"I know a lake where the cool waves break
And softly fall on the silver sand;
And no stranger intrudes on that solitude,
And no voices but ours disturb the strand."
_Irish Song_
The breeze had sprung up, and had already brought the fire down as far
as the creek. The swamp had long been on fire; and now the flames were
leaping among the decayed timbers, roaring and crackling among the
pines, and rushing to the tops of the cedars, springing from heap to
heap of the fallen branches, and filling the air with dense volumes of
black and suffocating smoke. So quickly did the flames advance that
Hector and Louis had only time to push off the canoe before the
heights along the shore were wrapped in smoke and fire. Many a giant
oak and noble pine fell crashing to the earth, sending up showers of
red sparks as its burning trunk shivered in its fall. Glad to escape
from the suffocating vapour, the boys quickly paddled out to the
island, enjoying the cool, fresh air of the lake. Reposing on the
grass beneath the trees, they passed the day sheltered from the
noonday sun, and watched the progress of the fire upon the shore. At
night the girls slept securely under the canoe, which they raised on
one side by means of forked sticks stuck in the ground.
It was a grand sight to see the burning Plains at night reflected on
the water. A thousand flaming torches flickered upon its still
surface, to which the glare of a gas-lighted city would have been dim
and dull by contrast.
Louis and Hector would speculate on the probable chances of the shanty
escaping from the fire, and of the fence remaining untouched. Of the
safety of the root-house they entertained no fear, as the grass was
already springing green on the earthen roof; and, below they had taken
every precaution to secure its safety, by scraping up the earth near
it. [Footnote: Many a crop of grain and comfortable homestead has been
saved by turning a furrow round the field; and great conflagrations
have been effectually stopped by men beating the fire out with spades,
and hoeing up the fresh earth so as to cut off all communication with
the dry roots, grass, and leaves that feed its onward progress. Water,
even could it be got, which is often impossible, is not nearly so
effectual in stopping the progress of fire; even women and little
children can assist in such emergencies.]
Catharine lamented for the lovely spring-flowers that would be
destroyed by the fire.
"We shall have neither huckleberries nor strawberries this summer,"
she said mournfully; "and the pretty roses and bushes will be
scorched, and the ground black and dreary."
"The fire passes so rapidly over that it does not destroy many of the
forest trees, only the dead ones are destroyed; and that, you know,
leaves more space for the living ones to grow and thrive in," said
Hector. "I have seen the year after a fire has run in the bush, a new
and fresh set of plants spring up, and even some that looked withered
recover; the earth is renewed and manured by the ashes, and it is not
so great a misfortune as it at first appears."
"But how black and dismal the burned pine-woods look for years!" said
Louis; "I do not think there is a more melancholy sight in life than
one of those burned pine-woods. There it stands, year after year, with
the black, branchless trees pointing up to the blue sky, as if crying
for vengeance against those that kindled the fire."
"They do, indeed, look ugly," said Catharine, "yet the girdled ones
look very nearly as ill." [Footnote: The girdled pines are killed by
barking them round, to facilitate the clearing.]
At the end of two days the fire had ceased to rage, though the dim
smoke-wreaths to the westward showed where the work of destruction was
still going on.
As there was no appearance of any Indians on the lake, nor yet at the
point (Anderson's Point, as it is now called) on the other side, they
concluded the fire had possibly originated by accident,--some casual
hunter or trapper having left his camp-fire unextinguished; but as
they were not very likely to come across the scene of the
conflagration, they decided on returning back to their old home
without delay. It was with some feeling of anxiety that they hastened
to see what evil had befallen their shanty.
"The shanty is burned!" was the simultaneous exclamation of both Louis
and Hector, as they reached the rising ground that should have
commanded a view of its roof. "It is well for us that we secured our
things in the root-house," said Hector.
"Well, if that is safe, who cares? we can soon build up a new house,
larger and better than the old one," said Louis. "The chief part of
our fence is gone, too, I see; but that, we can renew at our leisure;
no hurry, if we get it done a month hence, say I.--Come, ma belle, do
not look so sorrowful. There is our little squaw will help us to set
up a capital wigwam while the new house is building."
"But the nice table that you made, Louis, and the benches and
shelves!"
"Never mind, Cathy; we will have better tables, and benches, and
shelves too. Never fear, ma chere; the same industrious Louis will
make things comfortable. I am not sorry the old shanty is down; we
shall have a famous one put up, twice as large, for the winter. After
the corn is planted we shall have nothing else to do but to think
about it."
The next two or three days were spent in erecting a wigwam, with poles
and birch bark; and as the weather was warm and pleasant, they did not
feel the inconvenience so much as they would have done had it been
earlier in the season. The root-house formed an excellent store-house
and pantry; and Indiana contrived, in putting up the wigwam, to leave
certain loose folds between the birch-bark lining and outer covering,
which formed a series of pouches or bags, in which many articles could
be stowed away out of sight. [Footnote: In this way the winter wigwams
of the Indians are constructed so as to give plenty of stowing room
for all their little household matters, materials for work, &c.]
While the girls were busy contriving the arrangements of the wigwam,
the two boys were not idle. The time was come for planting the corn; a
succession of heavy thunder-showers had soaked and softened the
scorched earth, and rendered the labour of moving it much easier than
they had anticipated. They had cut for themselves wooden trowels, with
which they raised the hills for the seed. The corn planted, they next
turned their attention to cutting house-logs; those which they had
prepared had been burned up, so they had their labour to begin again.
The two girls proved good helps at the raising; and in the course of a
few weeks they had the comfort of seeing a more commodious dwelling
than the former one put up. The finishing of this, with weeding the
Indian corn, renewing the fence, and fishing, and trapping, and
shooting partridges and ducks and pigeons, fully occupied their time
this summer. The fruit season was less abundant this year than the
previous one. The fire had done this mischief, and they had to go far
a-field to collect fruits during the summer months.
It so happened that Indiana had gone out early one morning with the
boys, and Catharine was alone. She had gone down to the spring for
water, and on her return, was surprised at the sight of a squaw and
her family of three half-grown lad, and an innocent little brown
papoose. [Footnote: An Indian baby, but "papoose" is not an Indian
word. It is probably derived from the Indian imitation of the word
"_babies_."] In their turn the strangers seemed equally astonished at
Catharine's appearance. The smiling aspect and good-natured laugh of
the female, however, soon reassured the frightened girl, and she
gladly gave her the water which she had in her birch dish, on her
signifying her desire for drink. To this Catharine added some berries
and dried venison, and a bit of maple sugar, which was received with
grateful looks by the boys; she patted the brown baby, and was glad
when the mother released it from its wooden cradle, and fed and nursed
it. The squaw seemed to notice the difference between the colour of
her young hostess's fair skin and her own swarthy hue; for she often
took her hand, stripped up the sleeve of her dress, and compared her
arm with her own, uttering exclamations of astonishment and curiosity:
possibly Catharine was the first of a fair-skinned race this poor
savage had ever seen. After her meal was finished, she set the birchen
dish on the floor, and restrapping the papoose in its cradle prison,
she slipped the basswood-bark rope over her forehead, and silently
signing to her sons to follow her, she departed. That evening a pair
of ducks were found fastened to the wooden latch of the door, a silent
offering of gratitude for the refreshment that had been afforded to
this Indian woman and her children.
Indiana thought, from Catharine's description, that these were Indians
with whom she was acquainted; she spent some days in watching the lake
and the ravine, lest a larger and more formidable party should be
near. The squaw, she said, was a widow, and went by the name of Mother
Snowstorm, from having been lost in the woods, when a little child,
during a heavy storm of snow, and nearly starved to death. She was a
gentle, kind woman, and, she believed, would not do any of them hurt.
Her sons were good hunters, and, though so young, helped to support
their mother, and were very good to her and the little one.
I must now pass over a considerable interval of time, with merely a
brief notice that the crop of corn was carefully harvested, and proved
abundant, and a source of great comfort. The rice was gathered and
stored, and plenty of game and fish laid by, with an additional store
of honey.
The Indians, for some reason, did not pay their accustomed visit to
the lake this season. Indiana said they might be engaged with war
among some hostile tribes, or had gone to other hunting-grounds. The
winter was unusually mild, and it was long before it set in. Yet the
spring following was tardy, and later than usual. It was the latter
end of May before vegetation had made any very decided progress.
The little log-house presented a neat and comfortable appearance, both
within and without. Indiana had woven a handsome mat of bass bark for
the floor; Louis and Hector had furnished it with seats and a table,
rough, but still very respectably constructed, considering their only
tools were a tomahawk, a knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the
wood into slabs. These Louis afterwards smoothed with great care and
patience. Their bedsteads were furnished with thick, soft mats, woven
by Indiana and Catharine from rushes which they cut and dried; but the
little squaw herself preferred lying on a mat or deerskin on the floor
before the fire, as she had been accustomed.
A new field had been enclosed, and a fresh crop of corn planted, which
was now green and flourishing. Peace and happiness dwelt within the
log-house; but for the regrets that ever attended the remembrance of
all they had left and lost, no cloud would have dimmed the serenity of
those who dwelt beneath its humble roof.
The season of flowers had again arrived; the earth, renovated by the
fire of the former year, bloomed with fresh beauty; June, with its
fragrant store of roses and lilies, was now far advanced--the
anniversary of that time when they had left their beloved parents'
roofs, to become sojourners in the lonely wilderness, had returned.
They felt they had much to be grateful for. Many privations, it is
true, and much anxiety they had felt; but they had enjoyed blessings
beyond what they could have expected, and might, like the psalmist
when recounting the escapes of the people of God, have said, "Oh that
men would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and the wonders
that he doeth for the children of men." And now they declared no
greater evil could befall them than to lose one of their little party,
for even Indiana had become as a dear and beloved sister; her
gentleness, her gratitude, and faithful trusting love seemed each day
to increase. Now, indeed, she was bound to them by a yet more sacred
tie, for she knelt to the same God, and acknowledged with fervent
love, the mercies of her Redeemer. She had made great progress in
learning their language, and had also taught her friends to speak and
understand much of her own tongue, so that they were now no longer at
a loss to converse with her on any subject. Thus was this Indian girl
united to them in bonds of social and Christian love.
Hector, Louis, and Indiana had gone over the hills to follow the track
of a deer which had paid a visit to the young corn, now sprouting and
showing symptoms of shooting up to blossom. Catharine usually
preferred staying at home and preparing the meals against their
return. She had gathered some fine ripe strawberries, to add to the
stewed rice, Indian meal cake, and maple sugar, for their dinner. She
was weary and warm, for the day had been hot and sultry. Seating
herself on the threshold of the door, she leaned against the
door-post, and closed her eyes. Perhaps the poor child's thoughts were
wandering back to her far-off, unforgotten home, or she might be
thinking of the hunters and their game. Suddenly a vague, undefinable
feeling of dread stole over her mind. She heard no steps, she felt no
breath, she saw no form; but there was a strange consciousness that
she was not alone--that some unseen being was near, some eye was upon
her. I have heard of sleepers starting from sleep the most profound
when the noiseless hand of the assassin has been raised to destroy
them, as if the power of the human eye could be felt through the
closed lids.
Thus fared it with Catharine. She felt as if some unseen enemy was
near her, and springing to her feet, she cast a wild, troubled glance
around. No living being met her eye; and, ashamed of her cowardice,
she resumed her seat. The tremulous cry of her little gray squirrel, a
pet which she had tamed and taught to nestle in her bosom, attracted
her attention.
"What aileth thee, wee dearie?" she said tenderly, as the timid little
creature crept trembling to her breast. "Thy mistress has seared thee
by her own foolish fears. See, now, there is neither catamount nor
weasel here to seize thee, silly one;" and as she spoke, she raised
her head and flung back the thick clusters of soft fair hair that
shaded her eyes. The deadly glare of a pair of dark eyes fixed upon
her met her terrified gaze, gleaming with sullen ferocity from the
angle of the door-post, whence the upper part of the face alone was
visible, partly concealed by a mat of tangled, shaggy black hair.
Paralyzed with fear, the poor girl neither spoke nor moved; she
uttered no cry; but pressing her hands tightly across her breast, as
if to still the loud beating of her heart, she sat gazing upon that
fearful appearance, while, with stealthy step, the savage advanced
from his lurking-place, keeping, as he did so, his eyes riveted upon
hers, with such a gaze as the wily serpent is said to fascinate its
prey. His hapless victim moved not:--whither could she flee to escape
one whose fleet foot could so easily have overtaken her in the race?
where conceal herself from him whose wary eye fixed upon her seemed to
deprive her of all vital energy?
Uttering that singular, expressive guttural which seems with the
Indian to answer the purpose of every other exclamation, he advanced,
and taking the girl's ice-cold hands in his, tightly bound them with a
thong of deer-hide, and led her unresistingly away. By a circuitous
path through the ravine they reached the foot of the mount, where lay
a birch canoe, rocking gently on the waters, in which a middle-aged
female and a young girl were seated. The females asked no questions,
and expressed no word indicative of curiosity or surprise, as the
strong arm of the Indian lifted his captive into the canoe, and made
signs to the elder squaw to push from the shore. When all had taken
their places, the woman, catching up a paddle from the bottom of the
little vessel, stood up, and with a few rapid strokes sent it skimming
over the lake.
The miserable captive, overpowered with the sense of her calamitous
situation, bowed down her head upon her knees, and concealing her
agitated face in her garments, wept in silent agony. Visions of horror
presented themselves to her bewildered brain; all that Indiana had
described of the cruelty of this vindictive race came vividly before
her mind. Poor child, what miserable thoughts were thine during that
brief voyage!
Had the Indians also captured her friends? or was she alone to be the
victim of their vengeance? What would be the feelings of those beloved
ones on returning to their home and finding it desolate! Was there no
hope of release? As these ideas chased each other through her agitated
mind, she raised her eyes, all streaming with tears, to the faces of
the Indian and his companions with so piteous a look that any heart
but the stoical one of an Indian would have softened at its sad
appeal; but no answering glance of sympathy met hers, no eye gave back
its silent look of pity--not a nerve or a muscle moved the cold,
apathetic features of the Indians; and the woe-stricken girl again
resumed her melancholy attitude, burying her face in her heaving bosom
to hide its bitter emotions from the heartless strangers.
She was not fully aware that it is part of the Indian's education to
hide the inward feelings of the heart, to check all those soft and
tender emotions which distinguish the civilized man from the savage.
It does indeed need the softening influence of that powerful Spirit,
which was shed abroad into the world to turn the hearts of the
disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to break down the strongholds
of unrighteousness, and to teach man that he is by nature the child of
wrath and victim of sin, and that in his unregenerated nature his
whole mind is at enmity with God and his fellow-men, and that in his
flesh dwelleth no good thing. And the Indian has acknowledged that
power; he has cast his idols of cruelty and revenge, those virtues on
which he prided himself in the blindness of his heart, to the moles
and the bats; he has bowed and adored at the foot of the Cross. But it
was not so in the days whereof I have spoken.