_Elkswatawa; or the Prophet of the West. A Tale of the Frontier. New
York: Harper and Brothers._
This novel is written by Mr. James S. French, of Jerusalem,
Virginia—the author, we believe, of “_Eccentricities of David
Crockett_,” a book of which we know nothing beyond the fact of its
publication. The plot of _Elkswatawa_ is nearly as follows. About the
period when rumors were abroad in our frontier settlements, and
elsewhere, of contemplated hostilities by the Indians under Tecumseh,
one Mr. Richard Rolfe, “a high-toned and chivalrous Virginian,” is a
resident of Petersburg. He is left an orphan in early life—is educated
under the guidance of an uncle, completes a course of studies at
William and Mary, and finally practises law. His uncle now dying, he
is left pennyless; and his want of perseverance precludes any hope of
professional advancement. In this dilemma he falls in love. The young
lady is “a gentle, quiet, little creature,” has hazel eyes, auburn
hair, and “the loveliest face my eyes ever beheld.” Moreover, she is
“intellectual without being too much book-learned, kind without
seeming to intend it, and artless without affectation.” “Not a dog”
says Mr. French, “but read her countenance aright, and would follow
her until he obtained his dinner.” Besides all this, she has some
little {590} property, a penchant for Mr. Richard Rolfe, and a very
pretty appellation, which is Gay Foreman. But that the course of true
love may not run altogether smooth, the young lady's father “knows a
thing or two,” and will have nothing to do with our hero. The damsel
too refuses to run away with him, and so he is forced to run away by
himself. In a word, he resolves “to leave the scene of his unhappiness
and seek a home in the western wilds.” “Oh poverty! poverty!” says Mr.
Richard Rolfe, in throwing his leg over the saddle, “how often hast
thou been sketched in some humble sphere, as fascinating in the
extreme—and indeed lovely art thou—_in the abstract!_”—a very neat and
very comfortable little piece of positive fact, or as Ben D'Israeli
would call it—of æsthetical psychology.
Our hero is next seen in Kentucky, where we find him, on the night of
the 10th of August 1809, in the woods, on the banks of the Ohio, in
company with one Mr. Earthquake, a hunter. A cry is suddenly heard
proceeding from the river. Stealthily approaching the banks, Mr. R.
and his friend look abroad and discover—nothing. Earthquake, however,
(whom our hero calls Earth for brevity) is of opinion that the Indians
have been murdering some emigrant family. While deliberating, a light
is discovered on the Illinois bank of the river, and presently a band
of Indian warriors become visible. They are dancing a war-dance, with
a parcel of bloody scalps in their hands, and (credat Judæus!) with
Mr. Rolfe's very identical little sweetheart in their abominable
clutches! “Is there a human bosom callous to the appeals of pity?”
here says Mr. Richard Rolfe, attorney at law, placing his hand upon
his heart. Mr. Earthquake, unfortunately, says nothing, but there can
be no doubt in any reasonable mind, that had he opened his mouth at
all, “Humph! here's a pretty kettle of fish!” would have come out of
it.
It appears that Mr. Rolfe having decamped from Petersburg, old Mr.
Foreman, as a necessary consequence, becomes unfortunate in business,
fails, and goes off to Pittsburg—or perhaps goes to Pittsburg first
and then fails—at all events it is incumbent upon him to emigrate and
go down the Ohio in a flat-boat with all his family, and so down he
goes. He arrives, of course, before any accident can possibly happen
to him, exactly opposite the spot where that ill-treated young
attorney, Mr. Rolfe, is sitting as aforesaid, with a very long face,
in the woods. But having got so far, it follows that he can get no
farther. The Indians now catch him—(what business had he to reject Mr.
Rolfe?) they give him a yell—(oh, the old villain!) they kill
him—(quite right!) scalp him, and throw him overboard, him and all his
family, with the exception of the young lady. Her they think it better
to carry across to the Illinois side of the river, and set her up on
the top of a rock just opposite our hero, with a view, no doubt, of
letting that interesting young gentleman behold her to the greatest
possible advantage.
But the glaring improbability of this _rencontre_ (an incident upon
which the whole narrative depends) is perhaps the worst feature in Mr.
French's novel. Matters now proceed in a more rational manner. The
Indians, eight in number, having finished their war-dance, make off
with their prey. The two hunters (for Mr. R. has turned hunter) swim
the river and proceed to follow in pursuit, with the view of seizing
any favorable opportunity for rescuing the young lady. There are now
some points of interest. At one time, our friends, hiding in the trunk
of a tree, are near being discovered by the red men, when these latter
are turned from the path by the rattling of a snake. This is a
manœuvre on the part of Earthquake, who carries the rattles about his
person. Something of the same kind, however, is narrated by Cooper. At
another period, one of the eight becoming separated from the party, is
waylaid and dexterously slain. Mr. Rolfe too, manages to obtain a
glimpse of the face of the captive, and is convinced of her being his
inamorata. The pursuit, however, is unsuccessful, and the maiden is
carried to the camp of Tecumseh.
We have now a description of this warrior—of his brother Elkswatawa,
the Prophet—of Net-nok-wa, the female chief of the Ottawas—and of
Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa her daughter. The two latter are on a visit to
Tecumseh, who refuses, for state reasons, the proffered hand of
Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa. This princess, becoming interested in the fate of
our heroine, begs her of the Prophet as a slave. The Prophet yields,
and Miss Foreman is carried by Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa to visit some of the
latter's friends on the Wabash, before setting off for the more
distant regions of her tribe. In the meantime, our hunters, arriving
at the camp, and having reconnoitred it in vain for any traces of the
captive, boldly enter the camp itself, and demand the maiden at the
hands of the Prophet. His hostile intentions not being yet
sufficiently ripe, Elkswatawa receives them with kindness, and gives
them fair words, but disclaims any knowledge of Miss Foreman. Being
desired, however, to aid the search by means of his power as a
Prophet, the Indian finally points out the true route of
Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa's party, and our hunters taking leave, determine, as
nothing better can be done, to return home for assistance. On their
way they come across the body of the Indian, who, it will be
remembered, was separated from his party and killed by our friends.
Upon his person they find, among other articles, a handkerchief marked
with the letters _R. Rolfe_, in the hand-writing of our hero. He
remembers having exchanged handkerchiefs with Miss F. on the day of
his leaving Petersburg, and his doubts are now, consequently, resolved
into certainty. This incident determines Rolfe to proceed immediately
up the Wabash. Here, too, he fails in the object of his search, and
the hunters commence their return. On the route an Indian woman is
discovered, bearing a torch, and looking for her son whom she supposes
to have been murdered by the whites. Touched with pity, our friends
aid her in the search, and the son is found, grievously wounded, but
not dead. In her lamentations, the mother drops some few words about a
white maiden who has taken shelter in her wigwam, and the hopes of
Rolfe are rekindled. They bear the wounded man to the hut, and the
white maiden, who is found dead, proves _not_ to be Gay Foreman. But
the kindness of Rolfe and his companion have excited a deep gratitude
in the breasts of the Indian mother and son—the latter is called
Oloompa. They pledge their aid in recovering the lady—and, Rolfe
having entrusted Oloompa with a letter for his mistress, the hunters
resume their journey. Reaching Indiana, they find that, owing to the
unsettled state of Indian affairs, no assistance can be rendered them
in regard {591} to the rescue of Miss Foreman. They proceed to
Kentucky. Earthquake is made sheriff. Rolfe practises law, and having
written to Petersburg in relation to Miss F. receives an answer
inducing him to believe himself mistaken in regard to the identity of
the captive. In the meantime Netnokwa, Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa and Miss
Foreman are living on the banks of the Red River. The lady is, in some
measure, reconciled to her fate by the kind attentions of her Indian
friends—who are only prevented from restoring her to the settlements,
through dread of the Prophet's resentment. Elkswatawa and Tecumseh are
busied in uniting the Indian tribes with the view of a general attack
upon the whites. An emissary is thus sent to the wigwam of Netnokwa.
Influenced by Miss Foreman the princesses treat the messenger with
contempt and laugh at the pretensions of the Prophet. He returns home
vowing vengeance, and Elkswatawa is induced to send a party of six
warriors for the purpose of bringing all the inmates of Netnokwa's
cabin to his camp.
The friendly Indian, Oloompa, determines, in the meantime, to redeem
his promise made to the two hunters, finds out the wigwam of Netnokwa,
delivers the letter of Rolfe, receives an answer from Miss Foreman,
proceeds with it to Kentucky, searches out our hero, and returns with
him as a guide to the dwelling of the Indian princess. Earth
accompanies them. The cabin is found deserted—the inmates having been
carried off the day before in the direction of the Prophet's camp. But
the ingenuity of Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa has contrived to leave, on a shelf
of the cabin, a letter for the perusal of Oloompa—whose return was, of
course, expected. This letter consists of a parcel of little clay
figures, representing Netnokwa, Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, and Miss Foreman,
driven by six Indians in the direction of the camp of the Prophet.
Upon this hint our hero starts with his two companions in pursuit.
They fail, however, in overtaking the Indians in time to accomplish a
rescue. The captive with her friends is carried to Tippecanoe, where
the Prophet (Tecumseh having gone to the South) is expecting an attack
from the American army under General Harrison. Entering the camp,
Oloompa mingles with the Indians and finally discovers the tent in
which are the princesses and Miss Foreman. Learning that the Prophet
has granted to Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa the privilege of passing in and out
of the tent at pleasure, restricting her only to the limits of the
camp, he obtains an interview with her, and prevails upon her to
disguise Miss Foreman to represent herself, (the princess) and thus
enable the captive to pass out. The scheme succeeds, and our heroine
is restored to the arms of Mr. Rolfe, who is awaiting her beyond the
lines. In the meantime, the impatient Indians urge the Prophet to a
night attack upon Gen. Harrison. They are repulsed, and at the
conclusion of the battle, our friends make their way into the American
army. All difficulties now vanish. The lovers are married, and the
narrative is brought to a conclusion.
The dry compendium we have given will of course do little more than
afford some idea of the _plan_ of the novel. Its chief interest
depends upon matters which we have avoided altogether, as being
independent of this plan, and as forming a portion of our Indian
history. Here Mr. French has been very successful. The characters of
Tecumseh and of Elkswatawa appear to us well drawn, and the manœuvres
skilfully detailed by means of which the vast power of the Prophet was
attained. It is possible however, that the bear, tiger, Indian, and
snake stories of our friend Earthquake, (with which the volumes are
plentifully interlarded,) will be considered as forming the better
portions of _Elkswatawa_. We have already adverted to the gross
improbability of the main incident upon which the narrative is hinged.
In the entire construction of the tale Mr. French has fallen too
obviously, we think, into some mannerisms of Sir Walter Scott.
In him (Sir Walter) these _mannerisms_, until the frequency of their
repetition entitled them to such appellation, being well managed and
not over-done, were commendable. They added great force and precision
to the development of his stories. They should now be avoided—as a
little too much of a good thing. And to a man of genius the world of
invention is _never_ shut. There is always something new under the
sun—a fact susceptible of positive demonstration, in spite of a
thousand dogmas to the contrary. The mannerisms we particularly allude
to in Mr. French, are involved in what he so frequently calls the
“_bringing up_” of his narrative. Fixing in his mind, every now and
then, some particular epoch of his tale, he deems it of essential
importance (when it is by no means so) that the action of his various
characters should be “brought up,” with entire regularity, to this
epoch. The attention is no sooner engaged in one train of adventure,
than a chapter closes with some such sentence as the following.
“_Leaving_ him to prosecute his journey, and the hunters with a
perfect knowledge of the route he had taken, we return to the camp of
the Prophet,” see chapter 21—or with “_Leaving_ the hunters to hover
about the temporary camp of the Indians, we must bring _forward other
parts of our story_,” see chapter 3—or with “Thus amusing themselves,
they continued their journey, to perform which we must leave them,
while we _bring forward other parts of our story_,” see chapter 8—or
“And now having _brought up_ the history of the Prophet to the period
of which we are writing we will proceed with our narrative,” see
chapter 14—or “_Leaving_ Rolfe to attend to his profession, and
Earthquake to discharge the duties of the office which had just been
conferred on him, let us _proceed with other parts of our story_,” see
chapter 15. Many of the chapters commence in a similar strain, and
even in the middle of some of them the same interruptions occur. And
this adjustment of the date is so frequently repeated that Mr.
French's readers are kept in a constant state of chronological
hornpipe.
There are some _inadvertences_ to which the author's attention should
be called. When Rolfe, and his companion Earthquake, are in the woods
on the banks of the Ohio, at the time of the murder of Mr. Foreman's
family, they are represented (see page 32, vol. i,) as hearing a
sudden cry—upon which, proceeding to the river bank, they look around
and see—nothing. The boat containing the family had sunk before their
appearance and no traces remained. Yet on page 113 of the same volume,
we find the hunters giving to the Prophet a detailed account of the
massacre and burning—things of which they could know nothing
whatsoever.
When Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa (that acute young lady) is about leaving her
wigwam on the Red River—forced {592} away by the six Indians of the
Prophet, she goes to much trouble in making little dirt babies as a
means of informing Rolfe and Oloompa, when they shall arrive, of the
disaster which has befallen her. The six Indians, it is possible,
would have taken notice of the dirt babies and destroyed them before
their departure—for we are told they were set upon a shelf in the
wigwam. At all events, the young princess should have had a less
opinion of her own ingenuity, and have requested Miss Foreman to write
a bona fide epistle to her lover. In this manner she would have saved
herself no little dabbling in the mud.
In his _dialogues_, our author will observe that he makes a far too
frequent use of the _names_ of the speakers. Earthquake, for example,
cannot say a word to Rolfe, without calling him _Rolfe_, to commence
with—and Rolfe does nothing but _Earth_ Mr. Earthquake to the end of
the chapter. This has the most ludicrous effect imaginable. The
colloquy might as well proceed, too, without so excessive an use of
the word “said.” The “said Earths” and “said Rolfes” have put us in a
positive fever. The general _style_ of Mr. French is intrinsically
good—but has a certain air of _rawness_ which only time and
self-discipline will enable him to mellow down. In depicting
_character_, the novelist is unequal. Earth is natural, and although
drawn with force, still free from the usual exaggerations. We have
already spoken of Elkswatawa and Tecumseh. Oloompa is a bold and
chivalrous Indian, with a fine ideal elevation of manner. Miss Foreman
we dislike, because we cannot comprehend her. In vain we endeavor to
form of her, from the portrait before us, any definite image. She is a
young lady—and we are told a very pretty one—but Mr. F. must pardon us
for saying that she has—no character whatsoever.
Upon the whole we think highly of “_Elkswatawa_,” as evincing a
capacity for better things. But if the question were demanded—What has
Mr. French here done for his reputation?—we would reply possibly, upon
the spur of the moment—“very little.” Upon second thoughts we should
say—“just nothing at all.”