Who Gave Sprigg The Red Moccasins?
"Will-o'-the-Wisp.
Some would wear our moccasins red,
Though the road should lead to the dead.
Some would wear our coronals green,
Who would keep themselves unseen!
Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"
So sang a wild and musical voice out there in the woods; and halting
suddenly and cocking his gun, Jervis Whitney stood on his guard.
"Will-o'-the-Wisp!
None shall wear our moccasins red,
On the road that leads to the dead.
None shall wear our coronals green,
But to see themselves as they are seen!
Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"
Again sang the voice out there in the night; and looking straight before
him, his eyes upon the spot where a speaker should be, Jervis Whitney
saw never a living thing; saw nothing but the moss-grown trunk of a
tree, where it lay on the ground, not ten paces distant, with the
moonlight shining full upon it.
What I am now telling you happened last Saturday night, on which, as you
will remember, Jervis Whitney returned from their old Virginia home. He
was within a mile of his journey's end, and had reached a glade in the
forest where there was scarcely a tree or bush to break the clearest of
moonlight with a shadow, when his ear was caught by the voice of the
invisible speaker.
"Who calls Jervis Whitney?" now in his turn cried the White Hunter,
looking in wonder all around him, far and near, still seeing never a
shape of life that could call a man by name.
"I do!" answered the voice. "I, the king of the Manitous; or, as you
white men call me, Nick of the Woods." And with these words there seemed
to perch on the tree trunk, whence the voice proceeded, what seemed a
magnificent bird of bright green plumage, and there beside it, visible,
stood the mysterious speaker.
It was a manikin, scarcely more than a yard in height, but beautifully
formed, with limbs as round and strong as those of a roebuck. In color
and feature, the style of his face was that of the Indian, as was,
indeed, his whole external appearance, excepting that, instead of the
characteristic scalp-lock, he wore all his hair, which, straight, thick
and long, fell in a sable gleam to his shoulders. He wore a bearskin
robe, which, secured at the throat by a clasp which seemed to be a pair
of claws interlocked, hung gracefully about his form; on the hair side,
fresh and sleek; on the flesh side, smooth as satin and red as blood.
His airy little feet were shod with a pair of red moccasins, all agleam
with bright-colored beads, which shone like rubies and diamonds in the
glistering moonlight. The object, which the white hunter at first glance
had supposed to be a large, green bird, now proved to be a kind of
feathered hat, or coronal, resembling those worn by Indian sachems when
in full dress. The red mist-cap of the fairies possessed the magic power
of rendering the person who wore it--man, as well as elf--invisible to
mortal eyes. That the white hunter might use his eyes as well as ears,
and thus stand on equal terms in the interview, which had opened at a
disadvantage to him, the elf had laid aside his magic headpiece, and now
stood as plainly revealed to bodily vision as the brightest of moonlight
could show him.
"And what can Jervis Whitney do for Nick of the Woods?" at length said
the hunter, after eyeing the manikin over from top to toe for some
moments in silent wonder, as well he might.
"For Nick of the Woods," replied the elf, "Jervis Whitney can do
nothing; nor could he were he king of the earth. But for Jervis Whitney,
Nick of the Woods can, and is willing to, do much." And the elf paused.
"Well, say on," said the hunter, as, uncocking his rifle and setting it
on the ground, he propped his chin upon the muzzle, thereby signifying
his readiness to listen. The elf resumed:
"You have a son, who goes by the name of Sprigg, I think."
"Yes, that have I; and a rare young buck he is. As antic at times in
his capers as were he kin to an elf."
"Has he not teased you much of late for a pair of red moccasins?" And
pat to the question, the manikin thrust out one of his small moccasined
feet. "And did he beg you to get him a pair while you were gone to the
land of Pocahontas?"
Jervis started. He had never given the matter a serious thought, there
being no monkeys as yet in the country to create a demand for the
article in question. After musing a moment he answered:
"Yes, it is even so, though I must confess that the thing had quite
escaped my memory. But granting it to be as we say, how does the
circumstance interest Nick of the Woods?"
"Listen!" replied the Manitou king. "I also have a son, who goes by the
name of Manitou-Echo, until you white men christen him more to your
fancy. Now my son Manitou-Echo has fallen in love with your son Sprigg,
Sprigg being a boy more after his own heart than any young human being
he has known for more than a hundred years. Of all fleet-footed fairies,
Manitou-Echo, be it known, is the fleetest, and it is the chief delight
of his existence to run races with fast boys. Sprigg, he says, is the
fastest boy that has skipped upon the green earth since the days of
Little Winged Moccasin, the boy who ran to the setting sun in quest of
his shadow, which he had lost at noonday. So, then, my son Manitou-Echo
is burning to run a race with your son Sprigg."
"Well, and how is my son Sprigg to run this race with your son
Manitou-Echo?" and the hunter crossed his legs, still with his chin
propped on the muzzle of his gun, an attitude characteristic of hunters,
from Robin Hood, in the cross-bow days of Merry England, to Daniel
Boone, in the rifle days of green Kentucky.
"True," rejoined Nick of the Woods, "Sprigg, with merely his own bare
feet to go on, would stand but a slender chance in a trial of speed with
Manitou-Echo. Therefore, to put him on an equal footing for the feat,
Sprigg must be furnished with a pair of red moccasins such as we elves
wear." And the elf again thrust out his moccasined feet, by way of
exemplification.
"But, while we shall be doing so much to please the whim of your son
Manitou-Echo, what shall we be doing to please or benefit my son
Sprigg?"
"Pat to the point!" quoth Nick of the Woods. "The very thing I was
coming to next--the main thing, indeed, which has led me to seek this
interview with Sprigg's father. I should hardly have come a thousand
miles out of my way, since set of sun, had it been merely to gratify
Manitou-Echo in an elfish whim. In brief, then, and in sweet earnest,
too, the object we have in view is intended mainly for Sprigg's own
good; and, as the means to this end, my son Manitou-Echo has sent, as a
present to your son Sprigg, a pair of red moccasins, to put him, as I
have just said, on an equal footing in the trial of speed between them.
Refuse the gift, and nothing shall follow therefrom, be it for good or
for evil. Accept the gift, and good--nothing but good--shall come of it,
sooner or later."
Here, with the air of one who has had his say, and now but awaits your
final answer to take fair leave of you, the Manitou paused. Jervis
Whitney did the like, remaining silent for many moments, half in doubt,
half in debate, his eyes bent fixedly the while upon his companion. At
length, very dubiously, indeed, he answered:
"I must confess, were we to drop the matter just here, I should be left
as much in the mist as if you had kept your mist-cap on your head and
allowed me only the use of my ears. Will you please enlighten me, sir,
with a few more gleams of your moonshine?"
"Certainly, sir; certainly!" rejoined Nick of the Woods, with an
obliging smile and a courteous wave of the hand. "I perceive you are
something of a philosopher, by wishing to view the subject in that
light. Know, then, that Sprigg's fancy for red moccasins has grown to be
the one idea of his mind--a hankering, so to speak; and the best cure in
the world for a hankering, as everybody knows, is a strong, sudden,
overwhelming dose of the thing so hankered after. Sprigg's case is like
that of a man's case, whose heart is dead set on matrimony--a little
experience, tough and lively, being all that is needed to cure him of
the hankering and restore him to a healthy condition of mind. As with
matrimony, so with moccasins."
"I am glad that Elster is not present to hear that speech; else should I
feel constrained to send a bullet through your bearskin, just by way of
giving you the lie, and of satisfying her that I am the truest of
husbands, as she is the best of wives, although I am perfectly aware
that it would be a waste of powder and lead, having once or twice in my
time sent my bullet after a bear, and found that, without missing my
mark, I had shot nothing."
"And I should esteem you all the more highly for doing so much to please
your wife," rejoined Nick of the Woods, with increased complacency; "and
my wife, Meg of the Hills, were she present, also, at the time, would
cordially join in my expression of commendation. When I say, 'as with
matrimony, so with moccasins,' it is merely by way of illustration, and
is not to be understood as an expression of my private sentiments. Our
married life--Meg's and mine--began with that of Adam and Eve, and our
honeymoon is not yet on the wane. Just here, I should be tempted to go
off at a tangent into wide digression, had long observation not taught
me that there is nothing so galling to a hunter's patience as a
hang-fire gun. As with a gun, so with a speaker. Then, in fine, I will
say, 'trust me, and to the latest day of your life you never shall rue
it, though you should live until the Indian, the Jeer and the Manitou
cease to exist.'"
Then, as if he had, indeed, made an end of his say, the Manitou king
picked up his crown of plumes and placed it upon his head, when straight
he was no more to be seen than the transparent air around him. The next
instant, with a magnificent somerset curve, full ten feet aloft in the
air, a pair of red moccasins plumped themselves, as if firm little feet
were in them, square in front of the hunter, where he stood--with his
chin still propped on the muzzle of his gun and his legs still crossed?
I rather think not! "Leave, and lose! Take, and gain! But leave or take,
it is all one to Nick of the Woods!" And hardly were the words spoken,
just there in the empty moonlight, when a whirr in the leaves and
flutter in the air announced that the elf was gone.
For many moments Jervis Whitney stood there gazing down on the
moccasins, debating within himself, with a look of great perplexity,
whether to take them or to leave them. He went over, in his mind, all
that had been said by the elf, and so well said, too, it needs must be
as well meant, odd and fantastic though it might seem. He recalled the
Manitou's aspect--so clear and bright, so free from disguise; and,
withal, as beautiful, while so Indian-like--as well could be the eyes
of a white man, who, for some years past, had had a hard scuffle to keep
his scalp.
Then, too, there was Pow-wow's behavior on the occasion to be taken into
consideration. There was not a dog west or east of the Alleghany
Mountains who had a sharper nose than Pow-wow for detecting an ill wind;
yet, all this while, he had set there on his haunches, without betraying
the least sign of uneasiness or distrust, nor even of curiosity, as if a
Manitou to him were a sight as familiar as a jay-bird, and no more to be
barked at. Now, the real state of the case was this: Foreseeing that the
dog, dog-like, would be for putting in his jaw to help his master out,
the prudent elf had thrown a spell or charm upon him, hoodwinking not
his eyes only, but also his ears and nose, thus making one side, at
least, of the interview as blank to him as the middle of next week.
Therefore, not a glimpse nor a sniff of the elf had Pow-wow caught; nor
had he heard a word of what the elf had said from "Will-o'-the-Wisp" to
"Nick of the Woods." His master, he could see and hear, and doubtless
marveled much that a husband and father, who had traveled hundreds of
miles to be with his wife and child again, should thus hang fire within
dinner-horn call of home, merely to hold a pow-wow with a rotten log. As
Jervis could no more see the charm on the dog than the dog the charmer
on the log, he must needs regard the orderly deportment of his dumb
companion--in whose sagacity he had unbounded confidence--as the
strongest additional evidence he could wish for confirming him in the
favorable view; his own senses had already inclined him to take off the
Manitou and the matter between them. At length his thoughts shaped
themselves into a conclusion, which he thus expressed aloud:
"I have never known a dog of Pow-wow's blood whose instinct did not tell
him when there was an enemy near his master. I have never known that man
to deceive me, nor try to deceive me, whose eye spoke with his tongue,
and before it and after it, as did the eye of the strange being here but
now. To doubt the word of such a one, were to do him a wrong. To refuse
the gift of such a one, might be to withhold a blessing from me and
mine. I will take the moccasins and trust this Nick of the Woods."