CONCLUSION.
"Don't you fire, Ethan," repeated the trapper, as the enthusiastic boy
raised his gun. "No need o' killin' no more on 'em."
The remaining Indians in the water had discovered their mistake, and
were making towards the opposite shore with all possible haste. They
had not expected such a reception, and appeared to be glad to escape
with no greater loss.
"Ho, ho, ho!" shouted other Indians on the shore.
"We are gittin' into a bad scrape," said Ethan, dissatisfied because
Rattleshag had prevented him from firing at the savages. "There's more
'n a million on 'em over thar."
"Them's Lean B'ar's Injins that's yellin'. Don't you see 'em? They was
nigh enough to hear the shootin' and the yellin', and they've kim back
to keep them redskins from hurtin' on us--don't you see?" added
Rattleshag, pointing over at the three mounted savages who had just
dashed up to the bank on the other side of the stream.
"So they be; and hyer kims the rest on 'em."
At this instant the other three of the escort galloped wildly over the
prairie, and before the voyagers could reach the boat the Indians
intercepted them. Like those on the other side, they uttered wild
yells, and seemed to be as much excited as though they had been
actually engaged in battle.
The exiles had not intended to hold any communication with their
escort, dreading the treacherous nature of the savages; and when the
three Indians approached, Ethan promptly placed himself in a defensive
attitude. Though the escort continued to yell, they did not offer to
attack the voyagers. They stopped on the bank of the river, where the
bateau lay. One of them dismounted, and leaped into the boat. With his
scalping-knife he cut the bonds of Wahena, and taking the boy in his
arms, bounded to the shore again.
Ethan's heart sank within him, when he saw that the captive, upon whose
presence he had relied for the safety of the party, was wrested from
them. Rushing forward with his rifle, he took aim at Wahena,
disregarding the earnest remonstrances of Rattleshag.
"No shoot! no shoot!" exclaimed one of the savages--the one who had
before acted as Lean Bear's messenger. "No kill, no hurt."
"Don't fire," pleaded Fanny. "If you should kill Wahena, they would
butcher us all."
The Indian boy saw her as she stepped forward, and immediately began to
talk in the most earnest manner to the savage who held him.
"No hurt!" shouted the spokesman of the Indians. "You go--no kill; no
kill, no hurt."
Wahena, after struggling for some time with the brawny savage who held
him, escaped from his grasp, and, to the surprise of the voyagers,
rushed over to the spot where Fanny stood. Seizing her hand, he shook
it warmly, and then began a series of violent gesticulations, which
were at first unintelligible. He dropped on his knees, clasped his
hands, looked up to the sky, and then beat his breast. He pointed to
the boat, intimating by his signs that she was to go on board. She
obeyed, and was followed by Ethan and the trapper. The party stepped on
board, and to the astonishment of all, Wahena followed them, and took
the seat he had occupied during the voyage.
Ethan and Rattleshag pushed off, and when the bateau began to move down
the river, Wahena shouted to the Indians, and pointed down the river,
indicating that they were to follow, as they had done before. The
Indian boy's signs on shore were now interpreted to be an expression of
his gratitude to Fanny for her kindness to him, and a prayer to the
Great Spirit for her safety.
If the party in the boat were surprised at the singular conduct of
Wahena, the Indians on shore were still more astonished; but he spoke a
language which they could understand, and they sullenly resumed their
march down the river.
The captive was now treated as a friend. Though he could not have known
what the contract between his father and the voyagers had been, except
so far as he had learned it from the subsequent events, he had
voluntarily surrendered himself, and insisted upon seeing Fanny
conveyed to a place of safety. Almost every day while they had been on
the island, she had sung her sweet songs to Wahena, and he had listened
to them with rapt attention. As the boat slowly went its way, he begged
her by signs to sing, and she complied. He expressed his pleasure,
which was shared by Ethan and Rattleshag, by the most eloquent signs.
During the day, Ethan and Rattleshag slept, while Fanny steered the
boat. Wahena, no longer in bonds, kept close to her. He intimated in
his dumb language that he wanted to take the helm, and gently took the
tiller from her. He was soon proficient in steering, for there was now
nothing to do but keep the boat in the middle of the river, and
occasionally to trim the sail.
At night Fanny and Wahena went to sleep again, and the management of
the boat was divided between Ethan and the trapper. The next morning
the bateau had entered the Big Woods, and the sail was nearly useless,
for the forest obstructed the wind, and the voyagers were mainly
dependent upon the current of the river for the little progress they
made; but on the afternoon of the third day of the journey, they came
in sight of a town, which Rattleshag said was not more than twelve
miles from Mankato. The Indian escort then hailed the boat.
"No go more," said the spokesman.
"I reckon 'twon't be safe for 'em to go any further," added Rattleshag.
Fanny ran the boat up to the shore, and Ethan, always dreading the
treachery of the savages, kept his gun and revolver in readiness for
immediate use. The time had come for Wahena to take leave of the party.
He was profoundly affected at the thought of bidding adieu to Fanny; he
did not appear to like Ethan or the trapper. He pressed her hand,
looked very sad, and made his demonstrative gestures. She kissed him on
the cheek, pointed up to the sky, and laid her hands upon his head. If
she could have spoken to him, she would have expressed the wish that he
would abandon the savage life of his people, and become a true man; and
she would have been glad to teach him the religion of the Saviour, now
so dear to her, and to show him how to _hope and have_.
Wahena turned slowly and sadly away from her, and walked to the Indians
who were waiting for him. A stout fellow lifted him on the horse in
front of him, and dashed away; but Fanny could see him trying to obtain
a last view of her, as the savages entered the forest. She missed him
very much as the boat continued on her course. The Indian boy was much
attached to her, and she found herself much interested in him. She has
not seen him since they parted, and probably they never will meet again
in this world; but her blessing will go with him, and perhaps her
gentle influence will soften his savage nature, and be reflected in his
kindness to the white people with whom he may come in contact.
At sundown the bateau passed into the Minnesota, and at dark the party
landed at Mankato, only three miles below the mouth of the Blue Earth,
on which the last part of the voyage had been made.
We need not say that the party found plenty of warm friends; for when
it was known that they were fugitives from the Indian massacre, every
house and every heart was open to them. Troops in large numbers had
gone forward for the suppression of the insurrection, and confidence
was in a great measure restored. The place was full of people who had
escaped, and the savages were being captured and sent hither for trial.
The party were accommodated at the house of a trader, who supplied them
with all they wanted, both of food and clothing. It was now time to
think of the future. By the merciful interposition of Providence, the
exiles had been saved from death and captivity; but they had no home,
and no relations. Fanny knew what a warm welcome awaited her at
Woodville, and she was desirous of going there; but she had no money to
pay for such a long journey. She mentioned her wish to the trader, and
he promptly offered to advance her a sufficient sum to enable her and
Ethan to reach their destination.
"Where are you going, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny, when her own and
Ethan's future movements had been arranged.
"I dunno."
"Why don't you join the sogers, and help put down the Injins?" asked
Ethan. "You are a dead shot, and they'd like to hev you."
"I can't do thet," replied Rattleshag, shaking his head.
"Why not? They want all the good men they kin git, and you'd be wuth a
heap to 'em, for you know all about the Injins,--whar to find 'em, and
how to trap 'em," added Ethan, with considerable warmth; and he was a
little inclined to offer his own services.
"The Injins hes allers ben my friends, and I don't want to help kill
'em. They've ben abused, and thet's what made 'em rise up agin the
whites. They've ben cheated out of their land, and then cheated out of
the money they ought to hev fur it. I pity 'em, and I shan't help kill
'em. I shall go back to the woods when the fightin' 's over, and live
like I allers did."
The next day Ethan and Fanny shook hands with Rattleshag, and bidding
him a cordial good by, started upon their long journey to the eastward.
The prairie boy was greatly excited at the prospect of seeing the great
cities of the country through which he was to pass. On cars and
steamers where it was known that the boy and girl were refugees from
the great Indian massacre, they were the lions of the hour. They were
often called upon to tell their story of peril and death, and every one
was kind and generous to them. They were frequently invited to private
houses on the journey; but they declined all invitations, and hurried
on as fast as steam could convey them to their destination, and arrived
at Woodville without even stopping to sleep a night on the way.
Mrs. Green gave the exiles a motherly welcome. The fact that the
massacre had extended to the settlement where Fanny's uncle resided had
been published in the newspapers, and the housekeeper and servants
believed that she had been one of its victims. She was welcomed,
therefore, as one who had come from the grave. Ethan was regarded as a
hero at the mansion and in its vicinity, and became a person of no
little distinction.
Ethan French was a young man of no little manliness and independence.
After he had spent a week in idleness, and had told the story of his
escape from the Indians till it had become tiresome to him, he began to
look about him for a situation in which he could earn his own living.
But Mrs. Green induced him to remain at Woodville until the return of
Mr. Grant; and he worked in the garden and stable.
Without waiting for instructions from Mr. Grant, the housekeeper
forwarded to the kind-hearted trader the sum of money which he had
advanced to pay the expenses of Fanny and Ethan from Mankato to
Woodville. The money was accompanied by a letter of thanks from Fanny.
In November, the family returned from Europe. Mrs. Green had already
informed them by letter of the safety, and of the arrival at Woodville,
of Fanny Jane, as she was called in the house. Mr. Grant and his
daughters had suffered a great deal of anxiety on her account, after
they read the intelligence of the massacre, and they were heartily
rejoiced to meet her again, after believing for months that she was
dead, or worse than dead--a captive in the hands of the barbarous
Indians.
Ethan, awkward and unaccustomed to good society, was overwhelmed by the
kindness of what he called the "grand people." He was invited into the
drawing-room, and from him and Fanny a very correct account of their
adventures was obtained.
"Fanny Jane, I can hardly believe you are the same girl I had in my
charge," exclaimed Miss Fanny, when both stories had been told and
discussed.
"But I am," said the orphan girl, with a blush.
"I am sure none of us would have behaved so well in the midst of such
trials," added Mrs. Sherwood. "It is terrible to think of."
"You cannot tell how thankful I am that all this happened after my
visit to New York," continued the returned wanderer. "I could not, if I
would, banish from my thoughts the image of Jenny Kent, who led me to
believe in truth and goodness, and to strive to live for them."
"I should hev been skeered to death ef't hadn't been for Fanny. She was
so good that she made me feel strong."
"And this is our Fanny Jane!" added Mr. Grant.
"I have tried to be good all the time," replied Fanny, wiping away a
tear she could not repress.
"And you hev been!" ejaculated Ethan, with emphasis. "Creation hokee!
nobody couldn't do no better, nohow!"
The family could not help laughing at the earnestness of Ethan.
"She's been the makin' o' me, ef I ever do come out anywhere," he
continued.
"I have taught him to believe in goodness, to hope for it, and then
labor to have it," said Fanny Jane.
"Hope and have," added Miss Fanny.
Mr. Grant promptly decided that Ethan's greatest need was a better
education, and the prairie boy went to school with Fanny during the
following winter. In the spring he talked like a civilized being; did
not say "hyer" for _here_, nor "kim" for _come_, and has banished
"creation hokee" from the list of his pet phrases. In the summer he
went to learn the trade of a machinist, for which he has decided taste
and ability, and the prospect is, that he will become a good and useful
man, if not a brilliant one.
Mrs. Kent's husband returned home during Fanny's absence, having been
"sick and in prison" in the rebel country. When he had drawn his pay,
he insisted upon returning to Mr. Grant the sums advanced to his wife
by her kind friends; but they persistently refused to accept them. He
wept over his lost child, and thanked God for raising up such friends
for her while he was absent.
Fanny still resides at Woodville; and having now completed her school
course, she assists Mrs. Green in the management of the house. She is
still true to her high resolves; still wears the emblematic anchor, and
strives to be as pure and good as Jenny was. She occasionally visits
the grave of her departed young friend, and always gathers new
inspiration and new strength for the battle of life, as she reads on
the marble tablet her dying words--HOPE AND HAVE.