CHAPTER XIX.
I could endure
Chains nowhere patiently: and chains at home
Where I am free by birthright, not at all.
COWPER.
Bright and beautiful broke the morning after that night of storm. The weather had cleared up towards midnight, and when the rejoicing sun surveyed the scene, his golden glances fell on a wide expanse of pure, unsullied white. A slight breeze had arisen, which, gently agitating the bent and laden boughs of the evergreens, shook off the fleecy adornment that fell like blossoms from the trees. The air was soft and almost balmy, as is not unfrequently the case even in "the dead of winter" in our variable climate, lovelier and dearer for its very variableness, like a capricious beauty, whose smile is the more prized for the pout that precedes it. It was a day to seduce the old man into the sunshine in the stoop on the south side of the house, and to bring out the girls and young men, and swift trotting horses and pungs and jingling bells in gay confusion in the streets.
In the course of the forenoon, a bright crimson sleigh, the bottom filled with clean straw, and the seats covered with bear and buffalo robes, the horse ornamented around the neck and back with strings of bells that jangled sweet music every step he took, drove up to the door of Judge Bernard. A young man stepped out, whom we recognize as Pownal. He entered the house, and in a few minutes returned with Anne Bernard, muffled in cloak and boa, and carrying a muff upon her arm. Health glowed in her cheek and happiness lighted up her eyes. Pownal assisted her into the sleigh, and carefully disposing the robes about her, took his seat by her side and drove off.
They drove at first into the older part of the town, as yet undescribed by us, nor do we now intend a description, save that the road was wide, and a considerable part of the way bordered by elms and maples, glorious with beauty in summer, but now standing like mourners shivering in the wintry air, and as they passed hailed with special looks and expressions of admiration those two fraternal elms, towering over all, like patriarchs of the vegetable world, which, once seen, none will forget.
"Huge trunks, and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres, serpentine,
Upcoiling, and inveterately convolved—
Nor uninformed with Phantasy and looks
That threaten the profane."
Thence, following the street that winds around the village green, and greeted by the joyous shouts of acquaintances in passing sleighs, and joining, now and then, in friendly races, they crossed the upper bridge of the Yaupáae, and leaving the shouts and merriment behind, struck into a more secluded road.
Whatever charms the conversation that passed between the young people might have for them, it would not interest the reader, and we therefore pass it over. It was such as might be expected between two youthful beings, one of whom knew he was in love, and the other began to suspect, from emotions never felt before, the commencement of a partiality that was as sweet as it was strange. To two hearts thus attached, and tuned to vibrate in harmony, all nature ministers with a more gracious service. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer, the flower more fragrant, the chime of the brook has a deeper meaning, and a richer music swells the throat of the bird. Things unobserved before, and as unconnected with the new emotion, indifferent, now assume importance. A look, a tone of the voice, a pressure of the hand, are events to dream about and feast upon. In the presence of the beloved object all things else are either unheeded or dwindle into comparative insignificance.
It will occasion no surprise, then, that Anne, engrossed with her own happiness, should hardly have observed the road taken by Pownal, or been conscious of how far they had driven, until some remark of his attracted her attention to the scenery. She then perceived that they were in the midst of the Indian settlement on the Severn, and to a playful question of Pownal, inquiring how she would like to leave her card with Queen Esther, she replied by expressing her delight at the proposition. Esther's cabin stood some little distance off from the main road, towards which a long and narrow winding track led, seldom travelled by any other vehicles than ox carts and sleds. Over the yet unbroken snow, Pownal directed the horse, the light pung plunging with every motion of the animal, and threatening to upset, causing merriment, however, rather than alarm to the occupants of the conveyance. In this manner, straining through the snow-drifts, they finally reached the dwelling of Esther. She herself, attracted by the sound of the bells, came to the door, and welcomed them with great cordiality.
"Mr. Pownal and I," cried the lively Anne, "are come to make a New-Year's call, Esther. I have not your presents with me, but the next time you are at our house, you shall have them."
"Miss Anne more'n all present," replied the pleased Esther. "She cold; she must come to the fire."
"No," said Anne, as she was being ushered by the squaw into the cabin,
"I am not cold. Why, what a nice"—but the sentence was not concluded.
Her eyes had fallen on the stately form of Holden, who sat on a bench
near to the fire.
"O, father Holden!" exclaimed the lovely girl, running up to him, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing his forehead, "is it you? How glad I am you escaped from those abominable men. Tell me all about it. How was it? Did they do you any harm?"
At this moment, Pownal entered, and advancing, grasped the old man's hand, and congratulated him on his escape.
"My God," said Holden, in his wild way, "hath sent His angel and shut the lions' mouths that they have not hurt me. He raiseth the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the mire."
"But," urged Anne, with feminine curiosity, "we are anxious to hear how you escaped."
The Recluse did not seem to consider it necessary to make any secret—at least to those present—of the events of the past night, and, with the frankness that characterized him, spoke of them without hesitation.
After stating what we already know, he said he was led away rapidly by a man dressed in a sailor's suit, whose face he did not see, and who accompanied him until they had passed the last house on the street. They met no one, and, on parting, the man forced a purse into his hand, and entreated him to make his way to the cabin of Esther, where he would be safe and welcome, and there to remain until his friends should be apprised of his retreat.
"To me," concluded the Solitary, "a dungeon or a palace ought to be alike indifferent; but I will not thwart the minds of those who love me, however vain their desires. The Lord hath brought this light affliction upon me for His own good purpose, and I await the revelation of His will."
"I do not doubt we shall be able soon to release you from your confinement," said Pownal; "meanwhile, tell us what we can do to make your condition tolerable."
"I lack nothing," said Holden. "These hands have ever supplied my necessities, and I am a stranger to luxury. Nor liveth man by bread alone, but on sweet tones, and kind looks, and gracious deeds, and I am encompassed by them. I am rich above gold, and silver, and precious stones."
"If there is anything you desire, you will let me know? Command me in all things; there is nothing I am not ready to do for you," said Pownal.
"The blessing of one who is ready to depart be upon thee, for thy kind words and loving intentions; and should real trouble arise, I will call upon thee for aid. I know not now," he continued, "why I should hide like a wounded beast. I fear 'tis but for a visionary point of honor. Why should not a gentleman,"—this he said sarcastically—"occupy the workhouse as well as a boor. In the eyes of One, we are all equal. Ah, it might do this hard heart good."
"You have promised to respect the prejudices of your friends," said
Pownal, "whatever you may think of their weakness."
"You shall never endure the disgrace," said Anne, with kindling cheeks. "See how Providence itself interposes to protect you!"
"Your suggestions, my children, find an echo, alas! too truly in my own heart to be rejected," said Holden, dejectedly. "I repeat, I will obey you."
The young people remained for an hour or more at the hut, conversing with the Solitary, to whom their presence appeared to give great pleasure; and, before parting, Pownal exchanged some words apart with Esther, having for their object the promotion of her guest's and her own comfort. The kind heart of the squaw needed no incentives to conceal and protect Holden, but Pownal felt he had no right to encroach upon her slender means, and such arrangements were made as would more than compensate her.
As the sleigh started from the door, Anne said to Pownal, with some tenderness in the tone of her voice:
"You need not tell me, Mr. Pownal, the name of one of the strange Paladins last night. How will Faith thank and admire you. But, O, let me beg you to be prudent, lest you fall into the power of these bad men."
It would have better suited the feelings of Pownal, had Anne uttered her own thanks more directly. His inexperience and distrust of himself did not comprehend that it was in reality the way in which the modest girl expressed the admiration that swelled her heart.
CHAPTER XX.
Impelled with steps unceasing to pursue
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle, bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, and, as I follow, flies.
GOLDSMITH.
Whenever Tom Gladding and Primus put their heads together, it was pretty certain that there was some mischief afoot, and a few words of the conversation, which we overhear, as they walk down the street in company, leave no doubt on the subject.
"You see, Prime," said Gladding, "the foolish fellow ain't cured yet."
"Let us insult ober his case," said Primus.
"I thought he'd got enough; but, he's as parvarse as the nine lives of a cat. Why, there was the whack at the island, and, then, the jam on the ice, and, last, the scare in the snowstorm; a fellow's unreasonable to want more, and, yet, the darn'd crittur's holding out his platter."
"What you want to put in, Missa Gladding?"
"Some of the same mess. I don't care about hurting him; but, I should like to cure him of his parsecuting ways."
"Well, you is a good cook. What you up to dis time?" said the General, grinning at the idea of more tricks.
"Colored people is celebrated for their contrivances; so, scratch your wool, and give us the benefit of your genius."
"De sheep hab no gumption," said Primus, looking grave at this allusion to his hair.
"I tell you what I want you to do," said Tom, taking no notice of Primus' gravity, and certain that the old fellow was unable to resist the temptation to a frolic; "but, don't let's stand here all day talking. Folks may suspicion something; so, push along, and I'll give you my idees."
They must have pleased the General, for, soon, his face began to brighten, and his eyes to glisten; and he parted from his companion, apparently, with the best understanding, and in the highest good humor possible.
In accordance with the arrangement between them, the negro hunted up Basset, and soon learned from him, that he had a mittimus to commit Holden. The cunning fellow, at first, pretended to dissuade him from making use of it, taking care, at the same time, to drop a few words, from which, it might be inferred, there was no difficulty in apprehending the fugitive. He, at last, let out the fact, rather unwillingly, as it seemed, that the Recluse was in the habit of passing his hut, in the evening, on visits—as the General supposed—to his friends in the village. The constable caught at the bait, and, having lost all fear of any resistance, on the part of the Solitary, persuaded Primus, with some difficulty, to allow him to watch at his cabin, for his prey; engaging his assistance, at the same time, should it become necessary. It was, accordingly, agreed, that the same night should be devoted to enforce the demands of justice.
Just before the shades of evening shut in, Basset—agreeably to the preconcerted plan, presented himself at the hut of the General, and took his station at the window that commanded, for quite a distance, a view of the road. The moon was shining, and her beams, reflected from the snow, made it easy to distinguish objects. The constable sighed, as he took his seat, and declared that, in all his experience, he never had so much difficulty in his legal business. It was the General's cue to encourage his visitor, and keep up his resolution. He, therefore, said, in a cheerful tone—
"Folks say, dere is nebber no lane but hab one turn. Now, dis is de turn. See, how de road twist round my house. Dat is a good sign."
"If I don't git him this time," said Basset, "I guess I might as well give it up, and the State of Connecticut may just be reckoned beat."
"Don't ground you arms yet, Missa Basset. In de long run, de raal grit allers carry de day."
"When I think it all over," said the constable, musing, "it seems kind o' queer. I'm sort o' bewitched, and, if the days of witches wasn't gone by, I shouldn't wonder if some of them hadn't got me in tow. But, I ain't going to give it up yet. I don't forget the old chap's knocking me down in the dark behind my back, as though I'd been no better than a woodchuck or a skunk."
"How it feel, Missa Basset?" inquired Primus, with a grin. "Did de old man strike wid de soft side or de hard side ob de cudgel?"
"You needn't show your ivory," said the constable, whom the remembrance of his misfortune irritated; "I wish to conscience you'd felt it yourself; you'd have known, then, without the need of asking questions."
"Golly! Missa Basset," exclaimed Primus. "You tink nobody hab feeling but yousef. You gib my arm sich a winch when de ole man kick you behind, or knock you ober (I nebber know which) dat I feel him now."
"He didn't kick me," said Basset, indignantly. "'Twas a regular assault with a club, I tell you."
"Well, I shouldn't like sich salt on my shoulder, aldo dey say, salt bery good to keep de wound from catching cold."
"I tell you what, darkey," cried the constable, losing patience at the other's sneers. "You talk like an old fool. If you hain't got anything pleasanter to say, you might as well shut up."
"Yes, I be an old fool," said Primus, as if speaking to himself, "and dis is all de tank I git from dis white man. I depose my life on de ribber. I git a'most murdered when de ghost kick him behind; he break my leg made out ob a good piece ob ash; I invite him to my house, like a gen'leman, and de civilest word I get, is—darkey and old fool. Yes, Primus, you complexion is dark, and you be a big fool."
"Don't take on so, Prime," said Basset; "I spoke rash, and I ask your pardon. But, what's the use of aggravating a man in that way!"
"I tink you must 'scuse my keeping company wid you, arter to-night," continued Primus, looking steadily into the fire, and knitting his brows; "I nebber get noting but bad luck in his sarvice. Next time, I git my neck broke, and den 'tis all done wid dis poor niggur. De carpenter find hard work to make one to fit."
"Now, Prime," said Basset, "you're rather too hard. I asked your pardon, and that's all a man can do. I'm sure I didn't mean to set you agoing at this rate."
"It bery easy, Massa Basset, to say I ask you pardon, and bery polite for a white man to say it to a colored pusson, but does dat pay for de breaking ob a leg or de setting ob my neck?"
"What did it cost to mend your leg?"
"I gib Fannin, de carpenter, a halb dollar for a new one dat wasn't half so good as de ole one."
"Well, I vow, that's considerable for an old stick, 'cause I know there wasn't no new iron work about it, for you had the old ferule left; but seeing as how I broke it, I'll split the difference with you, so there's a quarter. But why didn't you speak of it afore?"
"'Cause," said Primus, taking the money with eyes brightening at the sight, "'tween gen'lemen, de trifle was too small."
"Well, you're a curious chap. Now most folks would have dunned me right off for the damage. There's Tom Gladding', if he had a wooden leg, and I broke it, don't you suppose he'd make me settle before sunset next day? Besides the law was all on your side."
"I guess, Massa Gladding 'tend to business in his own way," said the now good-humored General, "but you, Squire, is an old 'quaintance, and you disappointment so great, I didn't like to mention de leg."
As soon as Primus uttered the word "Squire," Basset knew that the reconciliation between them was complete. The General never used the word in reference to his companion, except when pleased and desirous to pay a compliment, and was fully aware of the effect it produced. The constable, born and bred among a people fond of titles, and fond of giving them, was not exempt from the common weakness. He, however, thought it incumbent on him to disclaim the dignity, to which Primus answered, that if he were not a Squire he ought to be, and would be next year.
A tall figure, which, from the gait and dress, appeared to be that of Holden, was now seen approaching deliberately in the moonlight, and the constable addressed himself to the performance of his duty. It was thought best to allow the fugitive to pass the cabin, so that in the event of an attempt at evasion, which was not anticipated indeed, but which the prudent General thought ought to be guarded against, the difficulty of escape might be greater. As the man advanced, the constable was certain it was Holden. There was the long beard falling on his breast, and the grey frock girt with a sash; and had not the cap been pulled down low over his forehead, even the features might have been distinguishable.
After the person had passed, Basset cautiously opened the door and quietly stole after him, but, in spite of every precaution, it was impossible to move without making a sound on the crisp snow, easily heard in the still night. The person heard it, and turning his head, beheld the constable two or three rods in the rear. Basset observing him look round, quickened his pace, and advanced confidently to make the capture; but in the same proportion the figure hastened his steps. Thereupon the constable increased his speed, in which he was imitated by the other, until both pursuer and pursued were in a run.
It was now who should run the fastest. The race had hitherto been in the road, and Basset was evidently gaining on the fugitive, when, turning short, the latter jumped over some bars which had been left down, and directed his course across a field. The constable's blood was up, and without hesitation, he followed, every moment lessening the distance between himself and the chase. He could not help, as he ran, wondering at the agility of Holden, from whom, on account of his seeming age, he had not anticipated such activity, and ascribed it now to his greater length of limb, and habit of constant exercise and exposure. And now he was within a few feet of him, and extending his arm to place his hand on the captive's shoulder, when suddenly the ground gave way under his feet, and he was precipitated to an unknown depth, while the snow came tumbling down upon his head, blinding and covering him up, so as to leave him at first in total darkness. The astonished and confused constable, by dint of struggling and floundering about, succeeded at length in disencumbering himself of the superincumbent load of snow and cornstalks, and was able to form an idea of his situation. He found himself in a large hole, at a depth of six or seven feet below the surface of the ground, to escape from which every effort proved fruitless. In vain the entrapped Basset sprung up the sides again and again, and grasped at the snow, in hope to catch hold of some object on which to retain a hold; it yielded to his hands, and every time he fell back more and more exhausted. He endeavored to attract assistance by shouting, but it seemed as if his voice mounted no higher than to the top of the hole. He looked up. Nothing was to be seen but the moon gazing sadly upon him, and the stars winking at him their glittering eyes. Frightened and vexed, he threw himself upon the bottom of the hole, then got up, and dashing down his cap, stamped upon it in ungovernable rage, vowing vengeance against the traitor, Primus, who, he did not doubt, had led him into the snare. At first the violent exercise, and next vexation and resentment, kept him warm; but gradually the effect of the first passed off, and then the latter, without its aid, was found ineffectual to ward off the cold. The teeth of poor Basset began to chatter, and tears of anger and apprehension fell from his eyes. He started up, and again tried the walls of his prison, but they were too steep, and too slippery, to permit exit, and at last, with desperate calmness, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited such result as Providence might send. The thought of starvation and freezing to death passed through his mind, but he was too fully convinced of the complicity of the black to believe he was ignorant of his condition, and satisfied that, however tricky, he intended no serious harm. There was comfort in the thought, and as these reflections prevailed he became more composed, while a sense of shame succeeded to that of despair. Shrugging himself together to keep warm, and lifting up his voice from time to time in a shout, if, perchance, some casual wayfarer might catch the sound, the constable waited for deliverance.
Meanwhile, Gladding, for it was no other, who personated the Solitary, and the General were cozily seated by the fire in the hut of the latter, discussing the events of the evening. The false beard was lying on a chair, and a large stone pitcher, containing cider, was placed near the centre of a table, on which the elbow of Tom was leaning, who, from time to time, replenished a mug with the liquor, which made frequent journeys to his mouth. The old General, with his pipe, was seated on the other side of the table, and appeared as fervent in his devotions to the pitcher as his guest.
"I tell you what, Prime," said Tom, "I come plaguy nigh tumbling in myself. I thought I marked the spot exactly, but somehow or other the snow light sort o' blinded me, and I stepped right on the edge, and had to spring for't like all natur'."
"Dat would a been fust rate, to catch two fox in one trap," said the General, the whites of whose eyes gleamed plainer than ever in the fire light at the thought.
"Fun for you, but not for me by a long chalk. Basset would have the best on't, too, for he'd have come right top on me. How the crittur would have crowed!"
"I hear him crow two or tree time already," said Primus, who had been to the door several times, and could detect faint sounds whenever the imprisoned Basset shouted.
"Let him try his lungs a little longer. It will clear his voice for singing school. I guess I must go to meeting next Sabbath, if for nothing else, to hear him perform."
"But I 'fraid de poor man freeze," said the compassionate General.
"Never fear, 'twon't hurt him. It will do him good to freeze some of the ugliness out of him. Besides it's best to wait awhile. Perhaps, somebody coming along will help him out, and that will save you the trouble."
"Me! Missa Gladding! what hab I to do wid it? You put him dere, and you is de one to pull him out."
"Don't be onreasonable, Prime, now. You see, if I should go, he'd know, of course, all about it. Why, he'd recollect the clothes, and next thing I should be took up for assault and battery."
"And who save me from being took up?"
"O, there ain't no danger of that. They can't git no hold on ye. You can say you hearn crying for help, and didn't know but what Holden had turned on him, and so come to assist."
Primus shook his head dubiously. He hardly knew what to reply, yet was evidently disinclined to the adventure. For that reason, perhaps, he allowed Basset to remain in durance longer than his own good-nature prompted, in the hope that relief might arrive from some other quarter.
"I vow," at last exclaimed Gladding, "if I don't believe you're afraid
Basset will give you a licking."
"Basset, nor no oder man, ebber see de day nor night to make me 'fraid," said the valorous General, whose natural courage was a little stimulated by the cider he had been drinking, starting up and preparing for his expedition. "But, Missa Gladding, you promise to stand by me if dis scrape go any furder."
"Sartainly," answered Tom, "I never left a friend in the lurch, I tell you."
"Gib us you hand on dat."
Tom extended a great sledge-hammer fist, and the two shook hands in sign of inviolable fidelity.
"Now," said Tom, "I guess, I'll make myself scarce. I wouldn't have him see me in this rig for all the cider I drank to-night. There's some left in the old pitcher, so fetch him along, and comfort the critter's heart with a few swigs."
With these words, Tom took his leave, first altering somewhat the disposition of his garments, divesting himself of the sash, placing the cap higher on his brows, and depositing the false beard in his pocket, while Primus, lighting a fresh pipe, sallied forth on his errand of benevolence.
As he approached he could hear plainer the halloo which Basset occasionally emitted from his trap. The ears of the latter sharpened by expectation, caught the sound of the advancing steps, while as yet the deliverer was at too great a distance to see the hole, and his cries for assistance were redoubled.
"Help!" he cried, "help! They want to murder me. This way—here, in the old well—this way—O, Lord!"
Such were the cries that saluted the ears of Primus, as soon as he was near enough to distinguish articulate sounds.
"Who dere?" cried the General.
"O, Prime, help us out of this tarnation hole," groaned Basset.
"Onpossible! can dis be you, Missa Basset?" inquired Primus, peering over the edge of the pit. "How come you dere?"
"Don't ask no questions, now, though, I guess, you know as well as me."
"His head turn wid de scare, probumbly," soliloquized Primus, loud enough to be heard by the captive. "I curus to larn how you fall in. Ebberybody know dis hole, Missa Basset."
"Haul me out, and I'll let you know."
There was something in the tone of voice that did not at all please the General, so looking around, and observing no one in sight, for it was a lonely place, and having all the advantage on his side, he resolved to parley, and secure satisfactory terms before he delivered the prisoner.
"I bery sorry for you, Missa Basset," he said, "and if you wait awhile, I go to de village to git a rope to haul you out."
But this proposition was far from suiting the constable. Now that assistance was near at hand, he dreaded to lose it out of sight or hearing. He knew there was no necessity for procuring any rope, and feared that if Primus put his threatened plan into execution, he would bring along with him a rabble of men and boys, to jeer at and ridicule his sufferings. This now seemed worse than all he had already endured; he was, therefore, willing to make any compromise to avert the disaster.
"Don't go, don't go, Prime," begged the constable. "Just give us your hand, and pull us out of this infarnal place. There's no need of any rope."
"But suppose you pull me in arter you, what we do den? De fire would be all in de fat. Beside, you talk as if you respect me. No, I tink I be safer if oder folks be here, too."
"O, Prime," whined Basset, "you hain't no better friend in the world than me, and no more bowels of marcy than a stump. I tell ye, I don't suspect you. Lend us a hand, and I'll never forget it, the longest day I have to live."
"Well," said the General, "you must make us a promise, fust."
"What promise? I'll make any promise you please, only do help us out.
I'm 'most dead with cold."
"You must promise nebber to say any ting about dis night. Dere's 'spicious folks round, like de doctor, and when dey hear you git catch like a rat in a trap, dey is likely to say, 'Ah, dat is dat old niggur Primus's work,' and so I lose my good character. De innocent man must be like de weasel dat is nebber catch asleep."
It went hard against the grain, for the constable to make the promise, but there was no alternative except remaining there, he knew not how long, finally to be extricated by a laughing crowd. With a very ill grace, therefore, he promised all that Primus required, and would have bound himself to ten times more, if necessary; but the General was generous, and asked only security for the future, having no indemnity to demand for the past. Planting his sound foot firmly in the snow, the General extended his hand, which being grasped by Basset, he was soon delivered from thraldom.
"What's to hender me now, you infernal darkey," exclaimed the exasperated constable, as soon as he found himself in the upper air, "from throwing you into the well, and letting you rot there!"
"What to hender, Missa Basset?" returned the General, stepping back. "You own feelings, Missa Basset. But you can try it if you please," he added, letting fall his arms by his sides, which, at the threatening tone of the constable, he had raised instinctively in self-defence.
But the other seemed more disposed to allow his anger to explode in words than to resort to violence.
"To be chucked into a hole like a dead cat, by a cunning old wool head, was more'n mortal man could bear," he said, "and he didn't know why he shouldn't knock out his black brains, on the spot."
"You can try de 'speriment, if you please," said Primus, cooly, "and when dey is knock out, I advise you to gadder dem up for you own use."
"You're a saacy nigger," said Basset, "and if I sarved you right, I'd clap you into the workhouse."
"Missa Basset, you bery mad; and when a man is mad, he always onreasonable. But fire away—it keep you warm, and stop you catching cold."
"Onreasonable! when a fellow's been sprawling about in snow and cornstalks, for more'n two hours, and got more'n half froze! How would you like it?"
"If Missa Basset chase Missa Holden, in de moonlight, and fall into a hole, is I to blame?"
"I don't believe it was Holden. I believe it was all a plan between you and some other fellow to git me into the scrape. Come, now, Prime," he said, moderating his voice into a less ill-natured tone, "tell us, and I'll let you off this time."
"O, Lord!" exclaimed Primus, lifting up his hands, with open palms, and rolling up his eyes towards the moon, "de man is crazy wid de fright, and he see Missa Holden, too, widin two tree feet."
He turned now on his way home, as if disdaining longer converse with one who refused to listen to reason. The constable followed at his side, growling the whole way, and reproaching the General with his perfidy, the latter protesting it was Basset's own fault, "when he knew dere was a hole dere," and that he would have nothing to do with him, or with the cunning old man, for the future. Upon arriving at the bars, Primus, notwithstanding his indignation at the suspicion cast on his honor, courteously invited Basset to take a drink with him, but the latter, suspecting, perhaps, another snare, was in no humor to accept the invitation; and, turning away without even noticing the black's good-night, directed hasty steps towards the lights of the town.
CHAPTER XXI.
"Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns, called you forth,
Down those precipitous black-jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?"
COLERIDGE.
William Bernard had, of late, been more than usually attracted to the society of Faith. In habits of familiar intercourse with the family of the Armstrongs, from his childhood, and admitted to almost the same degree of intimacy which exists between brothers and sisters with the little black-eyed girl whom, in winter, he drew on his sled, with Anne, to school, and, to fill whose apron, he shook chestnuts and walnuts from the trees, in autumn, he and Faith had never had, during the earlier period of their acquaintance, feelings other than those attaching one to another, members of the same household. The fact that Faith had no brother, taken in connection with her love for Anne, had caused her to lean more on William, and be willing to call upon him for a thousand little services, which he was as ready to grant as she to ask. These, in the years of childhood, were rewarded by a kiss, or permission to ride on her rocking-horse, or to make calls, with Anne and herself, on their dolls, and so forth; but as years rolled on, and vague feelings and shadowy intimations assumed definiteness, a delicate veil of reserve imperceptibly interposed itself, as effectual to bar the former familiarity as if a Chinese wall had been built between them. Yet, for years, no warmer sentiment succeeded; and, though William Bernard felt pleasure in the society of his beautiful neighbor, he experienced no uneasiness in her absence.
But a change was destined to take place which, indeed, it is surprising had not sooner occurred. William found himself, he hardly knew how, more frequently in the company of his sister's lovely friend, notwithstanding it was with a more timid step he sought the dwelling of Mr. Armstrong. For it seemed to him as if the little community were beginning to suspect the existence of those feelings which, like the morning glory, shrink from the rays of the sun. They were too delicate for inspection. They were like the wing of the butterfly or the plumage of the humming-bird, which cannot be handled without being tarnished. Hence, though longing to enter the house as in his school-boy days, were it only to catch for a moment the sounds of Faith's voice or a glimpse of her face, he would content himself with merely passing by, deriving a satisfaction from the consciousness of being nearer to her, and of gazing on the house beautified by her presence. Besides, as his feelings became more interested, his distrust of himself increased. The heart of the bold, young man, which real danger had never disturbed, fluttered like a caught bird at the voice of Faith, more and more, and he hesitated to make an avowal which might, indeed, crown his hopes, but which might, also, dash them to the ground. For he could not conceal from himself that Faith, so far from giving him encouragement as a lover, had never even appeared to suspect his feelings. Her conduct had always been the same, the same unreserved confidence, the same frank, unconstrained deportment. She spoke to him as freely as ever of her hopes and fears; she took his arm as readily, nor did a blush welcome his coming or a tremor of the voice signalize his departure.
Young ladies are usually sharp-sighted enough in detecting admiration, and fathoming the heart of a lover, and some may think her want of penetration strange. If so, I must entreat indulgence for my simple Faith. Be the circumstances remembered in which she was placed and had grown up; her child-like innocence and purity, unacquainted with the world, her seclusion from society, the intimacy that had always existed between her and young Bernard, which continued to make many attentions that would have been marked in another, natural and expected from him, and the want of all preoccupation in his favor, and the surprise of the keen-sighted will diminish. Is not an inexperienced and modest girl slow to suspect in another, emotions towards herself of a kind which she has never felt?
William Bernard, then, had never told his love, nor did Miss Armstrong dream of its existence. To her he was the dear friend of her childhood, and nothing more. His mother and sister suspected the condition of his heart, and it was with calm satisfaction in the former, and a glow of delight in the latter, that they looked forward to the time when the attentions and amiable qualities of the son and brother should ripen the friendship of the unimpassioned beauty into love. Of this result, with a pardonable partiality they did not doubt. With this explanation of the feelings of the two young people towards each other at this time, we will accompany them on a morning walk to the Falls of the Yaupáae.
It was one of those bright, glorious days which the poet Herrick calls the "bridal of the earth and sky." From a heaven intensely blue, the sun, without a cloud, "looked like a God" over his dominions. Some rain had fallen in the night, and the weather suddenly clearing up towards morning, had hardened the moisture into ice. Every bush, every tree, the fences, were covered with a shining mail, from which and from the crisped surface of the snow, the rays of the sun were reflected, and filled the air with a sparkling light. Transmuted, as by a magician's wand, the bare trees were no longer ordinary trees. They were miracles of vegetable silver and crystal. Mingled among them, the evergreens glittered like masses of emerald hung with diamonds. Aladdin, in the enchanted cavern, saw not so brilliant a spectacle.
The narrow road which led to the Falls descended a declivity, where it left the main street until it came to within a few feet of the surface of the river, then curving round the base of the hill, it skirted the winding margin of the stream until it ascended another hill, on the top of which, from a platform of level rock, one of the finest views was commanded. The path was slippery with ice, and in descending the declivity the arm of Bernard was necessary to support the uncertain steps of his companion. It was with a sort of tremor he offered it, of which Faith was all unconscious. She took it without hesitation, and stepping cautiously over the glazed surface, and laughing at each other's slips, the young couple pursued their walk. On their right was a steep hill, rising in some places to a height of one hundred feet above their heads, covered over, for a considerable distance along the road, with the perennial beauty of the graceful hemlock and savin, now resplendent in jewels; and on the left the Yaupàae, its frozen level hid in snow, out of which the trees and shrubs on the little islands raised their silver armor glittering in the sun. In the distance, and visible from the greater part of the road, the river, in a narrow chasm, dashed down the rocks. An unusual quantity of snow had lately fallen, which, having been succeeded by heavy rains, had swollen the stream to more than double its ordinary size. It was evident that, what in the language of the country is called a freshet was commencing. Such is the name given to those swellings of the water, the most formidable of which commonly occur in the month of February, or early in the Spring, when the overcharged rivers, bursting their boundaries and overflowing the neighboring lowlands, sometimes occasion great damage to property, sweeping away bridges, and mills, and dams, with irresistible violence.
The roaring of the Falls had been long distinguishable, but, it was not until the first curve in the road had been turned, that they came into sight."
"Look! Faith," cried Bernard, as they burst into view; "did you ever see them more magnificent?"
The attention of the young lady had been, hitherto, too much engrossed by the necessity of watching her footsteps down the descent, to give much heed to surrounding objects; but, now, she looked up, having reached the comparatively level spot, which extended as far as the second hill or rising ground above mentioned, and felt all the admiration expressed by her companion.
"They are grand," she replied. "I have beheld this view a thousand times, and never weary of its beauty. I do not know whether I love it more in summer or in winter."
"How would you express the difference of your feelings, then and now?"
"I am afraid I have not the skill to put the feeling into words. But, the impression, on a day like this, is of a magnificence and splendor unusual to the earth. In summer, the beauty though less astonishing, is of a softer character."
"You would rather listen to the song of the robin, and of our northern mocking-bird, than to the roaring of the angry river?"
"There is no anger in the sound, William," she replied, looking up into his face; "It is the shout of praise to its Creator, and the dashing of the torrents over the rocks are the clapping of its hands."
"You are right, Faith. How much better you are tuned to the meanings of nature than I?"
"You do yourself injustice. It was your love of all this beauty that induced you to invite me to this walk. Without you I should have missed it, nor known what I had lost."
William Bernard sighed. She has not, he thought, the least suspicion that I love her. She does not know, and would not care if she did, that, by her side, the only prospect I behold is herself, and the invitation to this stroll but a pretext to approach her.
"Your presence, dear Faith," said he, "imparts a double charm to the scenery."
"It is sweet," she answered, leaning, as it seemed to him, at the moment, more affectionately on his arm, "to have one to whom we can say, how lovely is all this loveliness."
"The sentiment of the Poet never seemed so true before," said Bernard, looking at her with admiration.
She made no reply, for her whole soul was absorbed by the view before her.
They had arrived at the platform, which, somewhat higher than the Fall, commands a prospect of the river and surrounding country. Below them foamed and thundered the torrent, which, first, making a leap some twenty feet down, over large, irregularly-shaped boulders of granite, that strove to oppose its passage, rushed in a steep descent over a bed of solid stone, irregularly worn by the action of the water; and, then, contracting itself between its adamantine walls, burst in distracted fury, like a maniac, from the narrow throat. Against the opposing rocks, which, perhaps, had fallen into the Yaupàae, when the fierce convulsion of nature opened the chasm, and bade the river pour down the gorge—the water lashed with ceaseless rage, throwing the spray high into the air. This, freezing as it fell, encrusted the rough sides of the beetling crags with icy layers, covering them all over with plates like silver, and hanging them with stalactites. Right in front, and separated only by the narrow pass from the ledge on which they stood, still higher than which it rose, towered a huge rock, perpendicularly, to a height of ninety or one hundred feet above the cataract. Its foam-beaten base, just above the water, was encased in icy incrustations, higher up, gray moss overspread its flat side, and tufts of cedar struggled through the fissures, whilst its top was canopied with hemlocks and savins, and white oaks. Looking towards the left, the eye swept over the green hill-side, along which they had walked, and, glancing over the islands in the Yaupáae, followed the winding coarse of the river, catching here and there on ground, that sloped to the stream, the sight of white buildings, with green blinds, till the surrounding hills shut in the view.
They both stood silent, as they looked, she, unwilling, by an exclamation, to break the charm; and he, with his mind full of the lovely creature before him. Surely, never so angelic a being gazed upon that scene! As, with kindling countenance and suspended breath, her dark eyes flashing with enthusiasm, her soul drank in the sublimity and sparkling radiance that enveloped her, she seemed no being of mortal mould, but some celestial visitant. The rapt expression of her face gradually settled into awe, and she softly murmured these lines, of the Russian poet, Derzhavin—
"God! thus to Thee my lowly thoughts can soar,
Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good,
'Midst Thy vast works, admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude."
The tears were indeed standing in her eyes, as she turned and placed her hand in that of Bernard.
"You must think it strange," she said, "that I, to whom all this is no novelty should be thus affected. It is a weakness from which I shall never recover."
"Not weakness, dear Faith," said Bernard, "but the impressibility of a poetical temperament. Only an insensible heart could be unmoved."
"If these rocks could speak, what legends they might tell of vanished races," said Faith. "There is something inexpressibly sad in the fate of those who once were the masters of these woods and fields, and streams.
"They but submit to the common fate, which compels the inferior to make way for the superior race, as my father says."
"How beautiful," she continued, "must this goodly land have seemed to the Indian hunter, when, after the day's chase, he dropped the deer upon the ground, and, from this high point, looked over the green forests and shining stream. I should not wonder, if now, in the voice of the cataract, he fancies he hears the groans of his ancestors, and the screams of demons."
"There are traditions connected with this place," said Bernard, "but they are fast fading away, and promise soon to be forgotten."
"Are you acquainted with any?"
"A friend of mine has endeavored to rescue one from oblivion, but I doubt if it would interest you."
"I am interested in everything that relates to this people. Tell me the story now. What more fitting place for romance!"
"A fitting place certainly, but no fitting time. Romance would hardly mitigate the keenness of the air, or diminish the probability of taking cold, were you to stand here listening to Indian legends. Besides, the tale is in manuscript, and I should not be able, relying on memory, to do it justice."
"You shall read it to me this evening, where you cannot make such excuses," she replied, taking again his arm, and resuming their walk, "by the light of candles, and near the parlor fire, where we may hear, and not feel the wind."
"But where would be the accompaniments of the tale? The framing I fear would spoil the picture."
"You will have the benefit of contrast, which every great painter desires."
"I am only too happy to please you," he said, with a sigh.
"My almost brother, William, I knew you would not refuse me the favor."
Conversing in this manner, they had reached a turn in the road, which led back to the village by a route different from that they had come, when they saw Esther approaching, with her son. The boy walked in advance of his mother, who seemed to tread in his steps, while that unfailing companion of the semi-civilized red man, a dog, lounged by his side.
Quadaquina was a handsome child, of thirteen or fourteen years of age, with a perfectly oval face, and eyes deep set and keen, that glittered like a snake's, resembling his mother, from whom he inherited his beauty. His dress differed not from that of white boys, except that there was thrown round his shoulders a piece of coarse blue broadcloth, disposed like a shawl. Esther had on her head a dark colored felt hat, such as is worn by laborers, from beneath which long black hair fell down upon her shoulders. A shawl, like the boy's, was thrown over her, a skirt, of the same material, extended half way down between the knee and ankle, and crimson leggins completed the dress.
As they came up, Faith and Bernard stopped to speak to them, and inquire after Holden. She had been apprised of his escape, and of the visit of Pownal and Anne, but had refrained from going to his retreat in consequence of its being thought advisable to attract as little attention to it as possible. To her inquiries Esther returned the most satisfactory answers. Holden appeared quite contented, and was engaged in preaching to the Indians, and teaching them the principles of the Christian faith.
"Do the Indians listen to what he says?" inquired Bernard.
"They listen; Indian always listen," said Esther, "and the wind blow the words through the ears."
"I suppose so," said the young man, laughing. "Holden may now truly call himself the voice of one crying in the wilderness, and a wilderness it is likely to remain."
There was something both in the manner and language that jarred the feelings of Faith, and she said:
"I will never give up the hope that these poor people may be Christianized. Do you not think, Esther, that there has been an improvement in the habits of the tribe within a few years?"
Esther hung down her head, and only answered, "Indian will be Indian."
"I will not despair," said Faith. "Be sure, Esther, you come to the house before you return. I have something for you, and a message for Father Holden.
"I can conceive of no character," said Faith, after they had parted from Esther, "more noble than that of the Christian missionary. He is the true redresser of wrongs, the only real knight that ever lived. You smile," she said, looking at Bernard. "Do you not think so?"
"I think with you," he replied. "There can be no nobler man than he who submits to privation, and exposes his life to danger through love to his fellow man. It is God-like. But I smiled at the association of ideas, and not at the sentiment. Think of Holden as a knight."
"To me there is nothing ludicrous in the thought. When I look at him, I see not the coarse unusual dress, but the heroic soul, that would have battled valiantly by the side of Godfrey for the holy sepulchre."
"I am afraid he will meet with only disappointment in his efforts to reform the Indians."
"We cannot know the result of any labor. We will do our duty, and leave the rest to God."
"They have not the degree of cultivation necessary to the reception of a religion so refined and spiritual as the Christian. They must first be educated up to it."
"But you would not, meanwhile, neglect the very thing for which they are educated. Religious instruction must be a part of the education, and it brings refinement with it."
"Certainly, if it can be received; but therein consists the difficulty. I am afraid it is as reasonable to expect a savage to apprehend the exalted truths of Christianity, as one unaquainted with geometry, the forty-ninth proposition of the first book of Euclid."
"The comparison is not just. Science demands pure intellect; but religion, both intellect and feeling, perhaps most of the latter. The mind is susceptible of high cultivation, the heart feels instinctively, and that of a peasant may throb with purer feeling than a philosopher's and for that reason be more ready to receive religious truth. And who may limit the grace of God?"
"You have thought deeper on this subject than I, Faith. But how hard must it be for the rays of divine truth to pierce through the blackness of that degradation which civilization has entailed on them! The conversion of the North American Indian was easier at the landing of the Pilgrims than now."
"The greater our duty," exclaimed Faith, clasping her hands, "to atone for the wrongs we have inflicted. But, William, some good has been done. Look at my dear, good Esther."
"Esther deserves your praise, I am sure, because you say it. But it is you that have made her good. She could not be with you, without being benefited."
"You are very kind, but no merit attaches to me. They were the precepts of Christianity that softened her heart, though she was always gentle."
"It was the sweetness of religion she heard in your voice, its kindness she read in your eyes, and its loveliness illustrated in your life, that attracted and improved Esther"
"Were I to admit what you say, the credit would, after all, belong to religion."
The sun had nearly reached his meridian, as the young couple approached the house of Mr. Armstrong. What a change had been produced in a few hours! The warm sunshine, while it glorified the landscape had robbed it of its sparkling beauty. The trees no longer wore their silver armor; the branches, relieved of the unusual weight, had lost the graceful curves and resumed their original positions; white blossoms no longer bedecked the evergreens; and all around, large drops were falling, as if lamenting the passing away of the short-lived magnificence.
On parting from Bernard, at her father's door, Faith reminded him of his promise, and invited him and Anne to tea with her in the evening. Bernard accepted the invitation for himself, and conditionally for his sister.
CHAPTER XXII.
"O nymph, with loosely flowing hair,
With buskined leg, and bosom bare,
Thy waist with myrtle girdle bound,
Thy brow with Indian feathers crowned,
Waving in thy snowy hand
An all-commanding magic wand
Of power, to bid fresh gardens blow,
Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow!"
JOSEPH WARTON.
Bernard and his sister, on their arrival, found only Mr. Armstrong and his daughter, but were joined, in the course of the evening, by Pownal, at whose arrival all expressed pleasure. The whole company united with Miss Armstrong in requesting Bernard to read the legend, who, at last, produced the manuscript from his pocket.
"I must entreat your indulgence," he said, "for the defects of which the piece is full. The author is an inexperienced writer, and unable, like an accomplished hand, to atone by elegance of style for improbability or poverty of incident. You will expect no more than that he should observe the proprieties of his subject, nor require him to introduce into a tale of the children of Nature the refinement of language or delicacy of sentiment, to be met with in the modern romance. The stories of an uncivilized people must be rude, even approaching in simplicity tales designed for children."
"The writer could not have an audience more ready to be pleased," said
Mr. Armstrong; "and are we not all children of various growths?"
"I do not believe any excuses are necessary," said Faith, "and am expecting a great deal of pleasure."
"The more extravagant, the better," cried Anne. "What can equal the
Arabian Nights Entertainment?"
"We are all attention," said Pownal; "so whistle your apprehensions,
Bernard, to the wind."
Thus encouraged, the young man opened his manuscript, and commenced reading.
THE LEGEND OF MAGISAUNIKWA AND LEELINAU.
Where the clear Sakimau mingles its waters with the great salt lake, which would be too salt, but for the innumerable rivers that pour themselves into its bosom, the mighty Aishkwagon-ai-bee, whose name, rendered into the language of the pale faces, is the 'Feather of Honor,' had erected his lodge. He was the war-chief of a tribe whose name is lost in the mists of antiquity. He boasted his descent from the great Ojeeg, of whom it is related that he opened a hole in the blue sky and let out the soft, warm air of Paradise, so that it poured down upon the earth, and bestowed summer upon a region before condemned to perpetual cold. He also liberated the singing-birds from the mocucks, or basket-cages, where they were confined, which, descending through the aperture, have since enlivened the woods and fields with their melodies. He was unable to return to this world, and may still be seen in the heavens, being changed into the stars called Ojeeg Annung, known to the wise men among the pale faces as the Constellation of the Plough.
Nor was Aishkwagon-ai-bee unworthy of his noble descent. The grandeur of his thoughts and the boldness of his achievements proved the purity of his blood. A skillful hunter, a successful warrior, equally renowned for wisdom in council and bravery in action, he enjoyed the highest consideration, not only in his own tribe, but as far as the great lakes to the North, and the river Delaware to the South. When he pointed to the beautiful scalps that adorned the sides of his wigwam, he could with truth say, there was not one of them but had graced the head of a warrior.
The Sachem had several children, sons and daughters, and among the latter, the lovely Leelinau was the darling of his heart. The maiden had attained the age of eighteen, and was the admiration of the youth for many days' journey round. Her cheeks were the color of the wild honey-suckle, her lips like strawberries, and the juice of the milk-weed was not whiter than her teeth. Her form was lith as the willow, her eyes sparkled like the morning star, her step was that of a bounding fawn, and her fingers were skilful in weaving the quills of the porcupine. What wonder if hearts both young and old beat quicker at her approach?
Many, it may well be supposed, were the offers of marriage made to the beautiful Leelinau. Innumerable were the legs of venison, and choice pieces of bear's meat, which the mothers of the young hunters presented for acceptance at her lodge, being careful to mention whose skill in the chase procured them, but in vain did they look for the bowl of succatash or embroidered moccasins—the products of woman's labor—in token that their gifts were pleasing to the coy beauty. In vain, when the shades of evening fell, the softly breathed flute lamented in melancholy tones her cruelty. In vain, with tasteful hand, the sighing lover painted his face and person to heighten his attractions and draw attention. The insensible Leelinau relished not the venison or bear's meat, nor would she listen to the flute, or look often at the painted suitors.
Among her admirers none was more deeply smitten by the power of her charms nor cherished a truer love than Magisaunikwa or Wampum-hair, so called from the gentleness of his disposition and love of peace. He was only a few years the senior of the maiden, and of an obscure family compared with that of the famous Aishkwagon-ai-bee. But love levels all distinctions, and, impelled by an influence he could not withstand, he dared to aspire to the hand of Leelinau. Besides, there was one superiority he enjoyed which made the claim less presumptuous. Young as he was no hunter of the tribe could be compared with him in skill or daring. Other lodges might be destitute, but there was always abundance of meat in that of Magisaunikwa and those of his friends. Happy, thought most of the girls, would she be who should lie in the bosom of the young hunter, and cook his food.
But notwithstanding his devotion, Leelinau would not accept his gifts. Still he fancied he had made some impression. She would listen to his conversation by the light of the evening star, though whenever he hinted at his passion, she would hastily retire; and twice or thrice he had caught her eyes fixed on him, when she thought herself unobserved. Hope lives on scanty aliment, and the young man did not despair.
Aishkwagon-ai-bee had noticed the liking of Magisaunikwa for his daughter, and was not displeased. The noble youth had found favor in his eyes, and he did not disdain his alliance. There was only a single cause of hesitation in his mind. Wampum-hair had never been on a war-path, and had always shown a disinclination to shed human blood. Yet his courage was undoubted. None encountered with more audacity the panther and the bear, and several were the lives he had saved at the hazard of his own. A successful war expedition only was necessary to complete his claims to the highest honors. Save the bloody scalp, no ornament was lacking in his wigwam.
"Magisaunikwa," said the Sachem, "the fire of your eyes melts not the snow around the heart of Leelinau, and it is because she looks upon your hands and sees they were never painted with the blood of an enemy."
"Can Leelinau be happier." asked the young hunter, "because another is made miserable? Were I to kill a warrior for her sake, would not her dreams be disturbed by the groans of his mother?"
The eyes of the Sachem flashed when he heard such language.
"Go," he said, "if thou art a dove, seek not to mate with the hawk."
But the resolution of Wampum-hair was not to be shaken by threats or reproaches, nor weakened by the seductions of love. In the long and final fast which revealed to him his guardian spirit, twelve days with unshaken fortitude, to the wonder of the tribe, had he remained without food before the vision came. He then beheld a child white as the water-lily leading a little animal unknown to the country. It was the size of the beaver, and covered all over with long white hair that curled closely to its body. Its eyes were mild and sweet, and the expression of its face gentler than anything ever seen on earth. The child laid his hand on the heart of the fainting youth, and an influence soft as the breath of the south wind streamed through his frame, and he was strengthened, and stood upon his feet and partook of food. Since then the war-song had been hateful to the ears of Wampum-hair, and he loathed the vauntings of the braves. He preached peace to his people, and endeavored to convince them of the folly of killing their fellow men. But prejudices old as the mountains were not to be removed by the exhortations or arguments of an obscure youth; and although the old men listened, and some few approved, yet the young men scoffed and burned to distinguish themselves after the manner of their ancestors. It was fortunate for the young man that opportunities had occurred to test his courage, and that he had never hesitated when others flinched. His tribe therefore ascribed his conduct to no want of bravery, but to a delusion sent by his guardian genius. Hence, though his influence was impaired, it was not entirely destroyed.
Thus things continued for some time, till one day the Sachem again addressed Wampum-hair.
"Does the heart of Magisaunikwa still beat softly, like the heart of a deer!"
"It beats like a man's," said the young hunter, "and not like that of a vile wild beast. The Indian should imitate the Good Spirit in his actions, and not destroy his brothers and sisters"
"Yes," said the Sachem, "his heart is a man's, though it is soft. Does
Wampum-hair still love Leelinau?"
"The breath of Thequan is not more welcome to the wood-flower which it wakes up to life, or the song of the bird dearer to its mate, than the sight of Leelinau to Magisaunikwa."
"What would Wampum-hair do to obtain her love?"
"He would climb the sky, or dive to the bottom of the salt lake; all that the Great Spirit could ask would he do."
"A chief cannot compel the affection of his daughter, but he can give his own consent, and the young bird listens to the voice of its parent."
"Let the great chief say what he would have, and the arm of Wampum-hair shall be strong to do his will. For the sake of Leelinau he would please her father."
The Sachem paused, and gazed with pleasure on the kindling features of the young man. He was a wise chief, and desired the good of his people. In those days the panthers, driven from the north by a severe winter, infested the country in great numbers, and threatened to destroy the game, on which the Indians depended for subsistence. Although many had been killed, there still remained enough to ravage the land and do serious injury; and they had become so cunning by being frequently hunted that they almost uniformly succeeded in eluding the chase. It would be a public service, though a difficult undertaking, to exterminate the ravenous animals. He therefore said:—
"Let Magisaunikwa bring me a conaus made of the scalps of panthers, and another for Leelinau, and he shall have the strong word of a chief to whisper commendations of the hunter in the ears of the maiden."
"It is well. The words of the great chief are pleasant, and my ears drink them up as the thirsty sand the drops of rain. The feet of Wampum-hair are swift; his arrows are true, and they shall pierce the screaming panther."
That same day, so eager was the young hunter to commence the chase, he started for those parts of the forest where the game was most likely to be found. Many were the beasts destroyed by him, so that a little child might wander in security ten days' journey, in every direction, from the lodge of the Sachem, and narrow were the escapes from death of the intrepid hunter, and yet scarcely scalps enough were obtained to make a conaus or wrapper for the sloping shoulders of Leelinau. In vain, the enamored youth extended his hunt still further, even twenty days' journey from his starting point. Only at long intervals was a beast discovered, but, finally, not one was to be found, and the youth awoke to the conviction that he had been made a dupe to the cunning of the Sachem.
After a fruitless chase he was musing one day sorrowfully over his disappointed hopes, ashamed to go back to his village, to which he had never returned without success before, when, suddenly, a man of majestic presence stood before him. His nose was like the beak of an eagle, and his eyes resembled fires in a dark night. Strange feathers, of brilliant colors, were woven into his scalp-lock; a magnificent robe of skins depended from his shoulders; and in his hand he held a long spear, tipped with a pointed stone.
"My brother is sad," he said. "Let my brother give me the half of his grief to bear."
Thus exhorted, Magisaunikwa disclosed the cause of his dejection to his sympathizing friend.
"Is that all?" said the stranger. "Return, and thou shalt find the conaus in thy lodge, and when thou beholdest them, remember they are the gift of Manabozho. I am Manabozho."
He spoke, and before the astonished hunter had time to thank him, vanished from his sight. Then the young man knew that he had conversed with the capricious Manito, and with full faith and light heart, he directed his steps homeward.
He found the two conaus in his wigwam, according to the promise of the Manito. One he presented to the chief, and the other he offered to the maiden, but she refused to accept the tribute of his devotion.
The astonishment of Aishkwagon-ai-bee, and of the whole tribe, is not to be conceived, and the fame of Wampum-hair mounted to the stars. The truthful chief spoke earnestly to his daughter, of the merits of her lover, and proposed him for her husband, but Leelinau showed the strongest aversion to the union. The haughty maiden inherited the fierce temper of her father, without his wisdom, and she looked with contempt on all not distinguished by high descent or bloody deeds, nor in her soaring pride was there one of the young men of the tribe worthy of her hand. Not that there were not youthful warriors who could point to the evidences of their prowess, and whose names were familiar to the song, but in every instance the difficult beauty had found some objection, and turned away her head. The truth is, the west wind, that entices the flowers from the ground in spring, and leads the bird to its mate, had never breathed upon the heart of Leelinau.
But the time finally came when the maiden was constrained to make a choice. Her family had become impatient of delay, and Leelinau yielded to their remonstrances. It was only in appearance, however, that she acquiesced in the wishes of her relatives. She determined to propose, as the price of her hand, some enterprise too difficult to be accomplished. She represented to her father that lightly won, was lightly prized, and that the daughter of a great chief like him, was not to be wooed like other maidens, and obtained from him, to whom her voice was sweeter than the notes of the mocking-bird, his consent to her scheme.
The conditions on which Leelinau consented to follow a husband to his lodge were soon known. Only him would she acknowledge for her lord, who should guide his canoe in safety from the head of the Falls of the Yaupáae to the little islands below. The old men shook their heads when they heard the terms, and the squaws said, her heart must be made of stone, but the young men felt warm, and thought of trying their fortunes.