"This act is an ancient tale twice told."
--_King John._
The wretchedness of that night who can tell! the despondency that
filled the hearts of all, not so much in regard to the present as
from apprehension for the future, who, untried in the same ordeal,
can comprehend? but the feelings of the remnant of that little
band, who were indebted for their safety to their own bravery, were
not selfish. They lamented as deeply the fate of the fallen, as
the dark and uncertain future that awaited themselves--uncertain
because, although the chiefs had promised, and with sincerity, that
they should be given up as prisoners of war at the nearest
post, they had seen too much of the falsehood of the race generally
to rely implicitly on its fulfilment by the warriors. Alas! where
were their comrades--friends, nay, brothers of yesterday? Where
was the brave, the noble-hearted Wells--where the once gay, ever
high-spirited Ronayne--where poor Von Voltenberg--the manly Sergeant
Nixon, a Virginian also--the faithful Corporal Green--and nearly
two thirds of the privates of the detachment? The very fact of
being in the fort again, and everywhere surrounded by objects
rendering more striking the contrast between the past and the
present, was agony in itself. There was scarcely a man among them
who would not have preferred bivouacking, in the wild wood, amid
storm and tempest, and the howling of beasts of prey, to resting
that night within the polluted precincts of what had so recently
been their safeguard and their pride.
Fortunately, the two surviving officers were, in some measure,
exempt from these mortifications. True to his word, Winnebeg had
caused Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley to be conveyed undercover of
the darkness from their place of concealment to the mansion of Mr.
McKenzie, which, from the great popularity of the trader with the
whole of the Indian tribes, had been left untouched--he himself
having been looked upon as a non-combatant, and, therefore, spared
from all personal outrage.
The meeting between the husbands and their wives--both the former
also slightly wounded during the day--was, as may be supposed, most
affecting. Neither had ever expected, on parting in the morning,
to behold each other; and now, although more or less injured, to
find those who were preserved, as it were, by a miracle from a
cruel death, with a prospect of future happiness, the past was for
the moment forgotten, and gratitude to God for their preservation
the dominant feeling of their souls. The examination of the wounds
of the heroines was the next consideration. Most fortunate was it
that of all the wounds received by the ladies--seven by Mrs. Headley
and three by Mrs. Elmsley--not one was of a nature to disable or
impede the motion of their lower limbs. A ball that had lodged in
her arm, however, gave the former great pain; but, alas! there was
no Von Voltenberg to cut it out. In this extremity, Winnebeg said
he knew an Indian who was very expert at incision, and that he
would procure his attendance.
Meanwhile the party were enabled to partake of some refreshments
which had been ordered on the departure of Winnebeg for his charge;
and exhausted as all had been by intense anxiety and emotion, from
the moment of their setting out almost to the present, this was
truly acceptable, especially to the two officers.
In the course of the repast, allusion was made to the gallantry
and suffering of the unfortunate. Ronayne, when, on Captain Headley
asking, for the first time, what had been done with the body, Lieut.
Elmsley proceeded to relate all that he had heard and witnessed a
few hours previously.
This singular detail excited not only surprise but pain, especially
in Mrs. Headley, whose deep friendship for, and interest in, both
husband and wife had already been so strongly exhibited. It is not
often that, in the hour of our keenest suffering, we have much
sympathy to bestow upon others; but the noble woman had known the
ill-fated Maria too intimately--known her too well--not to feel
deep sorrow for the double affliction under which she labored. In
the confession, if such it can be called, which he had
committed to writing and subsequently transmitted by Wau-nan-gee,
as well as in her wild and unconnected language on the day of the
fatal occurrence itself, she had alluded to something terrible--an
attempt at outrage, but in those vague terms of violated modesty
which left the extent only to be surmised. No one of those who
knew the contents of her communication, had suspected or presumed
the worst, and had it not been for the avowal by Ronayne of his
vengeance for the avowed fulfilment of the hellish and sacrilegious
lust of the hideous monster, and the strange admission that fell
in her despair from Mrs. Ronayne herself, the secret must have died
with themselves.
It was not exactly a subject for discussion, under ordinary
circumstances, and before everyday women; but here not only were
the parties cognizant few in number, but actuated by nobler motives
than those which would have governed mere worldly and censuring
people. Moreover, the nature of their connexion with each other,
and with the victims themselves--for it was shown that Ronayne had
received his mortal wound from the rifle of the Chippewa--even the
atrocity complained of, connected as it was with all the horrors
of the past day, not only justified but compelled it.
"She must not be left where she is," gravely remarked Mrs. Headley,
after some moments of reflection; "cannot Winnebeg, the good
Winnebeg, whom, perhaps, we have taxed too much, be persuaded to
bring her to us? Now that the worst has happened she will be far
happier--more contented, by sharing our fortunes, whatever they
may be, than remaining in the Indian encampment, cut off from every
kindred association. What think you, Mrs. Elmsley?"
"Oh, I shall be too delighted to see, and to soothe her sorrow. As
a sister, I have ever loved her--as a sister, I love her still."
"Then, assuredly," returned Mrs. Headley, "will she not hesitate
to overcome her false delicacy, and to consider herself, what she
really is, the victim of misfortune, and not of guilt, when a mother
and a sister united look upon her as pure in thought as in the days
of her unwedded innocence, and offer her what home may be preserved
to themselves."
"Generously, nobly said!" remarked Lieutenant Elmsley, pressing
the hand of his wife and looking his feelings as he caught the eye
of the last speaker. "I had intended to ask Winnebeg not to simply
go himself, but to permit me to accompany him, that I might know
her intention and offer her my aid. What I have now heard confirms
me in my design. Early to-morrow morning, if he assents, we shall
go over. But here he is himself, with the Indian who is to perform
the operation on your arm, Mrs. Headley."
The door opened, and Winnebeg entered, followed by a tall, powerful,
good-looking Pottowatomie, who glanced inquisitively around the
apartment with the air of one who expects an unpleasant recognition,
nor was it apparently without reason, for the moment Mrs. Elmsley
beheld him, she uttered an involuntary shriek, and drew back with
every manifestation of disgust. The Indian remarked it, and sought
to retire, but Mrs. Elmsley, suddenly recollecting herself, and
fearing so to offend him as to prevent the aid he had come to
render, rose and held out her hand to him, saying, with an attempt
at a smile--
"Never mind--although we have fought a hard battle together
to-day, it is all over now. Let us be friends. Winnebeg, explain
this to him."
Winnebeg did so, when, with a mingled look of astonishment and
pleasure, the Pottowatomie warmly returned her pressure. It was
the same warrior with whom she had grappled, in the desperation of
a last hope, when so opportunely extricated from her perilous
position by Black Partridge. As he had the reputation of much
expertness in making incisions and removing balls lodged in the
flesh, his attendance had been requested.
Calm and composed, although evidently laboring under deep dejection
for the loss of her uncle, the horrible mode of whose death had,
however, been kept back from her, Mrs. Headley, dressed in the
light-textured riding habit in which she had gone forth in the
morning, and which, it has already been remarked, set off her finely
moulded bust and waist to the best advantage, prepared to submit
herself to the operation. As she raised herself up on the ottoman
on which she reclined, Mrs. Elmsley cut open the sleeve to the
shoulder, thus laying bare one of the most magnificent arms that
ever was appended to a woman's body, the dazzling whiteness of
whose contour was only dimmed in the fleshy part above, and in the
immediate vicinity of the spot where the ball had entered.
At a sign from Captain Headley, the Indian, who had been talking
aside with his chief, now approached, but no sooner did he behold
the uncovered limb, when, either dazzled by its brilliancy, which
to him must have seemed in a great degree superhuman, or shocked
that anything so beautiful should have been thus wounded, he suddenly
stopped, and while his eyes were as if fascinated, the blood could
be seen suddenly to recede from his dark cheek.
"No, father," he said to Winnebeg, "I cannot do it. I cannot cut
that arm open--the very thought makes me sick here"--and he pointed
to his heart. "I cannot do it."
Although this involuntary homage to the rich, full, and moulded
beauty of a limb which was but a sample of the perfection of the
whole person, and which in a woman seldom attains its fullest
harmony of proportion before the mature age which Mrs. Headley had
attained, was not exactly that of the porter who, at an earlier
period, solicited the famous Duchess of Gordon to permit him to
light his pipe at her ladyship's brilliant eyes, it was certainly
conceived in much of a similar spirit, and Mrs. Headley could scarce
herself suppress a smile when she remarked the effect upon the
Indian.
And yet this man had been one of the foremost in the attack, and
at his waist, even then, dangled more scalps than had been taken
by any other warrior during the day.
"Well," said Mrs. Headley, on the Pottowatomie continuing resolute
in his refusal to touch the wound--"somebody must do this act of
charity, for the ball gives me much pain. Mr. McKenzie," she added,
with that sort of smile that may be attributed to a person seeking
to assume an air of unconcern even when most disheartened--"you
have long been accustomed to use the dissecting knife on the buffalo
and the bear: do you not think that you could find the courage
necessary for the occasion!"
"Most decidedly; I will make the attempt if you desire it," returned
the trader; "but I fear that my surgical apparatus is Very limited
indeed. Von Voltenberg having been stripped, all his instruments
have, doubtless, been plundered, so it is no use to look for
aid there; and the only thing with which I can try my skill is a
common but very sharp penknife."
"Try whatever you please," said Mrs. Headley; "only relieve me of
this suffering; that which you may inflict cannot possibly be
worse"--and unflinchingly extending her arm, she waited for him to
begin.
For the first time in his life Mr. McKenzie felt nervous. There
was a greater amount of courage required to cut into the delicate
flesh, of a woman than even to _kill_ a bear or a buffalo; but as he
had promised, he summoned up his resolution and skill to the task.
The Pottowatomie, bedizened with scalps as he was, had remained to
witness the cutting out of the ball; and nothing could surpass the
expression of surprise that pervaded his features, as he keenly
watched the almost immovability of Mrs. Headley from the moment
that the blade of the penknife, dexterously enough handled, entered
into the flesh and effected the incision necessary to enable the
ball to be removed. When the operation was finished, and the ball
produced, he started suddenly to his feet, and uttered a sharp
exclamation, denoting approbation of her wonderful courage. He
asked, as a favor, to retain the ball as a testimony of her heroism;
when Mrs. Headley presented it to him with her own hand. And with
this he departed, exulting as though he had taken a new scalp.
This incident, perhaps unimportant in itself, was not without some
moment in the results to which it led. On the day following the
fort was filled with Indians and their squaws not only endeavoring
to assert their claims to individual prisoners, but infuriated at
the losses, seeking a victim to the manes of their deceased relatives.
Among others was an aged squaw, who had lost a favorite son in the
battle, and who, having been told by a warrior that he had distinctly
seen him killed by a shot from Mrs. Headley's rifle, repaired to
the house of Mr. McKenzie, where she knew she then was, bent upon
exciting the general sympathy of the warriors in her favor, and
obtaining their assent that she should revenge his death upon the
"white squaw."
It happened, however, that the noble woman, feeling great relief
from the abstraction of the ball from her left arm the preceding
evening, and feeling secure in the pledge entered into by Winnebeg,
and confirmed in a measure by his people, had fearlessly mounted
her horse, which had been recovered for her, and ridden alone to
the baggage wagons for the purpose of procuring some article which,
at the moment, she much required. As she was returning, and when
near the entrance to the fort, she was met by the vixen, furious
with rage and disappointment at not having found her.
Advancing with a cry that might be likened to that of a fiend, she
seized the bridle of the horse, and attempted to drag his rider by
her habit to the ground--shrieking forth at the same time her
determination to have her life who had taken the life of her son.
But Mrs. Headley was not one, as the reader of this by no means
fictitious narrative already knows, to be thus intimidated. She
possessed too much of the high spirit, the resolute nature of her
unfortunate uncle to submit quietly to the outrage, and, moreover,
she knew enough of the Indian character to be sensible that it was
not by any manifestation of submission that she could hope to escape
the threatened danger. Her course was at once taken. She struck
the gaunt and shrivelled hag such a violent stroke over her shoulder
with the horsewhip of cowhide she held, that the latter was
compelled to release her hold; and, as she rushed into the fort,
calling on the Indians to revenge her son and kill the white squaw,
the latter followed her completely round the square, using her
cowhide with a dexterity and an effect, as she leaned over her
saddle, that drew bursts of laughter and approval from the warriors
eagerly gazing on the scene. At one moment, there was a manifestation
of a desire to carry out the wishes of the crone and kill Mrs.
Headley, and several voices were loud in the expression, but suddenly
then stood forth the Pottowatomie of the preceding evening, the
antagonist of Mrs. Elmsley, who, from his commanding appearance,
not less than by the prestige of his bravery imparted by the numerous
fresh scalps at his side, soon made himself an object of attention.
None of the chiefs were present.
"The white squaw shall not be killed," he pronounced, as he held
up his tomahawk authoritatively; "she is brave like a Pottowatomie
warrior. See here," holding up first five and then two fingers--"so
many balls have hit her, and yet she is here, on horseback, as if
nothing had happened. What Indian would have courage to do that?
Speak!"
"Pwau-na-shig lies," returned the beldam, whom Mrs. Headley had
now ceased to punish, yet who, panting from the speed she had used
in her flight, was almost inarticulate, thereby provoking the
greater mass of the Indians knowing its cause to increased mirth--"the
white squaw has no wounds--where are they--she cannot show them.
If she had wounds she could not sit on her horse; but she has killed
my son, and I demand her blood. Let her be given up to my tomahawk."
A loud and confused murmur burst from many of the group, influenced
by the words of the last speaker. Mrs. Headley sat her horse with
indifference, patting his head gently with the whip, yet looking
earnestly towards Pwau-na-shig, upon whom she now altogether relied.
"The mother of Tuh-qua-quod is a foolish old woman, and knows not
what she says," vociferated the tall warrior; "do you doubt the
word of Pwau-na-shig--see here," and he took from his pouch and
held up to view between his finger and thumb the bullet which had
been extracted the preceding evening. "That," he said, "I saw taken
from her flesh with my own eyes--she did not move--she made no
sign, of pain--she was like a warrior's wife; but you shall see
what Pwau-na-shig says is true."
He approached Mrs. Headley, who, comprehending his object, shifted
her rein to the whip hand, and calmly extended her left arm. Where
it had been cut open, the sleeve of her riding habit was fastened
from the wrist to the shoulder by narrow dark ribbons, which had
been sewn on the previous evening by Mrs. Elmsley, and these the
Pottowatomie proceeded to untie; then turned back the sleeve, as
well as the snow--white linen of the upper arm, soiled only with
her own blood, until the whole was revealed.
Apparently as much struck by the brilliancy and symmetry of the
limb as Pwau-na-shig himself had been, the warriors--even those
who had been most clamorous in support of the demand of the old
squaw--were now unanimous in their low expressions of admiration;
nor was this sentiment at all lessened when, following from the
wrist the rich contour of the swelling arm, it finally rested upon
the wound she herself had divested of its slight drapery. The
incision made by the penknife of Mr. McKenzie, at least three,
inches in length, had assumed a slight character of inflammation,
and contrasting as it did with the astounding whiteness of
every other portion of the limb, gave it the appearance of being
much more severe than it really was. But it was not the wound
alone that enlisted the feelings of the Indians in favor of Mrs.
Headley. Connected with that was the coolness she had evinced
throughout the whole affair from the persevering flogging of the
harridan, who sought her scalp, to the graceful unconcern with
which she sat her horse when she must have known that it was then
a question under discussion whether her life should be taken or
not. This, with the fact of the wound which they then saw, and
their no longer doubt of the existence of many others, were undeniable
evidences of her heroism, and at that moment Mrs. Headley was
regarded by these wild people with a higher respect than she had
ever commanded in the palmiest days of her husband's influence with
the race.
"No kill him," said Pwau-na-shig, exultingly, as he remarked the
effect produced on his companions--"white chiefs wife good warrior."
"No, no kill him," answered another voice, in broken English also.
"Dam fine squaw--wish had him wife--get brave papoose."
A general expression of assent came from the band, when Mrs. Headley,
whose sleeve had again been rudely tied by Pwau-na-shig, fearing
that if she remained longer another reaction might take place,
pressed the hand of the Indian with a warmth of gratitude that
brought the strong fire into his eye and the warm blood into his
cheek, turned her horse's head, and cantered out of the fort,
followed by the wild ravings of the beldam, who tore her long and
matted grey hair and stamped her feet in fury at the disappointment.
In a few minutes she was again at the door of Mr. McKenzie, and
alighted in the arms of her husband, who, alarmed at her long
absence, was in the act of leaving the house in search of her when
she arrived.
"There come Elmsley and Winnebeg, but unaccompanied," remarked
Captain Headley, when, in reply to his inquiry as to the cause of
her long absence, she said she would tell him later. "I fear that
they have been unable to prevail upon Maria to leave the new home
of her election."
"I am sorry for it," gravely returned his wife. "I must say her
choice is not exactly what I should have expected; but here they
are--we shall soon know. Well, Mr. Elmsley," she added, as that
officer ascended the veranda, followed by Winnebeg, "what news do
you bring of the truant?"
"I scarcely know whether to consider it good or bad," returned the
lieutenant, with an air of disappointment; "but I have not seen
Mrs. Ronayne. There seems to have been more method than madness
in her language to Wau-nan-gee of yesterday, for this morning she
departed with him to Detroit."
"Indeed," remarked Mrs. Headley; "you surprise me, Mr. Elmsley;
but does she perform that long journey on foot?"
"No; Winnebeg ascertained from his wife that she was mounted on
her own horse, and that Wau-nan-gee, having visited and returned
from. Hardscrabble during the night with a couple of trunks, she
had made up two large packages, which were tied to the back of her
saddle, while the youth strapped two others similarly prepared with
provisions, behind his own pony. Thus provided, and Wau-nan-gee
with his rifle on his shoulder and otherwise well armed, they set
out at daybreak.
"Poor Maria! what your eventful destiny will be, heaven only knows,"
sighed Mrs. Headley; "for not only the road but the course you
pursue is one beset with danger. But our lots are now cast in
different channels, and we have need of attention to ourselves.
Come in, Winnebeg, while I relate to you the somewhat narrow escape
I have again had from the tomahawk since you left this morning."
"Good God! what do you mean?" simultaneously exclaimed the two
officers. Winnebeg stared and looked as if he did not fully
comprehend.
"Oh! quite an adventure, I can assure you; and who do you think
was my devoted knight-errant?"
"What a subject to jest about, Ellen!" remarked her husband, half
reprovingly. "To whom do you allude?"
"Only the tall warrior who tried so desperately to get your wife's scalp,
Mr. Elmsley."
"What, Pwau-na-shig?"
"The same. You cannot imagine what a conquest I have made; but let
us go in--the story is too good not to be told to all, and I presume
both Mrs. Elmsley and her father are in."
"They are," said Captain Headley, as the lieutenant gave his arm
to conduct her into the house.
------
Little remains to be added to our tale. Of the incidents that
occurred to Wau-nan-gee and his charge, after their departure from
the camp of the Pottowatomies, we might, and may, speak hereafter;
but, as it is not essential to our present design, and would
necessarily occupy far more space than is consistent with the limits
we have been compelled to prescribe to ourselves for the detail of
the attack and partial massacre of the garrison of Fort Dearborn,
we forbear. We had always intended the facts connected with the
historical events of that period to be divided into a series of
three, like the Guardsmen, Mousquetaires, and Twenty Years After,
of Dumas. Two of these, embracing different epochs and circumstances,
we have completed in "Hardscrabble" and "Wau-nan-gee;" and whether
the third, on a different topic than that of war, and which, as we
have just observed, is not necessary to the others, ever finds
embodiment in the glowing language and thought of Nature, nursed
and strengthened in Nature's solitude, will much depend on the
interest with which its predecessors shall have been received.
Yet, whether we do so or not, we trust the sweet, the gentle Maria
Ronayne--the loadstone of attraction to all who knew her, will
have excited sufficient interest in those of her own sex who have
followed her in her hitherto chequered fate to induce in them a
desire to know more of the destiny to which she seemed to have been
born.
Of the other characters, scarcely less interesting, we can speak
with greater confidence. On the third day after the battle, the
prisoners, including Mr. McKenzie and the members of his household,
were removed from Chicago, and scattered about in small and separate
parties, at various intervals of distance from Mackinaw, then in
possession of the British. Here Mrs. Headley remained some time,
in order that she might recover sufficiently from her troublesome
wounds, when Winnebeg, in whose immediate charge she and her
husband were, learning that his people manifested impatience
at the indulgence shown to them, and with their usual fickleness
and inconsistency, desired to have them given up to their own
custody, paddled them, aided only by his squaw, from their village,
a distance of three hundred miles along the shores of Lake Michigan
to the post of Mackinaw, whence the prisoners, who had been received
with all the courtesy the knowledge of their position and the fame
of their deeds could not fail to inspire, by the gentlemanly
commander of that post, were subsequently transferred to the general
then commanding at Detroit.
And great was the curiosity of the young British officers then in
garrison at the latter post, to behold this noble and accomplished
woman, the reputation of whose coolness and courage, under the most
trying circumstances, had been widely circulated by her friend,
Mrs. Elmsley, who, with her father and husband, had some weeks
preceded her to the same quarter.
Little did we at the time, as we shared in the general and sincere
homage to her magnificence of person and brilliancy of character,
dream that a day would arrive when we should be the chronicler of
Mrs. Headley's glory, or have the pleasing task imposed upon us of
re-embodying, after death, the inimitable grace and fulness of
contour that then fired the glowing heart of the unformed boy of
fifteen for the ripened and heroic, although by no means bold or
masculine woman of forty.
THE END.