CHAPTER XIX.

THE INDIAN AMBUSH.

Fanny was the originator of the scheme by which it was expected to save the party from the ferocity of the Indians, and enable the trapper to keep his plighted faith with them. The exiles, accompanied by their new-found friend, were to descend the river in the bateau to Mankato. Wahena was to be taken with them to some point above their destination, where he was to be delivered to his friends, when his presence as a hostage was no longer necessary to the safety of his captors.

This was thought to be the only safe plan, for even Rattleshag did not pretend to believe that the Indians would not be treacherous when Wahena was no longer in peril. It was arranged that the trapper should return to Lean Bear, and inform him of the terms on which his son could be saved. He was instructed to tell the savage chief that Ethan could fire eight shots a minute, and that Wahena would surely atone with his life for any treachery on the part of the Indians.

Rattleshag put off on his raft again, and paddled towards the settlement. It was late in the evening when he returned with the intelligence that Lean Bear had accepted the terms, though very reluctantly, for they compelled him to send a party of his braves on a journey of seventy miles to receive Wahena when he was delivered up. Rattleshag had been obliged to argue the point with him; but the assurance that the boy would certainly be shot if he did not yield, induced him to comply. Six Indian horsemen were deputed to follow the boat on the banks of the river, and insure them against any attack from the wandering savages whom the exiles might encounter.

The next morning the bateau was lowered from its position, rolled down to the lake, and launched. The muscular arm of the trapper rendered this a comparatively easy task, and it was accomplished in a few hours. The mast was stepped, the sail bent on, and the rigging adjusted under the direction of Fanny, who was more familiar with such matters than either of her companions. Such provisions as remained were stowed on board, cooked ready for use.

At noon, with a fresh breeze from the westward, the party embarked, and, with Fanny at the helm, sailed for the outlet at the north-east corner of the lake. The party were very much fatigued after the hard work required in making preparations for their departure, and independently of the exciting circumstances of leaving the island home, and the prospect of soon being in a place of entire safety, they enjoyed the rest afforded by the voyage.

"What we go'n to do when we get to Mankato, Fanny?" asked Ethan.

"I'm sure I don't know."

"We hain't got no friends thar."

"Nor anywhere," replied Fanny, sadly. "I have no near relations now that my uncle and aunt are gone."

"I never had none; but I s'pose I kin go to work, as I allers did," added Ethan, cheerfully.

"I doubt not we shall find plenty of friends. I am sure that Woodville, where I have lived the last two years, will be open to me."

"I reckon we needn't borrow any trouble arter we git out of this scrape. Ef we could stand what we've gone through with, we hain't got nothin' to fear."

"I have no clothes but those I wear, and not a cent of money," added Fanny, rather disturbed by the prospect before her.

"I reckon 'twill be all right," said Ethan.

"I have no doubt it will. I do not mean to complain. We have so much to be grateful for, that it would be wicked to repine at our lot."

"Thet's my notion; and we won't think what we're go'n to do till we get to Mankato."

This was a wise resolve, though it would be rather difficult to carry it out. In a short time the bateau arrived at the outlet of the lake, and on the bank of the river the exiles discovered their Indian escort, which had been waiting since the middle of the forenoon for them. At this point the serenity of the voyage was interrupted, for the river was crooked, and the navigation often very difficult. The boat did not draw more than a foot of water, but in some places it was not easy to find even this depth.

Fanny found that all her slender knowledge of boating was called into use, for the bends in the river were so frequent that the boat was headed towards nearly every point of the compass within a single hour. Her progress was necessarily very slow, and the Indians on the shore soon began to manifest their impatience by grunting and growling. As the bateau proceeded, Fanny became more skilful in its management. She soon learned where the deepest water might be found, and instead of attempting to cut across the bends, she followed the current round the broadest sweep; but, with the best she could do, it was occasionally necessary for Ethan and Rattleshag to resort to the poles to push her over the shoal places.

At dark the question came up whether the party should continue the voyage during the night, or moor the boat, and sail only by daylight. Of course the Indians on the shore could not continue the journey without stopping to rest and feed their horses; but a consultation was had with them, and it was decided that the escort should divide into two parties, one on each side of the river, and ride forward ten or fifteen miles, then halt and await the coming of the boat. The river had received two or three large tributaries above the point they had reached, and the navigation was less difficult as the stream became broader and deeper.

"Now, Fanny, I reckon I kin steer this boat," said Ethan, after the arrangements had been made, and the escort had gone forward. "I will make up a bed for you for'ad, and you shall go to sleep. One on us kin sleep jest as well as not, all the time."

"I was thinking of that myself," replied Fanny. "We shall save a great deal of time if we can go by night as well as day."

"I reckon we shall; and the sooner we git to Mankato, the better we shall like it. The little Injin's gone to sleep now."

"Do you think you can steer the boat, Ethan?"

"I know I kin. I've been kinder watchin' the thing ever sence we started, and I reckon I know sunthin' about it," replied Ethan, as he went forward to prepare a bed for Fanny.

"Are you not tired, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny of the trapper, who sat forward of her, gazing intently down the river, and seldom speaking a word.

"No, miss, I'm never tired," he replied.

"Where do you sleep when you are travelling over the broad prairies?"

"Sometimes in an Indian tepee, but generally allers on the ground."

"While the boat goes along so well, two of us might sleep, for it is only necessary to have one at the helm."

"I kin stand it without much sleep, miss. I kin ketch a nap while I set here. I've often slep standin' up agin a tree when the wolves was thick about me. Old Rattleshag is tough and hard."

"Now your bed is ready, Fanny," said Ethan, coming aft.

"Thank you, Ethan; you are very kind, and I am tired enough to sleep like a log. Now, if you will take the tiller, I will see what kind of work you make of it."

Ethan took the helm, and at first made the usual miscalculations of an unexperienced steersman; but Fanny soon instructed him so that he steered very well, and she went forward to her couch. In a whisper she said the prayer which she never omitted, and covering herself with blankets, was soon fast asleep.

After dark, the wind was very light and baffling, but the river was not so tortuous in its course, and the progress of the boat was rather more satisfactory than it had been during the afternoon. Ethan was very considerate of his fair companion, and neglected her injunction to call her in a few hours. He had given the helm to Rattleshag in the middle of the night, and gone to sleep himself. At daylight the trapper was at his post, and both the young exiles were still sleeping away the fatigues of the preceding day. The boat had not yet come up with the escort, who had probably gone more than the fifteen miles agreed upon.

Rattleshag sat at the helm, gazing fixedly down the river. He looked like a statue, and he sat so still that it was hard to believe he ever had moved, or ever would do so. His long rifle lay at his side, at rest like himself.

The bateau was approaching a clump of trees which grew on the bank of the river, when the crack of a rifle was heard, and a bullet whizzed over the water. Rattleshag started, sprang to his feet, and grasped the tiller with his left hand, while the blood trinkled down the ends of his fingers from a wound in his right arm. He glanced hastily around him, and then, putting the helm up, ran the boat alongside the shore opposite that from which the shot had come. The bateau grounded in the shallow water, and her grating upon the gravel roused Ethan from his slumber.

"The Injins is firin' on us," said Rattleshag, coolly, as he took up his long rifle.

"Whar be they?" demanded Ethan, seizing his weapons.

"Over thar," replied the trapper, pointing to the clump of trees.

The first shot was now followed by a second, which fortunately hit none of the party. By this time Fanny was awake; but Ethan peremptorily bade her lie still, so that the hostile Indians could not see her. Near the point where the boat had grounded there was a group of trees, which promised to afford the voyagers a partial shelter from the bullets of the enemy, and Rattleshag thought they had better take a position there.

"Now run for it," said Ethan to Fanny, as he gave her the revolver.

"I am not afraid," she replied, as she took the pistol and ran to the covert of the trees.

Ethan and the trapper followed her; but the moment they showed themselves, the report of several rifles was heard, followed by the whistling of the bullets through the air, though the distance was so great that the shots were harmless.

"Now, we'll give 'em some," said Ethan.

"'Tain't no use," answered Rattleshag, seating himself on the ground behind one of the trees. "Don't waste your lead for nothin'. You can't hit 'em."

"But they have hit you. Are you hurt much?"

"No; 'tain't wuth mindin'."

"Let me do up your wound, Rattleshag," interposed Fanny, tearing off a piece of her calico dress for the purpose.

"The blood kinder bothers me, and you may," said the trapper, as he bared his muscular arm.

The ball had ploughed through the fleshy part of the arm, inflicting a severe, though not dangerous, wound. Fanny bound it up as well as she could, with lint made from her linen collar, and Rattleshag declared that it felt "fust rate."

Wahena was still in the boat, where Ethan had taken the precaution to tie him to the mast, after first binding his arms behind him. He still lay in the bottom of the boat, the consciousness of his own danger preventing him from showing himself.

"We mought hev to stop here all day," said the trapper, after they had waited some time for a further demonstration on the part of the Indians.

"As long as we are safe, we need not mind that," replied Fanny.

"I reckon we ain't safe much," added Ethan.

He had scarcely uttered the words before a savage yell was heard from the enemy on the other side of the river.

"They're jumpin' inter the water to kim over here," said Rattleshag. "I don't like to shoot 'em, but I s'pose I must."

"I like it," replied Ethan, who had not yet conquered his hatred of the redskins.

"Don't be 'n a hurry, boy. Don't waste your lead," interposed the trapper, as Ethan was taking aim. "There ain't no more 'n six on 'em in the water, and we kin afford to wait till they git a little nearer. We kin fire shots enough to kill the whole on 'em without loadin' up."

"Who be they?" asked Ethan, trying to be as cool as the hardy trapper.

"I dunno."

"Be they Lean B'ar's men?"

"I reckon they ain't."

"I was afeerd the redskins that kim down to keep us safe had turned agin us."

"I reckon they hain't. They'd be afeerd we'd shoot the boy."

The half dozen savages in the water were wading across the river towards the bateau, evidently in the belief that the party had deserted her. They continued to hoot and yell, while they advanced, as though they intended to storm a garrisoned fortress, instead of capturing a deserted bateau.

"I reckon thet'll do now," said Rattleshag, as he raised his long rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at one of the savages. "Don't you fire, Ethan, till I've done."

He discharged his piece, and fully sustained his reputation as a dead shot, for the foremost of the Indians dropped, and was carried down the stream by the current.

CHAPTER XX.

CONCLUSION.

"Don't you fire, Ethan," repeated the trapper, as the enthusiastic boy raised his gun. "No need o' killin' no more on 'em."

The remaining Indians in the water had discovered their mistake, and were making towards the opposite shore with all possible haste. They had not expected such a reception, and appeared to be glad to escape with no greater loss.

"Ho, ho, ho!" shouted other Indians on the shore.

"We are gittin' into a bad scrape," said Ethan, dissatisfied because Rattleshag had prevented him from firing at the savages. "There's more 'n a million on 'em over thar."

"Them's Lean B'ar's Injins that's yellin'. Don't you see 'em? They was nigh enough to hear the shootin' and the yellin', and they've kim back to keep them redskins from hurtin' on us—don't you see?" added Rattleshag, pointing over at the three mounted savages who had just dashed up to the bank on the other side of the stream.

"So they be; and hyer kims the rest on 'em."

At this instant the other three of the escort galloped wildly over the prairie, and before the voyagers could reach the boat the Indians intercepted them. Like those on the other side, they uttered wild yells, and seemed to be as much excited as though they had been actually engaged in battle.

The exiles had not intended to hold any communication with their escort, dreading the treacherous nature of the savages; and when the three Indians approached, Ethan promptly placed himself in a defensive attitude. Though the escort continued to yell, they did not offer to attack the voyagers. They stopped on the bank of the river, where the bateau lay. One of them dismounted, and leaped into the boat. With his scalping-knife he cut the bonds of Wahena, and taking the boy in his arms, bounded to the shore again.

Ethan's heart sank within him, when he saw that the captive, upon whose presence he had relied for the safety of the party, was wrested from them. Rushing forward with his rifle, he took aim at Wahena, disregarding the earnest remonstrances of Rattleshag.

"No shoot! no shoot!" exclaimed one of the savages—the one who had before acted as Lean Bear's messenger. "No kill, no hurt."

"Don't fire," pleaded Fanny. "If you should kill Wahena, they would butcher us all."

The Indian boy saw her as she stepped forward, and immediately began to talk in the most earnest manner to the savage who held him.

"No hurt!" shouted the spokesman of the Indians. "You go—no kill; no kill, no hurt."

Wahena, after struggling for some time with the brawny savage who held him, escaped from his grasp, and, to the surprise of the voyagers, rushed over to the spot where Fanny stood. Seizing her hand, he shook it warmly, and then began a series of violent gesticulations, which were at first unintelligible. He dropped on his knees, clasped his hands, looked up to the sky, and then beat his breast. He pointed to the boat, intimating by his signs that she was to go on board. She obeyed, and was followed by Ethan and the trapper. The party stepped on board, and to the astonishment of all, Wahena followed them, and took the seat he had occupied during the voyage.

Ethan and Rattleshag pushed off, and when the bateau began to move down the river, Wahena shouted to the Indians, and pointed down the river, indicating that they were to follow, as they had done before. The Indian boy's signs on shore were now interpreted to be an expression of his gratitude to Fanny for her kindness to him, and a prayer to the Great Spirit for her safety.

If the party in the boat were surprised at the singular conduct of Wahena, the Indians on shore were still more astonished; but he spoke a language which they could understand, and they sullenly resumed their march down the river.

The captive was now treated as a friend. Though he could not have known what the contract between his father and the voyagers had been, except so far as he had learned it from the subsequent events, he had voluntarily surrendered himself, and insisted upon seeing Fanny conveyed to a place of safety. Almost every day while they had been on the island, she had sung her sweet songs to Wahena, and he had listened to them with rapt attention. As the boat slowly went its way, he begged her by signs to sing, and she complied. He expressed his pleasure, which was shared by Ethan and Rattleshag, by the most eloquent signs.

During the day, Ethan and Rattleshag slept, while Fanny steered the boat. Wahena, no longer in bonds, kept close to her. He intimated in his dumb language that he wanted to take the helm, and gently took the tiller from her. He was soon proficient in steering, for there was now nothing to do but keep the boat in the middle of the river, and occasionally to trim the sail.

At night Fanny and Wahena went to sleep again, and the management of the boat was divided between Ethan and the trapper. The next morning the bateau had entered the Big Woods, and the sail was nearly useless, for the forest obstructed the wind, and the voyagers were mainly dependent upon the current of the river for the little progress they made; but on the afternoon of the third day of the journey, they came in sight of a town, which Rattleshag said was not more than twelve miles from Mankato. The Indian escort then hailed the boat.

"No go more," said the spokesman.

"I reckon 'twon't be safe for 'em to go any further," added Rattleshag.

Fanny ran the boat up to the shore, and Ethan, always dreading the treachery of the savages, kept his gun and revolver in readiness for immediate use. The time had come for Wahena to take leave of the party. He was profoundly affected at the thought of bidding adieu to Fanny; he did not appear to like Ethan or the trapper. He pressed her hand, looked very sad, and made his demonstrative gestures. She kissed him on the cheek, pointed up to the sky, and laid her hands upon his head. If she could have spoken to him, she would have expressed the wish that he would abandon the savage life of his people, and become a true man; and she would have been glad to teach him the religion of the Saviour, now so dear to her, and to show him how to hope and have.

Wahena turned slowly and sadly away from her, and walked to the Indians who were waiting for him. A stout fellow lifted him on the horse in front of him, and dashed away; but Fanny could see him trying to obtain a last view of her, as the savages entered the forest. She missed him very much as the boat continued on her course. The Indian boy was much attached to her, and she found herself much interested in him. She has not seen him since they parted, and probably they never will meet again in this world; but her blessing will go with him, and perhaps her gentle influence will soften his savage nature, and be reflected in his kindness to the white people with whom he may come in contact.

At sundown the bateau passed into the Minnesota, and at dark the party landed at Mankato, only three miles below the mouth of the Blue Earth, on which the last part of the voyage had been made.

We need not say that the party found plenty of warm friends; for when it was known that they were fugitives from the Indian massacre, every house and every heart was open to them. Troops in large numbers had gone forward for the suppression of the insurrection, and confidence was in a great measure restored. The place was full of people who had escaped, and the savages were being captured and sent hither for trial.

The party were accommodated at the house of a trader, who supplied them with all they wanted, both of food and clothing. It was now time to think of the future. By the merciful interposition of Providence, the exiles had been saved from death and captivity; but they had no home, and no relations. Fanny knew what a warm welcome awaited her at Woodville, and she was desirous of going there; but she had no money to pay for such a long journey. She mentioned her wish to the trader, and he promptly offered to advance her a sufficient sum to enable her and Ethan to reach their destination.

"Where are you going, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny, when her own and Ethan's future movements had been arranged.

"I dunno."

"Why don't you join the sogers, and help put down the Injins?" asked Ethan. "You are a dead shot, and they'd like to hev you."

"I can't do thet," replied Rattleshag, shaking his head.

"Why not? They want all the good men they kin git, and you'd be wuth a heap to 'em, for you know all about the Injins,—whar to find 'em, and how to trap 'em," added Ethan, with considerable warmth; and he was a little inclined to offer his own services.

"The Injins hes allers ben my friends, and I don't want to help kill 'em. They've ben abused, and thet's what made 'em rise up agin the whites. They've ben cheated out of their land, and then cheated out of the money they ought to hev fur it. I pity 'em, and I shan't help kill 'em. I shall go back to the woods when the fightin' 's over, and live like I allers did."

The next day Ethan and Fanny shook hands with Rattleshag, and bidding him a cordial good by, started upon their long journey to the eastward. The prairie boy was greatly excited at the prospect of seeing the great cities of the country through which he was to pass. On cars and steamers where it was known that the boy and girl were refugees from the great Indian massacre, they were the lions of the hour. They were often called upon to tell their story of peril and death, and every one was kind and generous to them. They were frequently invited to private houses on the journey; but they declined all invitations, and hurried on as fast as steam could convey them to their destination, and arrived at Woodville without even stopping to sleep a night on the way.

Mrs. Green gave the exiles a motherly welcome. The fact that the massacre had extended to the settlement where Fanny's uncle resided had been published in the newspapers, and the housekeeper and servants believed that she had been one of its victims. She was welcomed, therefore, as one who had come from the grave. Ethan was regarded as a hero at the mansion and in its vicinity, and became a person of no little distinction.

Ethan French was a young man of no little manliness and independence. After he had spent a week in idleness, and had told the story of his escape from the Indians till it had become tiresome to him, he began to look about him for a situation in which he could earn his own living. But Mrs. Green induced him to remain at Woodville until the return of Mr. Grant; and he worked in the garden and stable.

Without waiting for instructions from Mr. Grant, the housekeeper forwarded to the kind-hearted trader the sum of money which he had advanced to pay the expenses of Fanny and Ethan from Mankato to Woodville. The money was accompanied by a letter of thanks from Fanny.

In November, the family returned from Europe. Mrs. Green had already informed them by letter of the safety, and of the arrival at Woodville, of Fanny Jane, as she was called in the house. Mr. Grant and his daughters had suffered a great deal of anxiety on her account, after they read the intelligence of the massacre, and they were heartily rejoiced to meet her again, after believing for months that she was dead, or worse than dead—a captive in the hands of the barbarous Indians.

Ethan, awkward and unaccustomed to good society, was overwhelmed by the kindness of what he called the "grand people." He was invited into the drawing-room, and from him and Fanny a very correct account of their adventures was obtained.

"Fanny Jane, I can hardly believe you are the same girl I had in my charge," exclaimed Miss Fanny, when both stories had been told and discussed.

"But I am," said the orphan girl, with a blush.

"I am sure none of us would have behaved so well in the midst of such trials," added Mrs. Sherwood. "It is terrible to think of."

"You cannot tell how thankful I am that all this happened after my visit to New York," continued the returned wanderer. "I could not, if I would, banish from my thoughts the image of Jenny Kent, who led me to believe in truth and goodness, and to strive to live for them."

"I should hev been skeered to death ef't hadn't been for Fanny. She was so good that she made me feel strong."

"And this is our Fanny Jane!" added Mr. Grant.

"I have tried to be good all the time," replied Fanny, wiping away a tear she could not repress.

"And you hev been!" ejaculated Ethan, with emphasis. "Creation hokee! nobody couldn't do no better, nohow!"

The family could not help laughing at the earnestness of Ethan.

"She's been the makin' o' me, ef I ever do come out anywhere," he continued.

"I have taught him to believe in goodness, to hope for it, and then labor to have it," said Fanny Jane.

"Hope and have," added Miss Fanny.

Mr. Grant promptly decided that Ethan's greatest need was a better education, and the prairie boy went to school with Fanny during the following winter. In the spring he talked like a civilized being; did not say "hyer" for here, nor "kim" for come, and has banished "creation hokee" from the list of his pet phrases. In the summer he went to learn the trade of a machinist, for which he has decided taste and ability, and the prospect is, that he will become a good and useful man, if not a brilliant one.

Mrs. Kent's husband returned home during Fanny's absence, having been "sick and in prison" in the rebel country. When he had drawn his pay, he insisted upon returning to Mr. Grant the sums advanced to his wife by her kind friends; but they persistently refused to accept them. He wept over his lost child, and thanked God for raising up such friends for her while he was absent.

Fanny still resides at Woodville; and having now completed her school course, she assists Mrs. Green in the management of the house. She is still true to her high resolves; still wears the emblematic anchor, and strives to be as pure and good as Jenny was. She occasionally visits the grave of her departed young friend, and always gathers new inspiration and new strength for the battle of life, as she reads on the marble tablet her dying words—Hope and Have.