dog, I found myself on the top of a high mountain, which commanded an
extensive view of the surrounding country. The charms of the landscape
soon drew off my attention from the pursuit on which I had set out so
zealously in the morning; and leaving my dog to chase the game at his
pleasure, I indulged myself in pursuing the phantoms of my imagination.
In this mood of mind I approached the end of the mountain, whose rugged
cliffs overhung the river which washed their base. My dog running to the
brink, looked over, but instantly bounded back again, ran to and fro,
looking up in my face then crept back cautiously to the spot, and gazed
intently at some object below him. Curious to learn what it was that so
deeply interested my faithful companion, and anxious to secure it, if
worth shooting, I looked to the priming of my gun, and stretching myself
on the rock, projected my head over the precipice. A single glance made
me follow my dog’s example, and draw back; for, on a kind of shelf,
formed by a projecting rock, a few feet below me, sat an old man, his
white hairs flowing over his shoulders, calmly surveying the scene
around him. From his dress and whole appearance, I judged that he was,
like myself, a stranger in that neighbourhood, which made me still more
desirous to seek his acquaintance. I soon found a winding path which led
to the front of the bluff, and in a few moments brought me to the side
of the stranger. To my increased surprise I found that he was sitting at
the mouth of a cavern, which had been scooped out of the solid rock by
the hand of Nature. Here was as convenient a cell, and as profound a
solitude as any hermit could desire. But it was clear that he was no
hermit. His was neither the garb, nor the look, nor the address of a man
living in seclusion from his fellows. When a sudden turn in the path
brought me close to his side, he rose calmly, and saluted me as blandly
and as kindly as if we had been old acquaintances. Stammering out a few
words of apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when he
interposed with a courteous gesture.
“Would you not like to have a look at my hermitage?” said he; then,
perhaps, noticing my look of incredulity, he added, “It is mine now, at
least, by the right of possession.”
“Pardon me,” said I, “but I should not take you for an inhabitant of
these mountains.”
“And why not, pray?”
“It is not customary, I think, for wild men of the woods and rocks to
wear white neckcloths and polished boots,” said I.
The old gentleman laughed at this remark, and then said, “you may call
me a _temporary_ hermit, then; for you certainly found me alone, and
sitting at the mouth of my cave. Indeed, if I were to assert my claim to
it, I doubt whether there is any man living who could show a prior
right; for I knew this place when few white men had ever penetrated what
was then considered a remote wilderness.”
“The prospect must have changed very much since then,” said I.
“In some respects it certainly has,” he replied; “but the main features
of a scene like this continue ever the same. The plough cannot level
mountains, nor cultivation change the course of rivers. I have been
tracing the windings of this stream with my eye, and find them just as
they were; and I recognize every soaring peak, and every projecting rock
as an old acquaintance; I saw broken clouds just like these floating
above the mountain tops fifty years ago; and I would almost swear that
yonder eagle is the same which then sailed so majestically through the
air.”
“Those villages and forms, however, must be new to you.”
“Ah, yes!” said he, “there we see the hand of civilization. Where now
our eyes take in no less than four neat and thriving villages, there
were not then as many clusters of rude wigwams; and these green fields
and blooming orchards were an unbroken wilderness.”
“A most happy change,” said I.
“So reason doubtless tells us,” he replied. “Better the peace and
industry which now reign here, than the war-whoop, or the listless
indolence of savage life. And yet it is melancholy to think how quickly
these old lords of the forest have disappeared. Many a league was made
in their rude fashion to endure between the parties and their
descendants, as long as these mountains should continue to stand, or
this river to run. The eternal hills still cast their shadows on the
ever-rolling waters; but the powerful tribes who appealed to them as
perpetual witnesses of their faith are extinct, or live only in a few
wretched stragglers, thousands of miles away in the far west. We have
possessed ourselves of their heritage; and to show our gratitude, we
abuse them for not having made a better use of their own possessions,
and congratulate ourselves on the happy change we have effected.”
“There will never be wanting romantic persons,” I remarked, “to
celebrate the glories of savage life, and the felicity of spending a
northern winter half naked and half starved, under the precarious
shelter of a wigwam.”
“Well,” said he, with enthusiasm, “let them embalm the memory of the Red
Man! It will appease the manes of those ambitious warriors to be
renowned in song and story. The noblest spirits of the world have gained
but a few lines in a Universal History, or a single page in a
Biographical Dictionary, and have deemed themselves well paid for a life
of toil. Ambition is everywhere the same; and its essence is a desire to
be remembered. It may happen that the sad fate of the Indian will
perpetuate his memory when the achievements of all his conquerors have
been forgotten.”
“I cannot help suspecting,” said I, smiling, “that you have yourself
been a warrior, perhaps the adopted son of the chief who presided over
these hunting-grounds.”
“No,” said he, “I was not so great a favorite with the chief of these
hunting-grounds.”
“Ah, then,” continued I, “your sympathy is that of a generous conqueror
for an unfortunate adversary.”
“Not exactly that either,” said he; “I was neither for nor against them.
If you are inclined to hear my story, I will relate it here, in sight of
every spot to which it refers.”
We then sat down on the rock together, and he proceeded as follows.
* * * * *
I came out as bearer of despatches to what was then the frontier
settlement; but an errand of my own induced me to come on here. It was
at the time that the Moravians were making zealous and apparently very
successful efforts to civilize and Christianize the Indians; and they
had a station, under the care of the venerable Luten, which I know must
be somewhere in this neighborhood. Although I had known and honored
Luten from my boyhood, I should scarcely have ventured on such an
expedition for the mere pleasure of seeing _him_; but he had brought his
wife with him, and what is more to our present purpose, his daughter,
Mary. Well, it was a rash undertaking to penetrate this wilderness
without a guide, just then, for the Indians were in a state of angry
hostility toward the whites, in consequence of some real or supposed
injuries lately received; but what will not an enterprising young fellow
risk in such a cause? Even the bold hunter often carries his life in his
hand; and the game I was pursuing was better worth the risk than a wolf
or a panther.
Having struck on this chain of mountains, and finding that they
commanded a view of the surrounding country, I followed them up until I
reached the brow above us, when I caught a glimpse of a figure suddenly
gliding down the face of the hill toward where we are now sitting. I
cautiously followed, and saw a man whom I knew, from his appearance, to
be an _Indian conjurer_, enter this cave. Without disturbing him, I
returned to the hill above, and carefully explored the country round for
the station I was in search of. I had given up the search, with the full
conviction that there was no settlement in sight, when the light breeze
wafted to my ear the sound of human voices. I soon made out that it was
a familiar strain of sacred music, and sweeping over the valley again
with my telescope, discovered an encampment just where yonder creek
empties into the river. It was the hour of evening worship; and the
savages were tuning their voices to the unwonted notes of a Christian
hymn. Of the venerable missionary, it might emphatically be said, that
he pointed to heaven, and led the way. He had left country, home, and
friends; the habits of a lifetime, and the tastes of a highly cultivated
mind, for the sake of the poor Indian; and it mattered little to him
whether his head reposed in a palace or a wigwam, or whether his bones
were laid in the Fatherland or in some wild glen of the New World, so
that his Master’s work was sped. If such thoughts passed through my mind
whilst my eye rested for a moment on him, they were instantly put to
flight when I saw another figure in the group. But he would have
forgiven my irreverence, if he had known of it, for the love he also
bore his gentle Mary.
I quickly descended the mountain, and reached the encampment just as the
sun was setting. Luten received me as a son; Mary as a brother, except
that the blush which suffused her face and the agitation of her nerves
were something more than fraternal—so, at least, I flattered myself.
When I inquired for the missionary’s wife a tear started into the eye of
both father and daughter. I understood it all—she had found a grave in
the wilderness.
I had many questions to ask as well as to answer, and much news to tell,
and the evening wore away before curiosity had been satisfied on either
side. But I felt anxious to know their plans and prospects for the
future; I therefore inquired of Luten how he was succeeding with the
Indians.
“Far beyond my most sanguine expectations,” he replied.
“You really think, then, that it is possible to change their savage
natures,” said I.
“Why should it be thought doubtful?” said he. “Are we not all descended
from the same parents—all partakers of the same fallen nature—all
hastening to the same bourne? But you would scarcely recognize the
gnarled and stunted oak, springing from the scanty earth afforded by a
crevice in the rock, as belonging to the same species with the monarch
of the forest, striking his roots deep in a generous soil, and spreading
his branches proudly toward heaven. Pour into the minds of these poor
heathen savages the light of civilization and Christianity, and in a few
generations they will have become the noblest race of men in the world.”
“It is a very common belief, however,” said I, “that they are incapable
of civilization; and does not experience seem to justify this opinion?”
“_My_ experience proves the contrary,” said he, with emphasis. “The
people now in this encampment were lately fierce and blood-thirsty
warriors; I wish the docility and meekness they now exhibit were more
common among white men.”
“But has there been time,” I asked, “to warrant the conclusion that the
change will be permanent?”
“I have no fear as to that,” he said; “the change is radical—the savage
nature is extinct in them; and, like children, their plastic minds can
now be moulded into any form by education.”
“I hope it will prove so,” said I; “but do their chiefs go with them?”
“Their favorite young chief, Tamaque, now leads them as zealously in the
path of peace, as he formerly did in the war-path,” he replied. “A noble
young fellow he is, too.”
“Indeed he is,” said Mary, who had hitherto been listening to our
conversation in silence; “he is always so kind and gentle. I love him as
my own brother.”
The very bluntness of her words might have satisfied me that she meant
_only_ what she said; but somehow or other I did not like her form of
expression, and I began to feel anything but partial toward the person
they referred to. “Pray what does he look like?” I inquired.
“Oh, he is very handsome,” said she, with the same provoking simplicity.
“And no doubt very accomplished,” said I, drily.
“Why, yes,” she replied, “he is by no means wanting in accomplishments.
He was educated at one of our own schools, and, it is said, proved a
very apt scholar. Indeed, his civilized accomplishments are very
respectable; and as to his savage ones,” she added, laughing, “he is
foremost in all the exercises of his tribe.”
I joined in the laugh, rather faintly, and then added, maliciously:
“No doubt even his copper color is unusually bright.”
“By no means,” she replied; “his color is that of a white man a little
tanned by exposure to the sun.”
“The truth is,” said Luten, “he is only half Indian, and he seems to be
endowed with most of the virtues of both the white and red man, without
the vices of either.”
The affair had now become serious, and I could no longer help regarding
this accomplished half-breed chief as a formidable rival.
“On him, more than any man,” continued Luten, “rest my hopes for the
regeneration of his race. I imagine to myself that I see in him the
future founder of Indian civilization. Yes, my young friend, ere you
have attained the age which now bears me to the ground, you will see
these savage tribes every where pursuing the arts of peace; you will see
them kneeling at the altar of the living God, and putting to shame the
boasted civilization of the white man. My old body will be dust long
before that; but this hope, and belief, have sustained me amidst all the
toils and privations of a life in the wilderness.”
I looked anxiously in the speaker’s face; for the thought struck me that
his mind had become unsettled. But his placid countenance and clear,
steady eye, at once convinced me that what I had deemed madness, was
nothing more than the enthusiasm of a bold and sanguine reformer. I
could not find it in my heart to disturb the vision which afforded him
so much delight by any expression of my doubts, and still less did I
feel inclined to enter upon any further discussion of the merits of
Tamaque. I had heard too much about them already for my repose that
night; and every remark I had made on the subject had only served to
call forth a fresh eulogy. I therefore gladly accepted Luten’s
invitation to retire to my bear-skin couch. Many were the visions that
chased each other through my brain during my broken slumbers, and
Tamaque was connected with them all. Sometimes I saw him the king of a
mighty people, with Mary at his side, crowned as a queen. Again I found
myself engaged in deadly conflict with him, and waked just in time to
escape receiving the death-blow at his hands. At another time I seemed
to have got the better of him, and was about to plunge my sword into his
bosom with fierce exultation, when my hand was arrested by a reproachful
look from her, and started up and thanked heaven that it was only a
dream. At length, however, I fell into a sound and tranquil sleep. But I
was not permitted long to enjoy it; for, just at the dawn of day, a
strange Indian rushed into the camp, yelling the war-whoop until the
mountains echoed it back again. The whole camp was instantly in motion;
in a few minutes the council-fire was blazing, and the Indians had
ranged themselves around it.
The messenger soon told his story. A number of fanatic white men had
banded together and sworn eternal hostility to the Indians. They
professed to consider them as standing in the same relation to
themselves as the Canaanites of old did to the children of Israel; and,
therefore, in the name of God, they waged an exterminating war against
them. They had just fallen upon an Indian village of Tamaque’s tribe,
and slaughtered the inhabitants, without regard to age or sex. This
messenger had alone escaped to tell the dreadful tidings. His words
produced a deep sensation on these fierce warriors, just emerging into
civilization. The old instincts of their natures were evidently
reawakened; and it seemed as if a signal only were wanting to make them
rush forth, as in former days, with tomahawk and scalping-knife.
Luten hastened to check the torrent of passion which threatened, in one
moment, to sweep away the fruits of all his labors. Standing, like a
venerable patriarch, among his rebellious household, he endeavored, by a
skillful blending of persuasion with parental authority, to restore them
to a sense of duty. Reminding them of their solemn vows, he conjured
them by that regard for plighted faith which is the red man’s boast, not
to forget or break them in this moment of passion. He pointed out the
high destiny they had to accomplish, in spreading light and knowledge
all through the wilderness, and leading the way to a great reformation
of the Indian race. Then, in a more solemn tone, he spoke of the world
to come; painting the happiness in store for those who persevere to the
end, and the uncontrollable miseries reserved for the unfaithful. His
earnest eloquence was perfectly adapted to their simple apprehensions,
yet eminently calculated to strike their imaginations by the wild
imagery with which he embellished it. Their stern natures relented as he
spoke, and he seemed to be on the point of regaining all his influence
over them, when another messenger arrived, and signified that he had
important news to communicate.
He told of new outrages, more cruel, if possible, than the first; and
whilst every heart beat high with rage and horror, turned to Tamaque and
addressed him thus:
“These griefs are common to us all; but the words I am now to speak will
fall more dismally on Tamaque’s soul than the howling of a famished
wolf. Yesterday you had a father and a sister. I saw that father’s gray
hairs red with blood; I saw that sister, when flying from the blazing
wigwam, driven back by the white men’s spears—and she returned no more.
Then I came, swift as a hunted deer, to sound the war-whoop in the ears
of Tamaque and his warriors.”
Throughout the whole scene Tamaque had been sitting as impassive as a
statue. It was impossible to gather from his looks any hint of what was
passing in his mind; and when, at length, he rose, the fire that beamed
from his eye alone enabled me to anticipate his purpose.
“Warriors!” he said, “we must listen to the song of peace no longer. The
white man’s words are love, but his embrace is death. Let us return,
without delay, to the customs of our fathers. Even now I hear their
voices, from the land of spirits, calling us to war and vengeance.” Then
turning toward me, he continued: “The stranger has come just in
time—seize him and drag him to the torture.”
With savage yells some gathered round me, whilst others hastened to
prepare the stake, and others to collect the implements of torture. I
had seen the operation once in my life, and remembered it well. In that
case, the victim was stripped naked and tied with a grape vine to the
top of a pole, having a free range on the ground of ten or fifteen feet.
At the foot of the pole was a flaming fire of pitch-pine, and each
Indian held in his hand a small bundle of blazing reeds. The
death-signal being given he was attacked on all sides, and driven to the
pole for shelter; but, unable to endure the flames that scorched him
there, he again rushed forth and was again driven back by his
tormentors. When he became exhausted water was poured on him and a brief
respite given, that he might recover strength for new endurements. The
same scene was acted over again and again, until they had extracted the
last thrill of anguish from his scorched and lacerated body.
Similar preparations were now making for me, and I watched them with
shuddering interest as the fire was kindled and the faggots distributed.
Just as they were about to drag me to the stake, however, Luten
interposed. But all his appeals and entreaties were unheeded; and when
at last he begged them, if they must have a victim, to take him and
spare his young friend, Tamaque rudely repulsed him, and ordered him to
be carried away to his tent. My last hope of escape was now
extinguished, when lo! a figure glided suddenly into the arena,
arresting the attention of all, as if she had been a messenger from
Heaven. Can the daughter control these wild spirits who have rebelled
against the authority of the father? She binds her white handkerchief
round my arm, and then whispers in the ear of Tamaque. The words,
whatever they are, act like a charm on him. His stern countenance
relaxes almost into a smile, and he stands for some moments absorbed in
meditation. Again she whispers a few earnest words; upon which he comes
forward, takes me by the arm, and leads me, in silence, to the outskirts
of the encampment.
“Now go!” he cried, pointing toward the east; “you are indebted for your
freedom to one I love better than you. See that you make a good use of
it; for, if you should be retaken, and brought here again, not even
_her_ entreaties shall save you from the torture. Away! and here,” he
continued, handing me a red belt, “bear to the false-hearted cowards you
came from this token of the hatred and defiance of Tamaque and his
warriors.” He waved his hand to prevent my replying, and stalked away.
I was now free, but by no means satisfied with the manner in which my
liberty had been procured. What meant this mysterious influence of a
fair young Christian girl over a haughty savage chieftain? What were
those whispered words which had wrought the sudden charm? Had she
yielded to some request, or given some pledge in order to make her
prayer effectual? My mind was racked with torments scarce less poignant
than those which just before had threatened to assail my body. I
resolved at all hazards to see the end of it; and, therefore, in
defiance of fire and faggot, concealed myself at a point close by, which
commanded a full view of the neighborhood.
I had not been long in my hiding place when I saw a procession, with
Tamaque at its head, move from the camp in the direction of this
mountain. I conjectured at once that they were coming here to consult
the conjurer, and resolved to follow them. When they had descended the
face of the precipice to the spot where we are now sitting, I crept
cautiously forward on the rock above, and found myself in full hearing
of their consultation.
“How often have I warned you,” said the conjurer, “against the teachings
of the white men. I told you they only wished to rob you of your courage
that they might destroy you the more easily; but you refused to listen
to me.”
“Well, well,” said Tamaque, “that is past; there is no help for it now.
Let us talk of the future.”
“Last year,” continued the conjurer, “when no game was to be found, and
when the corn all withered away, I told you the Great Spirit was angry
because you were forsaking the customs of your fathers; but you turned a
deaf ear to my words.”
“I remember it all,” said Tamaque, “but go on, and tell us of the
future.”
“They promised you,” persisted the conjurer, “that if you would worship
their God you should go to their heaven when you died. I told you that
your spirits and theirs could never live in peace in the same
spirit-land; but you would not believe me.”
“Come, come, I am tired of this,” said Tamaque.
“No forests, no rivers, no deer, no hunting and no war,” continued the
conjurer, “what would the Indian warrior do in the white man’s heaven?”
“Cease your babbling!” cried Tamaque, in a tone no longer to be
disregarded. “If you can foretell our fortunes in this war speak; if
not, out on your boasted wisdom!”
The conjurer seemed to feel that it was necessary to come to the point.
After a long pause, he asked:
“What have you done with the white stranger that came to your camp last
evening?”
The old impostor had no doubt seen me at the same time I had seen him as
I crossed the mountain, but he was determined to make a mystery of it.
Tamaque seemed puzzled.
“How did you know of his coming?” he inquired.
“Tamaque doubts the conjurer’s wisdom,” he replied.
“No!” said Tamaque, “you would not tell me what I come to hear. Go on,
now, and I’ll believe you.”
“Has the stranger been put to death?”
“He is gone,” said Tamaque.
“It was wrong,” said the conjurer; “he should have died at the stake.
The Great Spirit calls for a sacrifice. The missionary and his daughter
must die.”
“No!” said Tamaque, “it is impossible.”
“It must be so,” replied the conjurer; “they must die before sunset.”
“It cannot be,” said Tamaque firmly; “command me to do any thing but
that.”
“I command you to do that,” replied the conjurer, “or I will call down
confusion on your war-party.”
“I tell you,” said Tamaque fiercely, “they shall not die. Say no more
about it.”
“Obstinate man!” said the conjurer, “you dare not disobey me. They shall
die, and you shall kindle the fire beneath them.”
Tamaque now sprang forward and seized the conjurer by the throat.
“Villain!” he exclaimed, “I warned you to speak of that no more. Name it
again, and I will toss you headlong down the mountain.”
Finding that Tamaque could not be overawed, the wily conjurer now
changed his tactics.
“You might safely spare them,” he said, “on one condition; but I dare
not name it.”
“Go on,” said Tamaque, “you have nothing to fear, if you do not speak of
their death.”
“The anger of Tamaque is dangerous,” continued the conjurer; “and who
can tell what words will rouse it?”
“No, no!” said Tamaque mildly, “I will hear you patiently; and if you
require me even to leap down this dizzy precipice, I’ll obey you.”
“Listen, then,” said the conjurer; “and if my words sound harsh in your
ears,” said the old hypocrite, “let not your anger be kindled. They
shall live if you choose, but then the white maiden must become
Tamaque’s wife.”
I was looking over, at the moment, from the rock above, full at Tamaque.
He started convulsively; his whole frame shook with emotion; whilst a
gleam of joy absolutely lighted up his dark features. My own sensations
were not less violent, perhaps, though somewhat different in their
character.
After a pause Tamaque asked, in a tone of affected indifference:
“If I consent to this, do you promise success to our expedition?”