two men cold and stiff in death, and the empty
bottle found upon their persons gave evidence of the cause.
The Indian recognized one, having seen him with my dead
brother, and said he was "no good pale face," and his name
was Prime Hawley. They found in the pocket of the other an
old letter addressed to "Hiram Green, Chimney Rock." You may
possibly know something about the latter.
"Fanny Green's father, and Mrs. Hawley's husband," ejaculated Little
Wolf. "Hark, Louise," she added in a whisper, "they have heard it
all."
Sounds of distress were heard in the adjoining room where Mrs. Hawley
was engaged in putting her little charge to rest. Both she and Fanny
had heard every word of the letter and the news of the unhappy death
of the husband of the one, and the father of the other, burst suddenly
upon them, and deep and tearless groans of Mrs. Hawley and Fanny's
heart breaking sobs mingled together.
"Put the letter away Louise, _do_," said Little Wolf, turning her face
away with a heart truly sick.