THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE.
Between the settlement in which the missionary lived and the one next
north-east was a wide prairie, succeeded by a stretch of primitive
forests, through which, down its abysmal, rocky bed, ran a foaming
river. The limestone bluffs that formed its banks abounded in holes
and caves--fitting homes for wild beasts. Here the cry of the panther
might be heard, and bears and wolves sought their food.
Through these gloomy solitudes Tom was making his way in the buggy,
which the missionary had provided; for Tom had been intrusted with the
errand of going to the village beyond for a trunk which had arrived
from the east for Mr. Payson. He was jogging along, listening to the
strange sounds of the forest; for it was near here, the last winter,
that a sight met his gaze that he could never forget. There had been a
succession of those _still_ snow-storms which so often come in the
night in Minnesota, and go off at day-dawn, leaving a perfectly even
coating of snow over everything. The sleighing was quite passable,
and the weather, that day, mild. Coming suddenly to an open space,
within a few feet of him, were two large gray wolves, eating a horse
not yet dead. The poor beast was still attached to his team, and
hopelessly struggled against his twofold fate; for he had fallen into
a 'sink-hole' that the treacherous snow had concealed, and his driver,
unable to extricate him, had abandoned him to his fate, or gone for
help. Brandishing his whip, Tom shouted at the wolves in hope of
frightening them off. They only raised their heads to glare
threateningly at him, their jaws dripping blood, then voraciously
resumed their gory repast, tearing great quivering masses of flesh
from the struggling beast, which they seemed to swallow without
chewing, with such a ravenous appetite did they eat.
Tom was a brave lad. But as he descended the side of the hill towards
the river, and the dense shadows made his way dim, although it was
high noon and a brilliant sun was flooding the prairies, he could not
shake off a feeling of dread that had grown upon him. Every now and
then he caught himself starting with nervous apprehension, and, to
break the spell, he began to whistle a merry tune, to keep up his
courage, as boys are wont to do. But he was thinking how dismally it
sounded, when, suddenly, in the distance rang out the clear notes of
a robin. Tom involuntarily reined in his horse at that; for the call
of that bird his Indian friend Long Hair used to imitate for a signal,
and had taught Tom how to do it.
"For the sake of Long Hair," said Tom, more cheerily, "I'll answer
you, old bird."
But scarcely had he done so, when, to his surprise, the bird
responded.
"Well," said Tom, "you think I'm your mate, I guess; and if you choose
to give me your company, I shall not object, it is so lonely here!"
So he answered the robin again.
Instantly the bushes parted, and Long Hair stepped into view. His eyes
were bloodshot, his blanket torn, and his whole appearance indicated
that something unusual had happened.
"Why, Long Hair!" exclaimed Tom, greatly startled; "what is the
matter?"
The Indian glanced warily about, then laid his ear to the ground,
listening intently, and arose quickly, saying,--
"Indian come. Much fight. Kill white man; kill white squaw; kill
pappoose."
"What of my father and mother?" inquired Tom, excitedly. "Have they
been murdered?"
"Long Hair save 'um little; father shoot one, two, tree, ten Injun.
Long Hair been up to Fort. Sojer no bleeve Long Hair; say he spy.
Long Hair come for Tom to get sojer. Injun see Long Hair; be here
pretty soon--one, two, tree, ten, twenty, _fifty_! Kill Long Hair,
kill Tom, take scalp. Tom go with Long Hair. He save him. Horse know
way home."
Tom saw, from Long Hair's manner, that it was no time for delay, and,
leaping from the wagon, with marvellous quickness the Indian turned
the horse's head about, facing home, and, striking him smartly, the
spirited animal rapidly retraced his way.
At their right rose a rocky ridge to a considerable height, springing
up which Long Hair motioned Tom to follow. The other side was quite
precipitous; but a narrow fissure in the rock afforded a scanty
footing, down which the Indian glided, Tom following him, although
dizzy with the height. Passing along for a short distance, they came
to a scrub oak, the roots of which had struck into the side of the
ledge. Climbing around it, a small opening appeared. Motioning Tom to
enter, Long Hair said,--
"If both stay, Injun kill both. Long Hair run swift like deer;" and he
darted up the ridge again with cat-like agility.
When Tom's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he found himself in
a spacious, rocky room. It was one of those natural caves which seem
as if the work of art, rather than a freak of nature. The room was
almost a perfect square, and extending around its sides was a seat of
solid rock, while in a square hole, which looked as if it had been
excavated for the purpose, was a spring, the water of which was icy
cold, and of crystal clearness.
Tom seated himself to await the result of the strange events that had
so suddenly befallen him. Not a sound was to be heard in the forest;
and had he not known enough of the Indian acuteness in detecting the
approach of a concealed or distant foe, he would have doubted Long
Hair's representations of the impending peril. Indeed, as the moments
sped,--and they seemed long to him,--he had begun to consider the
propriety of venturing out to look about a little, when a slight
rustle in the ravine below arrested his attention. At any other time
he would not have noticed the sound, it was so like the passing of the
breeze. The scrawny roots of the tree at the entrance of the cave, and
the darkness within, protected him from observation; and, drawing
nearer the mouth of the cavern, he watched the bushes below with
strained eye. He had not long to wait when he saw an Indian creeping
cautiously along; then, a little farther off, another came into view,
and still another. They were Long Hair's pursuers; and from their
belts hung a number of scalps, which, from their bloody appearance,
showed that they had recently been taken; and the luxuriant tresses of
some of them indicated that they were from the heads of white women.
At the sight Tom's blood almost froze in his veins. But his heart gave
a sudden bound as he heard the sound of soft footfalls. From this he
judged that the Indians had got upon Long Hair's trail, and some of
them had gone round in front of the ridge, while the others followed
closely in his track. Tom felt that his hour had come, and a mortal
terror seized him. Then, thinking of his imperilled father and mother,
to whose succor Long Hair had bidden him go, he was astonished at the
fierce reaction which followed. He had no weapons; so, planting
himself behind the tree, he lay in wait, ready to spring upon the
first intruder, and hurl him into the depths below.
The dark figure of an Indian creeping stealthily along, like a horrid
serpent, he saw cautiously approaching the tree: a moment more, and
the death grapple would come, when an exclamation above made the
Indian turn his head. Long Hair's trail, returning from the cave, had
been struck by another Indian. At the same instant, Long Hair's
defiant war-whoop, challenging his pursuers to come on, was heard in
the distance. The answering yell of the savages from the ravine below
and the ridge above rang out as they dashed after. The Indian, unaware
of the presence of Tom, stepped to the tree to turn himself on the
face of the cliff, so that he stood with his brawny back close to Tom.
His waist also was hung with gory scalps. The sight maddened Tom to
frenzy. The savage let go the tree, and started to join the chase,
when Tom thrust his hands at once through the fissure, and sent him
headlong from the precipice. The body struck with a dull, heavy thud,
and all was still.
Tom could hear the sound of the pursuit as it died away, and knew that
there was now no immediate danger to him; and, stooping down, he took
a long draught from the spring, and bathed his fevered brow. Then,
climbing out of his hiding-place, he passed quickly upon the ridge,
and descended into the ravine below, where lay the mutilated form of
the red man.
"Who knows but he is the murderer of some of our family?" he said, as
he drew near. "No; none of our folks have such hair as that," he
added, after examining the scalps, one by one. Then, taking possession
of the rifle, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch, and thrusting the
Indian's scalping-knife into his belt, and throwing some limbs over
the body, that it might not so soon be discovered by his friends, Tom
hurried away in the direction of the fort, as Long Hair had
suggested. He lingered a moment, however, wishing that he could do
something to serve Long Hair, who, he well knew, had uttered that
challenging war-cry that saved his life on purpose to call the Indians
away from the cave.
But what was he? A mere boy against so many infuriated savages.
Besides, they were now far away, he knew not where. Moreover, Long
Hair had charged him to go for the soldiers to rescue his father and
mother, and, without further hesitation, he turned his steps towards
the fort. Tom was in good health, a quick walker, and, like his
father, accustomed to thread the woods and traverse the prairies.
Tom was agitated with strong and conflicting emotions as he pursued
his lonely way. His boy-nature had been terribly roused by the
exciting scenes through which he had just passed. He had experienced
the strange feeling which men feel, when, in battle, they are stirred
by danger and the sight of blood to deeds of blood. It was under this
feeling that he was led to precipitate the Indian from the bluff, and
to view his remains with so much composure. But now a faintness came
stealing over him. His young heart recoiled at the thought of what he
had done. This relenting, however, was repelled by the recollection
of Long Hair's heroism, and his father and mother's beleaguered
condition, if, indeed, the tomahawk ere this had not drank their life.
How many days had passed since Long Hair had seen them he knew not;
but it was easy to see from his friend's anxiety that his parents were
in an extremity of danger, and whether he could succeed in procuring
assistance for them in season seemed doubtful. It would take him, to
go afoot, two days to reach the fort; and he could not hope to get to
his father's settlement with the soldiers in less than a day more,
even if they were mounted. It was now about two o'clock, and he had
eaten nothing since early in the morning; but he thought not of food
as he hurried on. With the accuracy of the practised pioneer he struck
a bee-line for the fort. This took him some miles away from any
village; but towards night he reached a cabin standing alone.
Entering, he found the family just taking their evening meal. With
true western hospitality, the man of the house urged him to sit down
and partake with them, while his wife poured out a generous bowl of
strong, black coffee, which, as was the custom, was used without sugar
or milk; and she heaped his plate with fried pork, and hot, mealy
potatoes, while by the side of his plate she laid a generous slice of
brown bread.
Tom partook with a relish that did honor to the fare.
"Where are you from, and where are you bound, my lad?" asked the man,
who had refrained from questions until he saw that his guest was well
under way eating.
Tom's mouth and heart were full, and between them both he found it
difficult to reply. He was painfully hungry from his long fast and the
thrilling experiences of the day, and his brain was greatly excited.
"I am going," said he, answering the last question first, perhaps
because it was nearest at hand, "to the fort after help."
"After help!" cried the wife, stopping short in the act of
transferring a potato from the end of her fork to Tom's plate, holding
it aloft unconsciously. "Ain't any trouble down your way with the
Injuns--is there?"
"No, not exactly," said Tom.
And the good woman, relieved, remembered the potato, and deposited it
as she had designed, then was proceeding to place another slice of
pork beside it, just as Tom added,--
"But I saw lots of them this morning not more than twelve miles from
here, and they looked fierce enough in their war-paint, and with the
bloody scalps dangling from their bodies."
"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed the good lady; and, again forgetting
herself, she paused with the pork, letting the fat drip upon the snowy
cloth. "I told you, husband, they'd be down upon us yet, and we more'n
three miles from any neighbor."
And as Tom commenced his recital of the occurrences of the morning,
she sat down in her chair with the slice of meat still in its elevated
position, and the gravy dripping into her lap, while the husband
ceased eating, and listened with open-mouthed interest.
Tom eyed the pork longingly as he continued his narration, and, seeing
no prospect of getting it, abruptly said,--
"I hadn't tasted a bit of food till I came here since five o'clock
this morning, and I've got to Walk all night."
"Law me!" ejaculated his good-hearted hostess; "if I haven't forgot to
help ye, I was so scared 'bout the Injuns;" and she passed it, adding,
"Husband, you jist go down cellar, and bring up a pumpkin pie, and
some o' that gingerbread. The boy mustn't leave this huss till he's
had his fill;" and the tears came into her large blue eyes. "And are
you going with the sojers over among the Injuns where your father and
mother is?"
"Yes," answered Tom.
"Why, it seems to me that a stripling like you had best stay behind,
and keep out o' danger. One o' them Injuns wouldn't make nothin' o'
taking your scalp."
Tom's spirit rose at this, and he told them how he killed the Indian
in the morning.
"Well, I never!" said the good lady, in blank astonishment. "Why, I
don't s'pose my husband here would be any more dependence if them wild
critters should come beseeching our dwelling than a three-year-old."
At which the husband thrust his hand up into his wiry hair, till he
made it stand upon end all over his head, while he grew very red in
the face, and said, fiercely,--
"Let the varmints come on if they wants to. Guess I could stand it if
you could."
Tom saw that there was danger of a falling out between his fat,
overgrown hostess and her diminutive husband, and adroitly said,--
"We don't any one of us know what we could do until the time comes. I
was surprised myself at what I had done."
"Well," said the woman, restored to good humor, "there's a great deal
o' good sense in that remark. I know it from experience. For when I
had the toothache so that I couldn't sleep nights for a week, and
husband wanted to take me over to Groveville, to the doctor's, I felt
as weak as dish-water; but when I got there, I had out two jaw teeth
and a stump without wincin', as you may say, and the doctor said he'd
like me for a subject to pull on all the time. But I told him it would
take two to make a bargain on that, I reckoned;" and she laughed
heartily at the remembrance of her own wit.
But Tom had finished his meal, and rose to go, when his hostess
said,--
"You won't think o'travelling in the night--will yer?"
"Every moment is precious," replied Tom.
"Well, husband," said she, "if the boy feels, under the circumstances,
that he must go, it isn't in me to detain him. But it seems to me we
orter do as we'd be did by, and help him onto his way a piece. Now,
you jist go and harness the hoss into the waggin while I put up
something to stay his stomach like till he gets to the fort. You could
drive him there just as well as not, husband."
"Pretty long drive," observed the man, looking out of the little
window dubiously.
"Well, but," she persisted, "you see the child's got to go all the way
afoot, and it'll take so long that his folks'll be killed, murdered,
tomahawked, and scalped, afore he can git there." Then, waxing warm,
"an' if you an' I was in that perdicament, we'd want them as was going
to help us not to aggervate our feelin's by coming to our rescue when
it was too late."
"Yes, yes," returned the little man, unable to reply to his wife's
wordy reasoning.
"Now, if you're not afeard--"
"_Afeard!_" said he, bristling his hair, and reddening again. "Who's
afeard? I was only thinking, if the Injuns should come whilst I'm
gone, what would become of you, Barbery Jane."
"Well," said she, looking aghast, and sinking into her chair anew, "I
declare, if I hadn't forgot that!"
But she was a person who "made it a point" to carry her point in all
domestic arrangements and controversies with her lord; and partly on
this principle, and partly, we hope, from a worthier motive, she
rallied, and added,--
"But I'll risk it, if you will, James. An' I'm more in danger 'n you
are, bein' I'm so fleshy. You can hide most anywhere in the woods, and
they couldn't find ye any more 'n a needle in a haymow; an' I never
could stand it to think on't that we'd been sich cowards--"
"Cowards!" interrupted her husband, goaded by this; for on the matter
of size and courage he was specially sore--a wound which his spouse
took care to keep open. "Cowards!" and, bristling about, and striking
his feet together, he bustled out, and, with commendable energy, soon
had the horse in the buggy before the door. Tom sprang in, as the
kind-hearted woman passed him a bountiful supply of provisions,
saying, as she wiped her eyes with her apron,--
"I hope next time you come this way you'll be alive an' well; but I'm
dreadful afeard the Injuns'll git ye." The latter remark seemed to
have more effect upon her husband than Tom, for the flush disappeared
from his cheeks again.
The ponderous wife watched the wagon until it was out of sight, then,
with much pains, fastened the little window and the outer door, and,
going to her trunk, took from thence a copy of the Bible, and sat down
and read a chapter--a duty which she always performed on extra
occasions, and especially in times of danger. It mattered not to her
what chapter she read; and she now opened to the genealogical records
in First Chronicles. She was a poor reader at best; but she struggled
on with those names of foreign accent, feeling much safer with the
exercise, while her thoughts were far away, following Tom and her
husband. In truth, she had done a good deed, and one that had cost her
a real sacrifice, in sending away her husband with the horse to
accompany the lad; and the consciousness of this began to fill her
with happiness, calmed as she was by the feeling of security which
the use of the good Book imparted. Hers was a simple-hearted faith;
but who shall say that she was not accepted and blessed according to
the measure of her light?
Who would not choose to be such a one, with her defective knowledge
and her weak superstition,--as some would call it,--than the proud
sceptic, ever croaking, like some hideous night-bird, as he turns his
bleared eyes away from the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, "No God,
no Bible, no Saviour, no Heaven of blessedness, no Immortality,"
wandering through life without hope and God in the world, and, at
death, taking a frightful "leap in the dark"!