E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 32843-h.htm or 32843-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32843/pg32843-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32843/32843-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/sunmaidstoryoffo00raym
THE SUN MAID
A Story of Fort Dearborn
by
EVELYN RAYMOND
Author of "The Little Lady of the Horse," Etc.
New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
31 West Twenty-Third St.
Copyright, 1900
By
E. P. Dutton & Co.
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration: _Page 22._ KITTY AND THE SNAKE. _Frontispiece._]
TO ALL YOUNG HEARTS IN THAT FAIR CITY BY THE INLAND SEA CHICAGO
PREFACE.
In some measure, the story of the Sun Maid is an allegory.
Both the heroine and the city of her love grew from insignificant
beginnings; the one into a type of broadest womanhood, the other into
a grandeur which has made it unique among the cities of the world.
Discouragements, sorrows, and seeming ruin but developed in each
the same high attributes of courage, indomitable will power, and
far-reaching sympathy. The story of the youth of either would be a
tale unfinished; and those who have followed, with any degree of
interest, the fortunes of either during any period will keep that
interest to the end.
There are things which never age. Such was the heart of the Maid who
remained glad as a girl to the end of her century, and such the
marvellous Chicago with a century rounded glory which is still the
glory of a youth whose future magnificence no man can estimate.
E. R., BALTIMORE, January, 1900.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AS THE SUN WENT DOWN 1
II. TWO FOR BREAKFAST 13
III. IN INDIAN ATTIRE 27
IV. THE WHITE BOW 38
V. HORSES: WHITE AND BLACK 50
VI. THE THREE GIFTS 64
VII. A THREEFOLD CORD IS STRONGEST 77
VIII. AN ISLAND RETREAT 91
IX. AT MUCK-OTEY-POKEE 107
X. THE CAVE OF REFUGE 124
XI. UNDER A WHITE MAN'S ROOF 138
XII. AFTER FOUR YEARS 156
XIII. THE HARVESTING 169
XIV. ONCE MORE IN THE OLD HOME 180
XV. PARTINGS AND MEETINGS 194
XVI. THE SHUT AND THE OPEN DOOR 209
XVII. A DAY OF HAPPENINGS 231
XVIII. WESTWARD AND EASTWARD OVER THE PRAIRIE 247
XIX. THE CROOKED LOG 260
XX. ENEMIES, SEEN AND UNSEEN 272
XXI. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH 284
XXII. GROWING UP 296
XXIII. HEROES 306
XXIV. CONCLUSION 315
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
FORT DEARBORN _Title-page_
BLACK PARTRIDGE AND THE SUN MAID 6
KITTY AND THE SNAKE _Frontispiece_ 22
THE GIFT OF THE WHITE BOW 48
SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID 68
GASPAR AND KITTY REACH THE FORT 188
"KITTY! MY KITTY!" 258
OSCEOLO AND GASPAR 276
THE SUN MAID.
CHAPTER I.
AS THE SUN WENT DOWN.
With gloom in his heart, Black Partridge strode homeward along the
beach path.
The glory of a brilliant August sunset crimsoned the tops of the
sandhills on the west and the waters of the broad lake on the east;
but if the preoccupied Indian observed this at all, it was to see in
it an omen of impending tragedy. Red was the color of blood, and he
foresaw that blood must flow, and freely.
"They are all fools. All. They know that Black Partridge cannot lie,
yet they believe not his words. The white man lies, and works his own
destruction. His doom be on his head!"
As his thought took this line the chief's brow grew still more
stern, and an expression of contempt curled the corners of his wide,
thin lips. A savage though he was, at that moment he felt himself
immeasurably superior to the pale-faces whom he had known; and in the
consciousness of his integrity he held his tall form even more erect,
while he turned his face toward the sky in gratitude to that Great
Spirit who had made him what he was.
Then again he remembered the past, and again his feather-adorned head
drooped beneath its burden of regret, while his brown fingers clasped
and unclasped themselves about a glittering medal which decorated his
necklace, and was the most cherished of his few possessions.
"I have worn it for long, and it has rested lightly upon my heart; but
now it becomes a knife that pierces. Therefore I must return it whence
it came."
Yet something like a sigh escaped him, and his hands fell down
straight at his sides. Also, his narrow eyes gazed forward upon
the horizon, absently, as if their inward visions were much clearer
than anything external. In this manner he went onward for a little
distance, till his moccasined foot struck sharply against something
lying in his path, and so roused him from his reverie.
"Ugh! Ugh! So. When the squaw dies the papoose must suffer."
The soft obstruction was a little child, curled into a rounded heap,
and fast asleep upon this primitive public highway. The touch of the
red man's foot had partially wakened the sleeper, and when he bent and
laid his hand upon her shoulder, she sprang up lightly, at once
beginning to laugh and chatter with a gayety that infected even the
stolid Indian.
"Ugh! The Little-One-Who-Laughs. Why are you here alone, so far from
the Fort, Kitty Briscoe?"
"I runned away. Bunny rabbit runned away. I did catch him two times. I
did find some posies, all yellow and round and--posies runned away,
too. Ain't that funny? Kitty go seek them."
Her laughter trilled out, bird clear, and a mischievous twinkle
lighted her big blue eyes.
"I runned away. Bunny rabbit runned to catch me. I runned to catch
bunny. I caught the posies. Yellow posies gone--I go find them, too."
As if it were the best joke in the world, the little creature still
laughed over her own conceit of so many runnings till, in whirling
about, she discovered the remnants of the flowers she had lost upon
the heat-hardened path behind her. Indeed, when she had dropped down
to sleep, overcome by sudden weariness, it had been with the cool
leaves and blossoms for a couch. Now the love of all green and growing
things was an inborn passion with this child, and her face sobered to
a keen distress as she gazed upon her ruined treasures. But almost at
once the cloud passed, and she laughed again.
"Poor posies, tired posies, sleepy, too. Kitty sorry. Put them in the
water trough and wake them up. Then they hold their eyes open, just
like Kitty's."
"Ugh! Where the papoose sleeps the blossoms wither," remarked Black
Partridge, regarding the bruised and faded plants with more attention.
They were wild orchids, and he knew that the child must have wandered
far afield to obtain them. At that time of year such blooms were
extremely rare, and only to be found in the moist shadows of some
tree-bordered stream quite remote from this sandy beach.
"Oh, dear! Something aches my feet. I will go home to my little bed.
Pick up the posies, Feather-man, and take poor Kitty."
With entire confidence that the Indian would do as she wished, the
small maid clasped his buckskin-covered knee and leaned her dimpled
cheek against it. It proved a comfortable support, and with a babyish
yawn she promptly fell asleep again.
Had she been a child of his own village, even of his own wigwam, Black
Partridge would have shaken her roughly aside, feeling his dignity
affronted by her familiarity; but in her case he could not do this and
on this night least of all.
The little estray was the orphan of Fort Dearborn; whose soldier
father had met a soldier's common fate, and whose mother had quickly
followed him with her broken heart. Then the babe of a few weeks
became the charge of the kind women at the Fort, and the pet of the
garrison in general.
But now far graver matters than the pranks of a mischievous child
filled the minds of all her friends. The peaceful, monotonous life of
the past few years was over, and the order had gone forth that the
post should be evacuated. Preparations had already begun for the long
and hazardous journey which confronted that isolated band of white
people, and the mothers of a score of other restless young folk had
been too busy and anxious to notice when this child slipped away to
wander on the prairie.
For a brief time the weary baby slumbered against the red man's knee,
while he considered the course he would best pursue; whether to return
her at once to the family of the commandant, or to carry her southward
to the Pottawatomie lodge whither he was bound. Then, his decision
made, he lifted the child to his breast and resumed his homeward way.
But the bright head pillowed so near his eyes seemed to dazzle him,
and its floating golden locks to catch and hold, in a peculiar
fashion, the rays of the sunset. From this, with his race instinct of
poetic imagery, which finds in nature a type for everything, he caught
a quaint suggestion.
"She is like the sun himself. She is all warmth and brightness. She
is his child, now that her pale-faced parents sleep the long sleep,
and none other claims her. None? Yes, one. I, Black Partridge, the
Man-Who-Lies-Not. In my village, Muck-otey-pokee, lives my sister, the
daughter of a chief, her whose one son died of the fever on that same
dark night when the arrow of a Sioux warrior killed a brave, his sire.
In her closed tepee there will again be light. The Sun Maid shall make
it. So shall she escape the fate of the doomed pale-faces, and so
shall the daughter of my house again be glad."
Thus, bearing her new name, and all unconsciously, the little Sun Maid
was carried southward and still southward till the twilight fell and
her new guardian reached the Pottawatomie village, on the Illinois
prairie, where he dwelt.
Sultry as the night was, there was yet a great council fire blazing in
the midst of the settlement, and around this were grouped many young
braves of the tribe. Before the arrival of their chief there had been
a babel of tongues in the council, but all discussion ceased as he
joined the circle in the firelight.
The sudden silence was ominous, and the wise leader understood it;
but it was not his purpose then to quarrel with any man. Ignoring
the scowling glances bestowed upon him, he gave the customary
evening salutation and, advancing directly to the fire, plucked a
blazing fagot from it. This he lifted high and purposely held so
that its brightness illuminated the face and figure of the child
upon his breast.
[Illustration: BLACK PARTRIDGE AND THE SUN MAID. _Page 6._]
A guttural exclamation of astonishment ran from brave to brave. The
action of their chief was significant, but its meaning not clearly
comprehended. Had he brought the white baby as a hostage from the
distant garrison, in pledge that the compact of its commandant would
surely be kept? Or had some other tribe anticipated their own in
obtaining the gifts to be distributed?
Shut-Hand, one of the older warriors, whose name suggested his
character, rose swiftly to his feet, and demanded menacingly:
"What means our father, thus bringing hither the white papoose?"
"That which the Black Partridge does--he does."
Rebuked, but unsatisfied, the miserly inquirer sat down. Then, with a
gesture of protection, the chief raised the sleeping little one, that
all within the circle might better see her wonderful, glowing beauty,
intensified as it was by the flare of the flames as well as by
contrast to the dusky faces round about.
"Who suffers harm to her shall himself suffer. She is the Sun Maid,
the new daughter of our tribe."
Having said this, and still carrying the burning fagot, he walked to
the closed tepee of his widowed sister and lifted its door flap.
Stooping his tall head till its feathered crest swept the floor he
entered the spacious lodge. But he sniffed with contempt at the
stifling atmosphere within, and laying down his torch raised the other
half of the entrance curtain.
At the back of the wigwam, crouching in the attitude she had sustained
almost constantly since her bereavement, sat the Woman-Who-Mourns. She
did not lift her head, or give any sign of welcome till the chief had
crossed to her side, and in a tone of command bade her:
"Arise and listen, my sister, for I bring you joy."
"There is no joy," answered the woman, obediently lifting her tall
figure to a rigidly erect posture; by long habit compelled to outward
respect, though her heart remained indifferent.
"Put back the hair from your eyes. Behold. For the dead son I give you
the living daughter. In that land to which both have gone will her
lost mother care for your lost child as you now care for her."
Slowly, a pair of lean, brown hands came out from the swathing blanket
and parted the long locks that served as a veil to hide a haggard,
sorrowful face. After the deep gloom the sudden firelight dazzled the
woman's sight, and she blinked curiously toward the burden upon her
brother's breast. Then the small eyes began to see more clearly and to
evince the amazement that filled her.
"Dreams have been with me. They were many and strange. Is this
another?"
"This a glad reality. It is the Sun Maid. She has no parents. You have
no child. She is yours. Take her and learn to laugh once more as in
the days that are gone."
Then he held the little creature toward her; and still amazed, but
still obedient, the heart-broken squaw extended her arms and received
the unconscious foundling. As the warm, soft flesh touched her own a
thrill passed through her desolate heart, and all the tenderness of
motherhood returned.
"Who is she? Whence did she come? Where will she go?"
"She is the Sun Maid. From the Fort by the great lake, where are still
white men enough to die--as die they must. For there is treachery
afoot, and they who were first treacherous must bear their own
punishment. Only she shall be saved; and where she will go is in the
power of the Woman-Who-Mourns, and of her alone."
Without another word, and leaving the still blazing fagot lying on the
earthen floor, the chief went swiftly away.
But he had brought fresh air and light and comfort with him, as he had
prophesied. The small Sun Maid was already brightening the dusky lodge
as might an actual ray from her glorious namesake.
It was proof of her utter exhaustion that she still slept soundly
while her new foster-mother prepared a bed of softest furs spread over
fresh green branches and went hurriedly out to beg from a neighbor
squaw a draught of evening's milk. This action in itself was
sufficiently surprising to set all tongues a-chatter.
The lodge of Muck-otey-pokee had many of the comforts common to the
white men's settlements. Its herd of cattle even surpassed that at
Fort Dearborn itself, and was a matter of no small pride to the
Pottawatomie villagers. From the old mission fathers they had learned,
also, some useful arts, and wherever their prairie lands were tilled a
rich result was always obtainable.
So it was to a home of plenty, as well as safety, that Black Partridge
had brought the little Sun Maid; and when she at length awoke to see a
dusky face, full of wonderment and love, bending above her, she put
out her arms and gurgled in a glee which brought an answering smile to
lips that had not smiled for long.
With an instinct of yearning tenderness, the Woman-Who-Mourns had
lightened her sombre attire by all the devices possible, so that
while the child slept she had transformed herself. She had neatly
plaited her heavy hair, and wound about her head some strings of gay
beads. She had fastened a scarlet tanager's wing to her breast, now
covered by a bright-hued cotton gown once sent her from the Fort, and
for which she had discarded her dingy blanket. But the greatest
alteration of all was in the face itself, where a dawning happiness
brought out afresh all the good points of a former comeliness.
"Oh! Pretty! I have so many, many nice mammas. Are you another?"
"Yes. All your mother now. My Sun Maid. My Girl-Child. My papoose!"
"That is nice. But I'm hungry. Give me my breakfast, Other Mother.
Then I will go seek my bunny rabbit, that runned away, and my yellow
posies that went to sleep when I did. Did you put them to bed, too,
Other Mother?"
"There are many which shall wake for you, papoose," answered the
woman, promptly; for though she did not understand about the missing
blossoms, it was fortunate that she did both understand and speak the
language of her adopted daughter. Her dead husband had been the
tribe's interpreter, and both from him and from the Fort's chaplain
she had acquired considerable knowledge.
Until her widowhood and voluntary seclusion the Woman-Who-Mourns had
been a person of note at Muck-otey-pokee; and now by her guardianship
of this stranger white child she bade fair to again become such.