Exhibition rooms--Great crowd--The "jolly fat dame"--Her
interview with Cadotte--She gives presents to all the
Indians--Excitement in the crowd--Women kissing the
Indians--Red paint on their faces and dresses--Old Chief's
dream and feast of thanksgiving--An annual ceremony--Curious
forms observed--Indians invited to the St. George's
archery-ground--They shoot for a gold medal--They dine with
the members of the club--The "jolly fat dame" and Cadotte--She
takes him to his lodgings in her carriage--Cadotte (or the
"Strong-wind") gets sick--Is in love with another!--Daniel
unfolds the secret to her--Her distress--She goes to the
country--The "jolly fat dame" returns--Cadotte's engagement to
marry--Rankin promotes the marriage--The Author disapproves of
it.
The reader will easily imagine the position of the Indians at this time
to have been a very pleasant and satisfactory one to themselves--all in
good health; having seen and pleased the Queen; having met the public
several times in the great city of London, where their Hall was crowded
every night, and was likely to continue so; where everybody applauded,
and many bestowed on them presents in trinkets and money; with plenty
of roast beef, and withal indulged in their _chickabobboo_. The old
chief had finished his talks on religion, and Cadotte was in the
delightful state of incubation under the genial warmth of the wing of
the jolly fat dame.
The Hall on this evening was as overflowing as on the previous nights.
The "jolly fat dame" had been the first one at the door, and, by
the power of her smiles upon Daniel's gallantry, she had passed in
before the hour for admitting the public. This had most luckily (and
_bewitchingly_, as she did not expect it) allowed her a delightful
_tête-à-tête_ of a few minutes with Cadotte, who happened to be
sauntering about in the half-lighted hall of the exhibition, while the
Indians were in an ante-chamber, putting on their streaks of paint, and
arranging their locks of hair and ornaments for the evening. Lucky,
lucky hour! What passed there in these few minutes nobody knows. _One
thing_, however, we may presume, _did pass_ in that short time. Upon
Daniel's authority she had a letter in her hand when she entered, and
which was never identified on her person afterwards, though a similar
one poor Cadotte was seen poring over for several subsequent days, at
odd spells, like a child at its task in its spelling-book. As she was
first in, she took her old position, which had afforded her so much
pleasure the evening before. As her heart was more smitten, her hand
became more liberal: she had come this night loaded with presents, and
dealt them out without stint to the whole party. As each one received
his brooch, or his pin, or his guard-chain, he held it up and gave a
yell, which made the good lady's kindnesses subjects of notoriety; and
we believed, and _feared_ also, that her vanity was such, that, to make
the most of the occasion, she drew upon some of the most costly of the
ornaments that adorned her own ample person. During the excitement
thus produced by the distribution of her trinkets, some female in the
midst of the crowd held up and displayed a beautiful bracelet "for the
first one who should get to it." Three or four of the young fellows,
with their naked shoulders and arms, leaped with the rapidity almost
of lightning into the screaming mass. The little _Sah-mah_, who was
the _beau-ideal_ of Indian beauty among them, bore off the prize. As
there was not the same inducement for retracing their steps, and they
were in the midst of strong inducements to stay in the crowd, it became
exceedingly difficult to get them back, and to resume the amusements of
the evening. Many ladies were offering them their hands and trinkets:
some were kissing them, and every kiss called forth the war-whoop (as
they called it, "a _scalp_"). The women commenced it as _Sah-mah_ had
dashed into the crowd; and as he was wending his way back, finding it
had pleased so well, he took every lady's hand that was laid upon his
naked arm or his shoulder as a challenge, and he said that he kissed
every woman that he passed. This may or may not be true; but one thing
is certain, that many there were in the room that evening who went home
to their husbands and mothers with streaks of red and black paint upon
their cheeks, which nothing short of soap and water could remove. And,
curious to relate, when the amusements were finished, and the audience
nearly withdrawn, and the "jolly fat dame" was strolling about the
room, she met her two maids, to whom she had given their shillings,
and told them to "go and see the Indians." These two buxom young girls
had been in the midst of the crowd, and, both of them having met with
the accident I have mentioned above, the good-natured fat lady glowed
into a roar of laughter as she vociferated, "Why, girls, you husseys,
you have been kissing those Indians! Bless me, what a pretty figure you
cut! why, your faces are all covered with red paint!" "And _your_ face,
mistress! Look here! all one side of your face, and on your neck! Oh,
look at your beautiful new lace!" And _it was even so_; but _how_ it
happened, or where, or in what part of the excitement, or by whom, is
yet to be learned.
Leaving these excitements for a while, which were now become of nightly
occurrence, we come to one of a different character and of curious
interest. It is impossible for me to recollect the day, but it was
about this time, the old chief related to Mr. Rankin a dream which he
had had the night before, which made it incumbent upon them to make a
feast, and of course necessary for Mr. Rankin and myself to furnish all
the requisite materials for it.
In his dream (or "vision," as he seemed disposed to call it) he said
the Great Spirit appeared to him, and told him that he had kept his
eye upon them, and guarded and protected them across the great ocean,
according to their prayers, which he had heard; that he had watched
them so far in this country; that they had been successful in seeing
their Great Mother the Queen, and that they were now all happy and
doing well. But in order to insure a continuance of these blessings,
and to make their voyage back across the ocean pleasant and safe,
it now became necessary that they should show their thankfulness to
the Great Spirit in giving their great annual Feast of Thanksgiving,
which is customary in their country at the season when their maize is
gathered and their dried meat is laid in and secured for their winter's
food.
This injunction, he said, was laid upon him thus, and he could not from
any cause whatever neglect to attend to it; if he did, he should feel
assured of meeting the displeasure of the Great Spirit, and they should
all feel at once distressed about the uncertainty of their lives on
their way back. This Feast of Thanksgiving must be given the next day,
and they should wish us to procure for them a whole goat, or a sheep,
and said that it must be a _male_, and that they would require a place
large enough to cook it without breaking a bone in its body, according
to the custom of their country.
The request of this good old man was of course granted with great
pleasure; and Mr. Rankin, in a short time, returned from the market
with the sheep, which, on close inspection, seemed to please them; and
a large chamber in the Egyptian Hall, which Mr. Clark, the curator
of the building, had placed at their service, was decided on as the
place where the feast should be prepared and partaken of. Mr. Clark
and his wife, who are kind and Christian people, afforded them all
the facilities for cooking, and rendered them every aid they could in
preparing their feast; and the next day, at the hour appointed, it was
announced to Mr. Rankin and myself that the "feast was ready, and that
we were expected to partake of it with them."
When we entered the room we found the feast arranged on the floor,
in the centre of the large hall, and smoking, and the men all seated
around it on buffalo robes; and the only two guests besides ourselves,
my man Daniel and Mr. Clark, who were also seated. Two robes were
placed for Mr. Rankin and myself, and we took our seats upon them.
The three women of the party came in after we were all arranged, and,
spreading their robes, seated themselves in another group at a little
distance from us. A short time before the feast was ready, they sent
Cadotte to me to request that I would buy for them a small cup of
whisky, which was to be partaken of, "not as _drink_ for the _belly_,
but as drink for the _spirit_," which by the custom of their country
was absolutely necessary to the holding of their Feast of Thanksgiving.
In this they were also, of course, indulged; and when we were seated,
we found the whisky standing in front of the medicine-man in a small
pewter mug.
Everything now being in readiness, the pipe was lit by the war-chief,
who rose up with it, and, presenting its stem towards the _north_ and
the _south_, the _east_ and the _west_, and then upwards to the Great
Spirit, and then to the earth, smoked through it himself a few breaths,
and then, walking around, held it to the lips of each one of the party
(the women excepted), who smoked a whiff or two through it; after which
he made a short and apparently vehement appeal to the Great Spirit
to _bless_ the food we were then to partake of. When he had taken
his seat, the medicine-man took his _wa-be-no_ (_medicine-drum_) and
commenced beating on it as he accompanied its taps with a _medicine_
song to the Great Spirit. When the song was finished he arose, and,
shaking a rattle (_she-shee-quoin_) in his left hand, and singing at
the same time, he handed the cup of whisky around to the lips of each
guest, all of whom tasted of it; it was then passed to the women, who
also tasted it, and returned it to its former position but partially
emptied.
The War-chief then rose upon his feet, and, drawing his large knife
from his belt, plunged the thumb and fore finger of his left hand
into the sockets of the sheep's eyes, by which he raised the head as
he severed it from the body with his knife, and held it as high as he
could reach. At this moment he returned his knife to its scabbard,
and, seizing the _she-shee-quoin_ (or rattle) in his right hand, he
commenced to sing a most eccentric song as he shook his rattle in one
hand and brandished the sheep's head in the other, and danced quite
round the circle between the feast and the guests, going so slow as to
require some eight or ten minutes to get round. Having got round to his
seat, he gave a frightful yell, and, raising the sheep's head to his
mouth, bit off a piece of it, and again danced until he had swallowed
it. He then laid the head and the rattle at the feet of another, who
sprang upon his feet, and, taking the sheep's head and the rattle,
performed the same manoeuvre, and so did a second and a third, and so
on until each male of the party had performed his part. After this, the
flesh was carved from the bones by the War-chief, and placed before us,
of which we all partook. Parts of it were also carried to the women,
and after a little time the greater part of the flesh of the carcase
had disappeared.
It is worthy of remark, also, that at this strange feast there was
nothing offered but the flesh of the sheep; but which was cooked in a
manner that would have pleased the taste of an epicure.
When the eating was done, the war-chief took the rattle in his hand,
and, lightly shaking it as a sort of accompaniment, took at least a
quarter of an hour to repeat a long prayer, or return of thanks, to
the Great Spirit, which was spoken (or rather _sung_ than _spoken_)
in a very remarkable and rapid manner. After this the pipe was lit,
and, having been some three or four times passed around, the feast was
finished, and we took leave.
I leave this strange affair (having described it as nearly as I
possibly could) for the comments of the curious, who may have more
time than I can justly devote to it at this moment, barely observing
that the old chief, after this, seemed quite contented and happy that
he had acted in conformity to the sacred injunction of the Great
Spirit, and strictly adhered, though in a foreign country, to one of
the established and indispensable customs of his race; for which, and
for another cogent reason (that "his lips were getting very dry after
eating so much"), he thought we would be willing (as of course we were)
to let Daniel go for a jug of _chickabobboo_.
The whole party now seemed to be completely happy, and in the midst
of enjoyment. They were excited and amused every night in their
exhibitions, which afforded them wholesome exercise; and during the
days they took their drives through the city and into the country,
and beheld the sights of the great metropolis, or reclined around
their rooms on their buffalo robes, enjoying their pipes and counting
their money, of which they had received some thirty or forty pounds,
presented to them in the room at various times, independent of that
received from her Majesty, and their wages, and trinkets, and other
presents.
Of their drives, one of the most exciting and interesting that they
had or could have in London was about this time, when her Majesty
rode in state to the opening of Parliament. They were driven through
the immense concourse of people assembled on the line and along
Parliament-street, and conducted to a position reserved for them on
the roof of St. Mary's chapel, near Westminster Abbey. From this
elevated position they had a splendid bird's-eye view of the crowd
below, and the progress of the Queen's state carriage, as it rolled
along on its massive wheels of gold, and drawn by eight cream-coloured
horses. So grand a pageant filled their rude, uncultivated minds
with the strangest conjectures, which were subjects for several
evenings' curious gossip. And what seemed to please them most of all
the incidents of the day was, as they said, "that her Majesty and the
Prince both most certainly looked up from their golden carriage to see
them on the top of the church."
They were also most kindly invited by the members of the St. George's
Archery Club to witness their bow-and-arrow shooting on one of their
prize-days. This was calculated to engage their closest attention; and
at night they returned home in great glee. They had been treated with
the greatest kindness by the gentlemen of that club. They had put up
a gold medal for the Indians to shoot for, which was won by _Sah-mah_
(Tobacco), and other prizes were taken by others of the party.[12] The
first shot made by the young man who bore off the golden prize was
said to have been one of the most extraordinary ever made on their
grounds; but in their subsequent shooting they fell a great way short
of it, and also of that of the young gentlemen belonging to the club.
After the shooting of the Indians, and also of the members of the club,
contending for their valuable prizes, the Indians were invited to their
table, where a sumptuous dinner was partaken of. Many toasts were
drunk, and many speeches made; and, to their agreeable surprise, as
they said, they had plenty of the _Queen's chickabobboo_!
[12] It was stated in some of the papers of the day that the Indian
won the golden prize from the members of the club, which was not
the case. It was put up, most liberally, by the young men of the
society for the Indians to shoot for among themselves, and won
in this way, not from the members of the club.
There are no Indians in North America who can equal the shooting
of these young gentlemen, who practise much this beautiful and
manly exercise. I have often, at their kind invitations, visited
their grounds, and I have had the opportunity of seeing the
shooting amongst most of the American tribes. The Indian tribes
who use the bow and arrow at the present time are mostly the
Prairie tribes, who are mounted, and, from their horses' backs,
at full speed, throw their arrows but a very few paces, and use
a short bow of two feet or two feet and a half in length, and
therefore never practise at the target at the distance of one or
two hundred yards. Their skill and power, however, in that mode
of using the bow is almost inconceivable, and might puzzle the
best archers in England or in the world to equal.
They continued their amusements nightly, much in the same way as I have
above described, with full houses and similar excitements, all of which
and their effects we will imagine, as I pass over a week or two of
them without other notice than merely to say that the "jolly fat dame"
still continued to visit them, as she had promised, and nightly to
strengthen the spell she seemed to be working upon the heart of poor
Cadotte. She was elegant, but rather fat. She rode in a good carriage.
She bestowed her presents liberally, and on all; and insisted the whole
time that "it was the most interesting exhibition she ever saw," and
that "Cadotte was almost a giant!" "She could not keep away, nor could
she keep the Indians out of her mind." All were inquiring who she could
be, and nobody could tell. She had delivered three or four letters into
Cadotte's hand in the time; and, though "her carriage could put him
down at his door quite easy," she had driven him home but one night,
and then he was landed quite quick and quite safe. The Indians talked
and joked much about her, but Cadotte said little. He was young, and
his youth had had a giant growth in the timid shade of the woods. He
was strong; but he knew not the strength that was in him, for he had
not tried it. He was like a mountain torrent--dammed up but to burst
its barriers and overflow. The glow of this fair dame upon him was a
sunshine that he had never felt, and, like the snow under a summer's
sun, he was about to have melted away. In the simplicity of his native
ambition, he had never aspired to anything brighter than his own
colour; and few were dreaming till just now that the warrior Cupid was
throwing his fatal arrows across the line. Nor did those who suspected
them (or even _saw_ them), from the source that has been named, know
more than half of the shafts that were launched at the _"Strong-wind"_
at this time, nor appreciate more than half the perplexities that were
wearing away his body and his mind. _He_ knew them, poor fellow, and
had _felt_ them for some time; but the world saw no symptom of them
until his treatment of this fair dame on one night set them inquiring,
when they found that she, with her little _archer_, was not alone in
the field.
Reader, we are now entering upon a drama that requires an abler pen
than mine, which has been used only to record the dry realities of
Indian life, stripped of the delicious admixture which is sometimes
presented when Cupid and civilization open their way into it.
I regret exceedingly that I cannot do justice to the subject that is
now before us; but, knowing the facts, I will simply give them, and not
aspire to the _picture_, which the reader's imagination will better
paint than my black lead can possibly draw.
On the unlucky evening above alluded to the "jolly fat dame" had made
her appearance at the rooms half an hour before the doors were to open;
and, with Daniel's usual indulgence, she passed into the room, in the
hope, as she said, to have a few words with the Indians, and shake
hands with them all, and bid the good fellows good by, as she was going
into the country for a few days. She loitered around the room until it
began to fill with its visitors for the evening, without the good luck
to meet the "_Strong-wind_," as she had been in the habit of doing,
before the chandelier was in full blaze, and while the Indians were
in their adjoining room, putting on their paint and ornaments. This
disappointment, for reasons that she probably understood better than
we can, seemed to embarrass her very much, and most likely, even at
that early stage, carried forebodings of troubles that were "brewing."
In the embarrassment of these painful moments, not being able to spend
the evening in the exhibition, as usual, but under the necessity of
returning to pack her things and complete her preparations for her
journey, she was retreating towards the door as fast as the audience
filled in in front, determined to hold a position in the passage
where she could shake hands with the Indians as they passed in, and
drop a little billet into the hands of the "_Strong-wind_," which, if
received, was intended only to stop a sort of palpitation there would
be in the side of her breast, in case she should have gone off to the
country without informing the "_Strong-wind_" of it, and that she was
to return again in a very few days.
Unlucky device! The Indians all passed by, excepting the "_Strong
Wind_," and, as each one shook her hand, he saluted her with a yelp
and a smile. All this was gratifying to her, but added to the evident
fever that was now coming on her. She paced the hall forward and back
for some time, living yet (and thriving) upon the hope at that moment
raised in her mind, that he ("noble fellow!") was hanging back in
order to have a moment of bliss alone with her in the hall, after the
gazing visitors had all passed by. This hope sustained her a while,
and she many times more walked the length of the passage, but in vain.
At this moment the sound of the drum and the echoing of the war-whoop
through the hall announced their exhibition as commenced; and the
liberal dame, advancing to the door, and standing on tiptoe, that she
might take a peep once more at the good fellows over the heads of the
audience, beheld, to her great astonishment, the noble figure of the
"_Strong-wind_," swinging his tomahawk, as he was leading the dance!
Unhappy dame! the room was closely stowed, and not the possibility left
of her getting half way to her old stand by the end of the platform, if
she tried.
This dilemma was most awful. The thought of actually "going off to the
country, as she had promised, for several days, without the chance to
say even good bye, or to shake hands, was too bad,--it was cruel!" She
went to the door to see Daniel, and said, "Well, this is very curious;
I wanted to have seen Cadotte for a moment before I went away, and I
can't stay to-night. I shook hands with all the rest as they went in,
but I did not see Cadotte. I don't understand it." "Why," said Daniel,
"the poor fellow is not here to-night; he's getting sick: he was here
when you first came in, but he _shot out_ a few moments afterwards,
and told me to tell you, if you came, that he was too unwell to be
here to-night. He is looking very pale and losing flesh very fast, and
his appetite is going. He has only danced once or twice in the last
week." "Poor fellow! I am sorry. What a pity if he should get sick! I
don't see what they would do without him; he is worth more than the
whole party besides. He's a fine young man. What an immense fellow he
is! Did you examine his hand? What a grip he has got--ha! I _may_ not
go to-morrow, but if I _do_, it will only be for a few days. I have
_promised_ to go, and you know it is wrong to break promises, Daniel.
If anything should prevent me from going to-morrow I shall certainly be
here again to-morrow night. Poor fellow! I _hope_ he won't get sick: I
think a little ride in the country would do him good. Mr. Catlin ought
to send him into the country for a while. That's what he should do,
shouldn't he? I won't stand here too long, Daniel; it's rather a cold
place: so good night."
It _was_ a _fact_ that the "_Strong Wind_" was getting sick; and a
fact also that Daniel thought he had gone home, as he told the good
lady; and two other facts followed the next day--the one was, that the
journey to the country was not made that morning; and the other, that
the "jolly fat dame" was at the Hall at an early hour of the evening
as usual. Her visit was carefully timed, so as to allow her a little
time for gossip with Daniel at the door, and to subject her to the
delightful possibility of accidentally meeting the "_Strong Wind_" as
she had sometimes done, in the half-lighted hall.
"You see, Daniel, that I didn't get off this morning; and when I am
in London I cannot keep away from those curious fellows, the Indians.
They are here, I suppose, before this?" "Yes, madam, they have just
come in in their bus." "Well, how is Cadotte? he is _my_ favourite, you
know." "Well," said Daniel, "I don't think he's any better: I believe
there is but one thing that will cure him." "Bless me, you don't say
so! What do you think is the matter with him?" "Why, I think he is in
love, madam; and I don't believe there is anything under heaven else
that ails him." "Oh! now, but you _don't think_ so, do you, really?" "I
do, indeed, madam; and I don't wonder at it, for there are charms that
are lavished upon him that are enough to----" "Oh! come, come, now,
Daniel, don't give us any of your dry compliments. He's a fine man,
certainly--that I _know_, and I should be sorry if he should get sick.
He will be in the exhibition, I suppose, to-night?" "No, madam, I saw
him a few minutes since, and he had lain down on his buffalo robe on
the floor, and I heard him tell Mr. Rankin that he should not go into
the room to-night; that he did not feel well enough." "So, you cruel
man, you think the poor fellow is in love, do you?" "I am _sure_ of
it, madam: in the next house to where the Indians lodge there is one
of the most beautiful black-eyed little girls that I have seen since I
have been in London, and, by putting her head out of the back window to
look at the Indians, and by playing in the back yard, she long since
showed to everybody who saw her that she was fascinated with Cadotte.
She used to kiss her hand to him, and throw him bouquets of flowers,
and, at last, letters." "Pshaw!" "It's true! And, finally, she and her
sisters got in the habit of coming in to see the Indians, and, at last,
the father, and mother, and brother; and they all became attached to
Cadotte, and invited him to their house to take tea with them and spend
the evenings; and he has at last become so perfectly smitten with the
girl that he is getting sick: that is the reason why he is not at the
Hall more than three evenings in the week; he spends his evenings with
her, and often don't get home before twelve and one o'clock." "Oh,
but you shock me, you _shock_ me, Daniel--but I don't _believe_ it--I
_can't believe_ it--he _couldn't_ be _led away_ in that silly manner--I
_don't believe a word of it_. You say he is in the dressing-room?"
"Yes, madam, I know he is there." "You don't think he'll come into
the exhibition-room to-night?" "No, I know he will not." "You don't
think he would come out a minute? I can't stay to-night, and I shall
certainly go in the morning. I _must_ go--you _don't think_ he would
come out?" "I don't know, madam; I will ask him if you wish." "Well,
_do_, Daniel; come, that's a good fellow--or, stop!--look here--just
hand him this note; it is merely to say good bye: give it to him, and
only tell him I am here, will you, and going out of town to-morrow
morning?"
Daniel took in the note to the "_Strong Wind_," who was lying on
his robe, and in a minute returned with the note and this awful
message:--"Tell her she _may_ go out of town--I don't wish to see her."
This was as much of his ungallant message as Daniel could venture to
bear to the good lady, though the "_Strong Wind_" continued to say,
"Take the note back to her: she is making too free with me, and all
the people see it. She wants a husband too bad, and I hope she will
soon get one." Daniel returned the note, and apologized for being
the bearer of such a message to her; but he said, as he had carried
her message to Cadotte, he felt bound to bring his message back.
"Certainly, certainly," said she; "I can't blame you, Daniel; but this
is strange--all this is strange to me; it's quite incomprehensible, I
assure you. The crowd is coming in, I see, Daniel; and I can't possibly
be here through the evening, I'll be here as soon as I come back. Good
night."
One can easily imagine how the peace of the bosom of this good-natured
unoffending lady was broken up by the abrupt way of the "_Strong
Wind_," and how unhappy might have been the few days she was to
spend in the country, and which she could not then fail to do, as
she had made a promise to friends, that she could not break. By her
absence from the exhibition-room for a week or more, it was evident
that she was accomplishing her visit to the country; and, though her
little _archer_ was unemployed in her absence, it would seem as if
the very show of so many bows and arrows in the great city of London
had suddenly called into existence, or into service, a reinforcement
of those little marksmen, who were concentrating their forces about
this time, and seemed to be all aiming their shafts at the breast of
the "_Strong Wind_." There were several fair damsels who nightly paid
their shillings, and took their positions near the platform, in a less
conspicuous way, though not less known to the "_Strong Wind_," than
our friend who had "gone for a while to the country." From the fair
hands of these he had received, unobserved, many precious and sly
gifts, and amongst them several little billets of the most sentimental
nature, containing enclosures of beautiful little stanzas, and cards of
address, &c.
Among this jealous group of inveterate gazers and admirers was always,
though most coy and least noticed, the sweet little "black-eyed maiden"
of whom I have said Daniel gave some account to the good lady who has
gone to the country, as having "kissed her hand and thrown bouquets of
flowers" to the "_Strong Wind_" from the back windows of her father's
house in George-street. The whole soul of the "_Strong Wind_," which,
until now, had been unchained and as free as the mountain breeze, was
completely enveloped in the soft and silken web which the languishing
black eyes, the cherry and pulpy lips, and rosy cheeks of this
devouring little maid had spun and entwined about it. He trembled
when he straightened his tall and elegant figure above the platform,
not that he was before the gazing world, but because _her_ soft black
eyes were upon him. His voice faltered and his throat was not clear
when he brandished his glistening tomahawk and sounded the shrill
war-whoop. This was not that the ears of hundreds, but that the ears of
ONE, were open to catch the sound.
His heart was now free, for a few days at least, from the dangers of
the first siege, the guns of which for the time were all silent. The
glances of his eyes and his occasional smiles were less scrupulously
watched; and now and then they could be welcomed by sweet returns. He
had now but one _real_ enemy in the field, and _his_ shafts, though
they went to his inmost soul, were every one of them welcome messengers
of peace and love.
Thus besieged, thus pierced and transfixed, the "_Strong Wind_" did
as much as he could to continue his natural existence, to eat his
accustomed meals, and to act his customary parts in the dance; but
efforts all seemed in vain. The sweet and balmy-sleep that had
been the pleasure of his untaught youth had fled; roast beef and
plum-puddings, his favourite bits, had ceased to please him; sighs and
long breaths had taken all the place of peaceful and equal respiration;
the paleness of his face showed there was trouble within; his noble
frame and giant strength were giving way; and save the devouring
pleasure that was consuming him, nothing was acceptable to him but
seclusion and his occasional mugs of _chickabobboo_.
All things at the Egyptian Hall went on as usual for several days,
the Indians giving their nightly entertainments, but without the
aid of the "_Strong Wind_," and consequently without the presence
of the "languishing little black eyes" that used to be seen peeping
over the corner of the platform. The reader (who has heard already
that the "_Strong Wind_" loved to ride home with this sweet little
creature--that he took his dishes of tea in her father's house, which
was next door--and that he often stayed there until twelve and one
o'clock at night) can easily understand how the time now passed with
the "_Strong Wind_," and how hopeless were to be the chances of the
good dame who had "gone to the country but for a few days, where she
had promised to go, but from which she was soon to return." The reader
who is old enough will easily understand also why the "_Strong Wind_"
grew pale; how it was that everything ceased to taste good--beautiful
things to look pretty; and why I had to translate, as well as I could,
the speeches of the Indians, who now had no better interpreter.
The exhibition-room continued to be filled night after night without
the presence of the "_Strong Wind_;" and at length, on one of these
occasions, the "jolly fat dame," who had gone to the country for a
few days, presented herself at the door as usual before the audience
had assembled. She was admitted by Daniel's kindness; and as she got
into the passage, the party of Indians came in from their omnibus,
and, passing her, gave her their hands, and as they passed on each
one gave a hideous yell. She seemed delighted at this, and, turning to
Daniel, said, "Oh, did you hear the poor fellows rejoicing? they are
delighted to see me back again." "Why, madam," said Daniel, "that was
the _war-whoop_; and when that is given, the tomahawk always follows."
She seemed a little startled at this; "But," said she, "the good
fellows, I have lots of fine presents here for them to-night; I can
make it all right with them I think. But I don't see Cadotte--I hope
he's not sick--he's a splendid fellow--I have not seen a man like him
in all my travels in the country, and I have been a great way. I have a
nice present for him, d'ye see?--is'nt that a fine brooch? I know he'll
like it." "But I fear you are too late, madam--I believe it is all over
with him." "What! you don't mean to say that he is dead?" "No, he's not
dead, but he's nearly as bad--he don't come here at all--he don't eat
or drink--he's pining away for that pretty little girl I told you of.
It's been all her doing: the foolish girl fell in love with him, and is
determined to have him, and I believe he will marry her." "Oh, pshaw!
fie on it! I don't believe a word of it;--they will get over it all in
a day or two." The kind lady after this took her position in the Hall
as usual, and during the exhibition smiled on all the group, and dealt
out her presents to them, and went home as usual well pleased.
Most curiously, all this affair of Cadotte's and the sweet-mouthed,
black-eyed little girl, had passed unnoticed by me, and I had of course
entirely mistaken his malady, having sent my physician to attend him.
His symptoms and the nature of his disease were consequently fully
understood by examinations of the patient and others who had watched
closely all the appearances from the commencement of his attack.
Getting thus a full report of the case, I held a conversation with Mr.
Rankin, who at once told me that it had been well understood by him
for some time, and that Cadotte had asked for his consent to marry
the young lady, and that he had frankly given it to him. I told him
I thought such a step should be taken with great caution, for the
young lady was an exceedingly pretty and interesting girl, and, I had
learned, of a respectable family, and certainly no step whatever should
be taken in the affair by him or me without the strictest respect to
their feelings and wishes. He replied that the mother and sisters were
in favour of the marriage, and had been the promoters of it from the
beginning; that the father was opposed to it, but he thought that all
together would bring him over. I told him that I did not know either
the father or the mother, but that, as long as there was an objection
to it on the part of the father, I thought it would be cruel to do
anything to promote it; and that, much as I thought of Cadotte, I did
not feel authorized to countenance an union of that kind, which would
result in his spending his life in London, where his caste and colour
would always be against him, and defeat the happiness of his life; or
she must follow him to the wilderness of America, to be totally lost to
the society of her family, and to lead a life of semi-barbarism, which
would in all probability be filled with excitements enough for a while,
but must result in her distress and misery at last. To these remarks
his replies were very short, evidently having made up his mind to let
them raise an excitement in London if they wished, and (as I afterwards
learned) if he could possibly bring it about.