A CONTRAST.
The next day was devoted to the burial of those killed in battle.
Directly afterwards, with that recklessness so characteristic of all
frontier population, they left the fort to occupy their own dwellings;
although, now that their wounds had become stiff, it was necessary
to haul some on sleds, and there were not able-bodied men enough to
furnish a scouting-party, nor to gather the harvest.
But the frontier-women were equal to the exigency, and able to
assist the men who were well or slightly wounded. Most of the women,
especially those of Scotch descent, could handle the sickle. The
children likewise did their portion of the work, the boys in the field,
and the girls doing the housework while their mothers were harvesting.
Frontier life is one of sharp contrasts, constituting, perhaps, its
charms for rugged natures.
It was a clear day of bright sunshine: the women and every man who
could manage to work were busily employed. Mrs. Grant was singing at
her work; and the cheerful notes of the harvest-song floated up over
fields that but two days before echoed to the roar of cannon and the
war-whoop of the savage.
"Indeed, neighbor McClure," said Mrs. Sumerford, wiping the sweat from
her brow, and laying the sickle over her shoulder as the horn blew for
dinner, "I don't mind the hard work nor the hot sun one mite: it's far
better to be reaping and getting bread for the children than to be
making shrouds for the dead, and putting dear friends and neighbors in
the grave, as we've been doing so often for the past year."
"I dinna mind the work a windle strae," said Mrs. Armstrong. "I hae
reaped mony a bushel o' sowin' in my ain countrie, and whiles I like
better to be in the field than to do housework. Ay, I've reaped mony
a long day for sma' wages, and gleaned and wrought sair; but I like
better to be reaping my ain grain than ither people's. Is it not sae,
Jean Stewart?"
"Indeed it is. We wad hae reaped nae grain of our ain had we bided in
bonnie Scotland, though oftenwhiles my thoughts will travel back among
the lochs and the braes where I first drew breath. I could na' keep the
tears frae running down my cheeks while Maggie Grant was singing; for
many's the time I've heard my auld mither sing those same words owre
her sickle, when I a wee bairn was gleaning after her."
Sammy Sumerford could not bear to stay in the house with Jane Proctor,
who had engaged to mind the baby while Mrs. Sumerford was in the field,
and also to get dinner; and so persuaded his mates to carry him to the
field, and set him up against a stook of grain. They then brought him
some long coarse grass, of which he made bands to bind the grain.
Here he found at work Holdness, whose chin was ploughed by a bullet
that had taken the skin and flesh to the bone. The wound, though not
dangerous, was extremely sore and sensitive. He could not reap, because
the heads of the grain that were very stout, brushing against his
chin, kept constantly irritating the wound. He therefore bound up the
sheaves, while Sam made bands for him; and, as both were wounded, they
frequently left off work to rest and talk.
"Mr. Holdness, didn't you like Tony?"
"Yes, I liked him much: he was a brave boy. I'm right sorry for his
loss. It's a loss ter all of us, as well as ter his father and mother."
"I loved Tony: he's played with me ever since I can remember. I can't
remember the time I didn't play with Tony. I know I never shall love
another boy as well as I loved Tony. What will the Indians do to him,
Mr. Holdness? will they kill him?"
"Kill him! no. I'll tell you. A good many of the Indians we killed the
other day were quite young men. When they get Tony to one of their
towns, some of the fathers or mothers of them what's killed will take
him for their own, in place of the one they've lost. That's the Indian
fashion."
"Then they won't kill, scalp, nor roast him alive?"
"No, indeed! If they could get hold of me or McClure, or Tony's father,
or Mr. Honeywood, they would torment us all they knew how; but, as for
him, they won't hurt a hair of his head: though if the Black Rifle
should overtake them, and they found they couldn't get away, they'd
tomahawk him in a minute before they would let the Black Rifle get him."
"What do Indians want a white boy for?"
"They want ter make an Indian of him. They'll be just as good ter him
and treat him just as well as they do their own, and larn him every
thing they know themselves. He won't get the lickin's he had at home,
for the Indians never strike their children."
"When he gets bigger, he can run away and come home."
"They'll watch him at first; and it won't be long afore he'll forget
his father and mother and everybody he knew, and turn into an Indian.
He won't have any thing white about him but his skin, and hardly that;
for they'll grease him, paint and smoke him, and he'll go half naked in
the sun and wind, till he's about as red as themselves. He'll come ter
have Indian ways and feelings, and never will want to leave 'em."
"Oh, Mr. Holdness! Tony will never forget me and his father and mother
and sister. Mr. Holdness, Tony hates an Indian: he's killed two on 'em."
"I tell you he'll turn into an Indian, just as a tadpole turns into
a frog, and like 'em just as much as he hates 'em now, and love his
Indian father and mother better than he loves his own father and
mother, and like their miserable way of living better'n the way he was
brought up in."
"I don't see how it can be."
"Neither do I; but I know it will if he stays among 'em any length
of time, which I hope to God he won't do, because every boy, or girl
either, that goes among the Indians at his age, does just so. But you
can't make a white man out of an Indian, any more'n you can make a hen
out of a partridge. But don't tell his folks what I've said, 'cause it
would make 'em feel bad."
Holdness now took up a handful of bands, and went to tie up wheat.
The boys talked the matter over after he was gone. Sammy appeared sad:
the tears stood in his eyes as he said,--
"Mr. Holdness never told me any thing before that I didn't believe
every word of: but I can't believe Tony could forget me; I'm sure I
never shall forget him."
"I don't believe Tony will ever forget his sister Maud. He would do any
thing for Maud: he loved Maud more'n he loved himself," said Jim Grant.
"I don't believe he'll forget Alice Grant neither," said Ike Proctor:
"'cause don't you know, Sammy, when we were going to have the party
down to Cuthbert's house, and you and I didn't want to have the gals,
he stuck up for havin' 'em, and 'twas only 'cause he wanted Alice Grant
to come."
"I should think," said Dan Mugford, "they'd want to kill him, 'cause he
killed one of them; but perhaps they won't know as 'twas him who killed
him."
"Mr. Holdness says they'll like him all the better for that; 'cause it
shows he's brave, and knows how to shoot, and they'll know he'll make a
great chief," said Johnnie Crawford.
The boys could not possibly bring themselves to believe that Tony could
or would forget parents, playmates, kith and kin; and, the more they
discussed the matter, the more confirmed they became in their previous
opinion.
The subject of conversation was now changed at the approach of the
girls, who, having done up their housework, had come to assist in the
field.
"If they ain't going to have scouts out any more," said Dan Mugford,
"and the Indians have got scared and won't come any more, then why
can't they let us go swimming in the river?"
"Yes: and we can have our bladders that we've been keeping so long, and
swim with 'em; and when the acorns, chestnuts, and walnuts are ripe, we
can go nutting," said Sam.
"We can go with you, and have nice times, same as we did before the
war," said Maud Stewart.
"There was ever so much powder in the Indians' pouches, and Mr. Holt
turned it into a basket: I saw him," said Ben Wood. "Maybe they'll give
us some; and then we can kill deer and coons, and all of us could kill
a bear."
"I don't believe they'll let us go where we are a mind to," said Jim
Grant: "all the reason they don't send out scouts now is 'cause they
can't. There's so many wounded, there ain't enough men to go on the
scout, and get the grain too; and they've got to get the grain, 'cause
if they don't we won't have any thing to eat next winter."
Thus the children speculated respecting the future, and lightened their
toil by building castles in the air.