"The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill"
_Irish Song_
While the Indians were actively pursuing their sports on the lake,
shooting wildfowl, and hunting and fishing by torchlight, so exciting
was the amusement of watching them that the two lads, Hector and
Louis, quite forgot all sense of danger in the enjoyment of lying or
sitting on the brow of the mount near the great ravine and looking at
their proceedings. Once or twice the lads were near betraying
themselves to the Indians by raising a shout of delight at some
skilful manoeuvre that excited their unqualified admiration and
applause.
At night, when the canoes had all retired to the camp on the north
shore, where the Indians assembled under the boughs of some venerable
trees, and round the evening fires related the deeds of the preceding
day, and all fear of detection had ceased for the time, they lighted
up their own shanty fire, and cooked a good supper, and also prepared
a sufficiency of food for the morrow. The Indians remained for a
fortnight. At the end of that time Indiana, who was a watchful spy on
their movements, told Hector and Louis that the camp was broken up,
and the Indians had gone up the river, and would not return again for
some weeks. The departure of the Indians was a matter of great
rejoicing to Catharine, whose dread of these savages had greatly
increased since she had been made acquainted with the fearful deeds
which Indiana had described.
Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians had passed within a
short distance of their dwelling; but they were in full chase of a
bear, which had been seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat,
and were too intent upon their game to notice the shanty; for they
never turned out of their path, and Catharine, who was alone at the
time, drawing water from the spring, was so completely concealed by
the high bank above her that she had quite escaped their notice.
Fortunately, Indiana gave the two boys a signal to conceal themselves,
where, effectually hidden among the thick, gray, mossy trunks of the
cedars at the lake shore, they remained secure from molestation; while
the Indian girl dropped noiselessly down among the tangled thicket of
wild vines and brushwood, which she drew cautiously over her, and
closed her eyes, lest, as she naively remarked, their glitter should
be seen and betray her to her enemies.
It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor wanderers, whose
terrors were more excited on behalf of the young Mohawk than for
themselves, and they congratulated her on her escape with affectionate
warmth.
"Are my white brothers afraid to die?" was the young squaw's
half-scornful reply. "Indiana is the daughter of a brave; she fears
not to die."
The latter end of September and the first week in October had been
stormy and even cold. The rainy season, however, was now over. The
nights were often illuminated by the aurora borealis, which might be
seen forming an arch of soft and lovely brightness over the lake to
the north and north-eastern portions of the horizon, or shooting
upwards, in ever-varying shafts of greenish light, now hiding, now
revealing the stars, which shone with softened radiance through the
silvery veil that dimmed their beauty. Sometimes for many nights
together the same appearance might be seen, and was usually the
forerunner of frosty weather, though occasionally it was the precursor
of cold winds and heavy rains.
The Indian girl regarded it with superstitious feelings, but whether
as an omen of good or evil she would not tell. On all matters
connected with her religious notions she was shy and reserved, though
occasionally she unconsciously revealed them. Thus the warnings of
death or misfortunes were revealed to her by certain ominous sounds in
the woods, the appearance of strange birds or animals, or the moanings
of others. The screeching of the owl, the bleating of the doe, or
barking of the fox, were evil auguries, while the flight of the eagle
and the croaking of the raven were omens of good. She put faith in
dreams, and would foretell good or evil fortune from them; she could
read the morning and evening clouds, and knew from various appearances
of the sky, or the coming or departing of certain birds or insects,
changes in the atmosphere. Her ear was quick in distinguishing the
changes in the voices of the birds or animals; she knew the times of
their coming and going, and her eye was quick to see, as her ear to
detect sounds. Her voice was soft, and low, and plaintive, and she
delighted in imitating the little ballads or hymns that Catharine
sang; though she knew nothing of their meaning, she would catch the
tunes and sing the song with Catharine, touching the hearts of her
delighted auditors by the melody and pathos of her voice.
The season called Indian summer had now arrived. The air was soft and
mild, almost oppressively warm; the sun looked red as though seen
through the smoke-clouds of a populous city. A soft blue haze hung on
the bosom of the glassy lake, which reflected on its waveless surface
every passing shadow, and the gorgeous tints of its changing woods on
shore and island. Sometimes the stillness of the air was relieved by a
soft sighing wind, which rustled the dying foliage as it swept by.
The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian tribes. It is during
this season that they hunt and shoot the wild-fowl that come in their
annual flights to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers;
it is then that they gather in their rice, and prepare their winter
stores of meat, and fish, and furs. The Indian girl knew the season
they would resort to certain hunting-grounds. They were constant, and
altered not their customs, as it was with their fathers, so it was
with them.
Louis had heard so much of the Otonabee river from Indiana that he was
impatient to go and explore the entrance and the shores of the lake on
that side, which hitherto they had not ventured to do for fear of
being surprised by the Indians. "Some fine day," said Louis, "we will
go out in the canoe, explore the distant islands, and go up the river
a little way."
Hector advised visiting all the islands by turns, beginning at the
little islet which looks in the distance like a boat in full sail, it
is level with the water, and has only three or four trees upon it. The
name they had given to it was "Ship Island." The Indians have some
name for it which I have forgotten, but it means, I have been told,
"Witch Island." Hector's plan met with general approbation, and they
resolved to take provisions with them for several days, and visit the
islands and go up the river, passing the night under the shelter of
the thick trees on the shore wherever they found a pleasant
halting-place.
The weather was mild and warm, the lake was as clear and calm as a
mirror, and in joyous mood our little party embarked and paddled up
the lake, first to Ship Island; but this did not detain them many
minutes. They then went to Grape Island, which they so named from the
abundance of wild vines, now rich with purple clusters of the ripe
grapes--tart, but still not to be despised by our young adventurers,
and they brought away a large birch basket heaped up with the fruit.
"Ah, if we had but a good cake of maple sugar now, to preserve our
grapes with, and make such grape jelly as my mother makes!" said
Louis.
"If we find out a sugar-bush we will manage to make plenty of sugar,"
said Catharine; "there are maples not two hundred yards from the
shanty, near the side of the steep bank to the east. You remember the
pleasant spot, which we named the Happy Valley, where the bright creek
runs dancing along so merrily, below the pine-ridge?"
"Oh yes; the same that winds along near the foot of Bare Hill, where
the water-cresses grow."
"Yes, where I gathered the milk-weed the other day."
"What a beautiful pasture-field that will make when it is cleared!"
said Hector thoughtfully.
"Hector is always planning about fields, and clearing great farms,"
said Louis, laughing. "We shall see Hec a great man one of these days;
I think he has in his own mind brushed, and burned, and logged up all
the fine flats and table-land on the plains before now--ay, and
cropped it all with wheat, and pease, and Indian corn."
"We will have a clearing and a nice field of corn next year, if we
live," replied Hector; "that corn that we found in the canoe will be a
treasure."
"Yes; and the corn-cob you got on Bare Hill," said Catharine. "How
lucky we have been! We shall be so happy when we see our little field
of corn flourishing round the shanty! It was a good thing, Hec, that
you went to the Indian camp that day, though both Louis and I were
very miserable while you were absent; but, you see, God must have
directed you, that the life of this poor girl might be saved, to be a
comfort to us. Everything has prospered well with us since she came to
us. Perhaps it is because we try to make a Christian of her, and so
God blesses all our endeavours."
"We are told," said Hector, "that there is joy with the angels of God
over one sinner that repenteth: doubtless, it is a joyful thing when
the heathen, that knew not the name of God, are taught to glorify his
holy name."
Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcupine. She declared that
she should have plenty of quills for edging baskets and moccasins;
besides, she said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector looked
with a suspicious eye upon the little animal, doubting the propriety
of eating its flesh, though he had learned to eat musk-rats, and
consider them good meat, baked in Louis's Indian oven, or roasted on a
forked stick before the fire. The Indian porcupine is a small animal,
not a very great deal larger than the common British hedgehog; the
quills, however, are longer and stronger, and varied with alternate
clouded marks of pure white and dark brownish-gray; they are minutely
barbed, so that if one enters the flesh it is with difficulty
extracted, but will work through of itself in an opposite direction,
and can then be easily pulled out. Dogs and cattle often suffer great
inconvenience from getting their muzzles filled with the quills of the
porcupine, the former when worrying the poor little animal, and the
latter by accidentally meeting a dead one among the herbage; great
inflammation will sometimes attend the extraction. Indians often lose
valuable hounds from this cause. Besides porcupines, Indiana told her
companions, there were some fine butter-nut trees (_Juglans cinerea_)
on the island, and they could collect a bagful of nuts in a very short
time. This was good news, for the butter-nut is sweet and pleasant,
almost equal to the walnut, of which it is a species.
The day was passed pleasantly enough in collecting nuts and grapes;
but as this island did not afford any good cleared spot for passing
the night, and moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several of
which made their appearance among the stones near the edge of the
water, they agreed by common counsel to go to Long Island, where
Indiana said there was an old log-house, the walls of which were still
standing, and where there was dry moss in plenty which would make them
a comfortable bed for the night. This old log-house, she said, had
been built, she had heard the Indians say, by a French Canadian
trapper, who used to visit the lake some years ago. He was on friendly
terms with the chiefs, who allowed him many privileges, and he bought
their furs, and took them down the lake, through the river Trent, to
some station-house on the great lake. They found they should have time
enough to land and deposit their nuts and grapes and paddle to Long
Island before sunset. Upon the western part of this fine island they
had several times landed and passed some hours, exploring its shores;
but Indiana told them that to reach the old log-house they must enter
the low swampy bay to the east, at an opening which she called Indian
Cove. To do this required some skill in the management of the canoe,
which was rather overloaded for so light a vessel, and the trees grew
so close and thick that they had some difficulty in pushing their way
through them without injuring its frail sides. These trees or bushes
were chiefly black alder (_Alnus incuna_), high-bush cranberries
(_Viburnum opulus_), dogwood, willows, as they proceeded further,
there was ground of a more solid nature, with cedar, poplar, swamp
oak, and soft maple, silver birch, and wild cherries. Long strings of
silver-gray tree-moss hung dangling over their heads, the bark and
roots of the birch and cedars were covered with a luxuriant growth of
green moss, but there was a dampness and closeness in this place that
made it far from wholesome. The little band of voyagers were not sorry
when the water became too shallow to admit of the canoe making its way
through the swampy channel, and they landed on the bank of a small
circular pond, as round as a ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees
hoary with moss and lichens; large water-lilies floated on the surface
of this miniature lake; the brilliant red berries of the high-bush
cranberry and the purple clusters of grapes festooned the trees. "A
famous breeding-place this must be for ducks," observed Louis.
"And for flowers," said Catharine, "and for grapes and cranberries.
There is always some beauty or some usefulness to be found, however
lonely the spot."
"A fine place for musk-rats, and minks, and fishes," said Hector,
looking round. "The old trapper knew what he was about when he made
his lodge near this pond. And there, sure enough, is the log-hut, and
not so bad a one either;" and scrambling up the bank he entered the
deserted little tenement, well pleased to find it in tolerable repair.
There were the ashes on the stone hearth, just as it had been left
years back by the old trapper; some rough-hewn shelves, a rude
bedstead of cedar poles still occupied a corner of the little
dwelling; heaps of old dry moss and grass lay upon the ground; and the
little squaw pointed with one of her silent laughs to a collection of
broken egg-shells, where some wild-duck had sat and hatched her downy
brood among the soft materials which she had found and appropriated to
her own purpose. The only things pertaining to the former possessor of
the log-hut were an old, rusty, battered tin pannikin, now, alas!
unfit for holding water; a bit of a broken earthen whisky jar; a rusty
nail, which Louis pocketed, or rather pouched--for he had substituted
a fine pouch of deer-skin for his worn-out pocket; and a fishing-line
of good stout cord, which was wound on a splinter of red cedar, and
carefully stuck between one of the rafters and the roof of the shanty.
A rusty but efficient hook was attached to the line, and Louis, who
was the finder, was quite overjoyed at his good fortune in making so
valuable an addition to his fishing tackle. Hector got only an odd
worn-out moccasin, which he threw into the little pond in disdain:
while Catharine declared she would keep the old tin pot as a relic,
and carefully deposited it in the canoe.
As they made their way into the interior of the island, they found
that there were a great many fine sugar maples, which had been tapped
by some one--as the boys thought, by the old trapper, but Indiana, on
examining the incisions in the trees, and the remnants of birch-bark
vessels that lay moldering on the earth below them, declared them to
have been the work of her own people, and long and sadly did the young
girl look upon these simple memorials of a race of whom she was the
last living remnant. The young girl stood there in melancholy mood, a
solitary, isolated being, with no kindred tie upon the earth to make
life dear to her; a stranger in the land of her fathers, associating
with those whose ways were not her ways, nor their thoughts her
thoughts, whose language was scarcely known to her, whose God was not
the god of her fathers. Yet the dark eyes of the Indian girl were not
dimmed with tears as she thought of these things, she had learned of
her people to suffer and be still.
Silent and patient she stood, with her melancholy gaze bent on the
earth, when she felt the gentle hand of Catharine laid upon her arm,
and then kindly and lovingly passed round her neck, as she
whispered,--
"Indiana, I will be to you as a sister, and will love you and cherish
you, because you are an orphan girl and alone in the world; but God
loves you, and will make you happy. He is a Father to the fatherless,
and the Friend of the destitute and them that have no helper."
The words of kindness and love need no interpretation; no
book-learning is necessary to make them understood. The young, the
old, the deaf, the dumb, the blind can read this universal language;
its very silence is often more eloquent than words,--the gentle
pressure of the hand, the half-echoed sigh, the look of sympathy will
penetrate to the very heart, and unlock its hidden stores of human
tenderness and love. The rock is smitten and the waters gush forth, a
bright and living stream, to refresh and fertilize the thirsty soul.
The heart of the poor mourner was touched; she bowed down her head
upon the hand that held her so kindly in its sisterly grasp, and wept
soft, sweet, human tears full of grateful love, while she whispered,
in her own low, plaintive voice, "My white sister, I kiss you in my
heart; I will love the God of my white brothers, and be his child."
The two friends now busied themselves in preparing the evening meal:
they found Louis and Hector had lighted up a charming blaze on the
desolate hearth. A few branches of cedar, twisted together by
Catharine, made a serviceable broom, with which she swept the floor,
giving to the deserted dwelling a neat and comfortable aspect; some
big stones were quickly rolled in, and made to answer for seats in the
chimney-corner. The new-found fishing-line was soon put into
requisition by Louis, and with very little delay a fine dish of black
bass, broiled on the embers, was added to their store of dried venison
and roasted bread-roots, which they found in abundance on a low spot
on the island. Grapes and butter-nuts, which Hector cracked with a
stone by way of a nutcracker, finished their sylvan meal. The boys
then stretched themselves to sleep on the ground, with their feet,
Indian fashion, to the fire; while Catharine and Indiana occupied the
mossy couch which they had newly spread with fragrant cedar and
hemlock boughs.
The next island that claimed their attention was Sugar-Maple Island, a
fine, thickly-wooded island, rising with steep, rocky banks from the
water. A beautiful object, but too densely wooded to admit of our
party penetrating beyond a few yards of its shores.
The next island they named the Beaver, [Footnote: Commonly called
Sheep Island, from some person having pastured a few sheep upon it
some few years ago. I have taken the liberty of preserving the name,
to which it bears an obvious resemblance, the nose of the Beaver lies
towards the west, the tail to the east.] from its resemblance in shape
to that animal. A fine, high, oval island beyond this they named Black
Island, [Footnote: Black Island, the sixth from the head of the lake;
an oval island, remarkable for its evergreens.] from its dark
evergreens. The next was that which seemed most to excite the interest
of their Indian guide, although but a small stony island, scantily
clothed with trees, lower down the lake. This place she called Spoke
Island, which means in the Indian tongue "a place for the dead." It is
sometimes called Spirit Island; and here, in times past, the Indian
people used to bury their dead. The island is now often the resort of
parties of pleasure, who, from its being grassy and open, find it more
available than those which are densely wooded. The young Mohawk
regarded it with feelings of superstitious awe, and would not suffer
Hector to land the canoe on its rocky shore.
"It is a place of spirits," she said; "the ghosts of my fathers will
be angry if we go there." Even her young companions felt that they
were upon sacred ground, and gazed with silent reverence upon the
burial isle.
Strongly imbued with a love of the marvellous, which they had derived
from their Highland origin, Indiana's respect for the spirits of her
ancestors was regarded as most natural, and in silence, as if fearing
to disturb the solemnity of the spot, they resumed their paddles, and
after a while reached the mouth of the river Otonabee, which was
divided into two separate channels by a long, low point of swampy
land, covered with stunted, mossy bushes and trees, rushes, driftwood,
and aquatic plants. Indiana told them this river flowed from the
north, and that it was many days' journey up to the lakes. To
illustrate its course, she drew with her paddle a long line, with
sundry curves and broader spaces, some longer, some smaller, with bays
and inlets, which she gave them to understand were the chain of lakes
that she spoke of. There were beautiful hunting-grounds on the borders
of these lakes, and many fine waterfalls and rocky islands; she had
been taken up to these waters during the time of her captivity. The
Ojebwas, she said, were a branch of the great Chippewa nation, who
owned much land and great waters thereabouts.
Compared with the creeks and streams that they had seen hitherto, the
Otonabee appeared a majestic river, and an object of great admiration
and curiosity, for it seemed to them as if it were the highroad
leading up to an unknown, far-off land,--a land of dark, mysterious,
impenetrable forests,--flowing on, flowing on, in lonely majesty,
reflecting on its tranquil bosom the blue sky, the dark pines and gray
cedars, the pure ivory-white water-lily, and every passing shadow of
bird or leaf that flitted across its surface, so quiet was the onward
flow of its waters.
A few brilliant leaves yet clung to the soft maples and crimson-tinted
oaks, but the glory of the forest had departed; the silent fall of
many a sere and yellow leaf told of the death of summer and of
winter's coming reign. Yet the air was wrapped in a deceitful
stillness; no breath of wind moved the trees or dimpled the water.
Bright wreaths of scarlet berries and wild grapes hung in festoons
among the faded foliage. The silence of the forest was unbroken, save
by the quick tapping of the little midland woodpecker or the shrill
scream of the blue jay, the whirring sound of the large white-and-gray
duck (called by the frequenters of these lonely waters the
whistlewing) as its wings swept the waters in its flight, or the light
dripping of the paddle,--so still, so quiet was the scene.
As the day was now far advanced, the Indian girl advised them either
to encamp for the night on the river-bank or to use all speed in
returning. She seemed to view the aspect of the heavens with some
anxiety. Vast volumes of light, copper-tinted clouds were rising; the
sun, seen through its hazy veil, looked red and dim; and a hot, sultry
air, unrelieved by a breath of refreshing wind, oppressed our young
voyagers. And though the same coppery clouds and red sun had been seen
for several successive days, a sort of instinctive feeling prompted
the desire in all to return, and, after a few minutes' rest and
refreshment, they turned their little bark towards the lake; and it
was well that they did so. By the time they had reached the middle of
the lake, the stillness of the air was rapidly changing; the
rose-tinted clouds, that had lain so long piled upon each other in
mountainous ridges, began to move upwards, at first slowly, then with
rapidly accelerated motion. There was a hollow moaning in the
pine-tops; and by fits a gusty breeze swept the surface of the water,
raising it into rough, short, white-crested ridges.
These signs were pointed out by Indiana as the harbingers of a rising
hurricane; and now a swift spark of light, like a falling star,
glanced on the water, as if there to quench its fiery light. Again the
Indian girl raised her dark hand and pointed to the rolling
storm-clouds, to the crested waters and the moving pine-tops; then to
the head of the Beaver Island,--it was the one nearest to them. With
an arm of energy she wielded the paddle, with an eye of fire she
directed the course of their little vessel; for well she knew their
danger and the need for straining every nerve to reach the nearest
point of land. Low muttering peals of thunder were now heard; the wind
was rising with electric speed. Away flew the light bark, with the
swiftness of a bird, over the water; the tempest was above, around,
and beneath. The hollow crash of the forest trees as they bowed to the
earth could be heard sullenly sounding from shore to shore. And now
the Indian girl, flinging back her black streaming hair from her brow,
knelt at the head of the canoe and with renewed vigour plied the
paddle. The waters, lashed into a state of turbulence by the violence
of the storm, lifted the canoe up and down; but no word was spoken;
they each felt the greatness of the peril, but they also knew that
they were in the hands of Him who can say to the tempest-tossed waves,
"Peace, be still," and they obey him.
Every effort was made to gain the nearest island; to reach the
mainland was impossible, for the rain poured down a blinding deluge.
It was with difficulty the little craft was kept afloat by baling out
the water; to do this, Louis was fain to use his cap, and Catharine
assisted with the old tin pot which she had fortunately brought from
the trapper's shanty. The tempest was at its height when they reached
the nearest point of the Beaver, and joyful was the grating sound of
the canoe as it was vigorously pushed up on the shingly beach, beneath
the friendly shelter of the overhanging trees, where, perfectly
exhausted by the exertions they had made, dripping with rain and
overpowered by the terrors of the storm, they threw themselves on the
ground, and in safety watched its progress, thankful for an escape
from such imminent peril.
Thus ended the Indian summer, so deceitful in its calmness and its
beauty. The next day saw the ground white with snow, and hardened into
stone by a premature frost. Our poor voyagers were not long in
quitting the shelter of the Beaver Island, and betaking themselves
once more to their ark of refuge, the log-house on Mount Ararat.
The winter that year set in with unusual severity some weeks sooner
than usual, so that from the beginning of November to the middle of
April the snow never entirely left the ground. The lake was soon
covered with ice, and by the month of December it was one compact,
solid sheet from shore to shore.