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-J^-^ir:==«>-?=Nefe=i'F-^ar-=^= -- 
 
•w^ 
 
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 ^^H 
 
 CANADIAN IDYLS. 
 
 PONTIAC 
 
 ■AND- 
 
 BUSHY RUN 
 
 — HKKai"©«>'0*— — 
 
 By Wm. KIRBY. 
 
 — •^''^<w^/\AAAA^AA/^A<^-w— 
 
 NIAGARA, 1887. 
 
170528 
 
 ..^,^„Ka-w-:t^ .wiwn- w n»iigiiw« Ji i M 
 
 mma 
 
 - I 
 
 MM 
 
CAN AM AN IDYLS. 
 
 ,A.D. 1763 
 
 Kichi Metlg Koralg, tbe r^t^k tree 
 Renowned through all Algonquin tribes and tongn^ 
 80 great that three men's ar^s scarce fathom rotmd 
 It« ma«ive trunk seamed by i. thousand years. 
 So high, the rain clouds br^ealt upon its top, 
 And faU in showera of blessiPR on the land. 
 The home of Manitou in days of old, 
 Men say it was, whence holy voices came, 
 To teach our warring tribes to live in peace. 
 And fixed the bounds of every nation fast 
 By river, lake or Wfty mowtala range; 
 For all the land was ours in those good days, 
 
 With none to covet what was not their owti- 
 
 The curse <rf riches WJS to us unknown. 
 
 Those days are gone, tnd still the old tree rt*«d. 
 
 In solitary state, Mng of the w<wdB 
 
 Which from his acorns g^w, mA fence him rwand 
 
 With guard more stubborn i^n i*e fiercest wteds 
 
 Which sweep in tempests o'er tlbe Huron sea. 
 
 Up in the groining of its gvmb boughs 
 Each by itseM a tiee - a hollo v conch 
 Spacious and easy, with soft m^^snem lined 
 By Nature's hMid, framed ages It ng ago, 
 Had raeen the bed where pur old Swhems came 
 
 Worn out wltfe age and travail, council vexed. 
 With a full gourd of water, all they craved 
 Besid*. them, as they e^mij l»y them down, 
 
2 
 
 In their lost journey to th« Bplrit land 
 With Manltou communing MM they died. 
 
 Kichi Metig Koraig the great oak tre#t. 
 White Ermine said, and with hia bronfed hand 
 Touched Clifford on the knee; " When fourecore year^ 
 The fulnew of our llvee, have come and gone, 
 And 8oon for me the number will be full, 
 Qlad I ahall be to see the spirit land 
 Which aU my life hne been »o near to me, 
 Uneeeu but not unfelt, »« when the blind 
 Hold f aet and know the thing they cannot eee, 
 When from the womb of death a man ia bom 
 To hia new life, to daya more beautiful 
 Than thMe hia mother in her joyouo hour 
 Thought nothing l»tter when her child waa bom — 
 When fourscore yeara have told their weary tale 
 And I become a burthen to my tribe — 
 My loving aona who fain would answer: " Nay!" 
 Shall beai me to that ancient tree t>o die, 
 In that old couch — end place my beat canoe 
 And awifteat piddle ready on the beach 
 For my departure to the spirit land. 
 With three daya rowing ~ on, and on and on, 
 Until the happy hunting grounds I reach 
 Where dwell in peace and plenty, in a wide 
 Fret land their own, beloved of Manitou 
 The aonla *f all my people evermore." 
 
 CSiffcrd replied and laid a gentle hand 
 Upon the chief: " I know the ar.clent tree. 
 Landmark of c^ea in the Huron woods! 
 And in its mystic couch I dared to sleep 
 Once, when beleagured, weary but not lost, 
 I sought the shelter of its rustling boughs 
 Which all night murmured llkti a tossing sea. 
 1 heard strange voicea in the canopy 
 Of leavea above — a presence — and a life 
 That touched another^world, while every leef 
 Seemed animate with aomething that conveyed 
 A meaaage full of strangeness from a world 
 More real than this — the cause of causea here — 
 Aa onr young poet in this old book wrote, 
 Where life la in its primaries, and light 
 OreatesthelBplrituai forms of thiwgB 
 Whose shadows only upon earth we see. 
 
 I felt profoundly in that haunted couch 
 

 The prMenoe of th« myrtary — tht ■ootid 
 
 Of wordp I ondentood not, in the wind, 
 
 The etghing and the toothing of the pain 
 
 Of mortal life, no loAger lonely, when 
 
 God's Kingdom touohee u«, and htjaren'e cm* 
 
 la felt more close than our own thooghte. The world 
 
 Is all a mirror of humcnity, 
 
 Reflections -- our yoant: poet wisely says - 
 
 Of things Bubetantial, spiritual, red. 
 
 Man rairrored In creation,>verywhere 
 
 May «ee himself as in his soul he Ik, 
 
 In broiten lights and images awry 
 
 That still 'wepeak hie origin divine. 
 
 And so that gTeat.oak tree was said^of 'id 
 
 And still believed to be the trysting plR«e 
 
 For men and spirit* never far apart — 
 
 In that dim border land of dark and light 
 
 Flashed through with visions of prophetic sight." 
 
 Old CU«toi-d spake with eaae the Algonquin tongue. 
 The fullness of its soft expressive words 
 Linked in long syllables that in and out 
 Unfold a world of meaning subtle, clear 
 And fresh with nativeilmagery, to him 
 Was like a draught of wine to stimulate, 
 As he the Chiefs remarks intarpreted 
 For sake of May and all the eager ears 
 That listened round, to learn the stirring tale 
 Of things not far that happened long ago. 
 
 Sometimes In English, broken, fragmentary, 
 The Chief addrr md them, as they knelt or lay 
 Upon the grass beside the witness-stone. 
 The broad majestic river full of light 
 Flowed by In silence - where alone was heard 
 The refluent eddy lapping on the rocks 
 Of narrow footing uridemeath the cliflto 
 Where few go down - or venturing in the stream 
 Not all return. The stoutest swimmer falls 
 Caught by the jealous cun-ent, should he chance 
 To. cast afdde the talisman 6f cftre, 
 And bare his breast to meet Niagara there. 
 
 The Chief sat very, uplift, hla long pipe 
 Lay smouldering ^n his knee. His thin bronzed hand, 
 iiarked with old scars, uplifted noW and then 
 An open palm, or dngle finger, alf 
 The gestur-, that accompanied his tale. 
 
 Baid he: " Yohng men and maidens, hear me tell 
 
 • I 
 
 'V 
 
 i: 
 
IM 
 
 A ttory nigh forgfrttwi, in » worUl 
 
 Where noon forgste it« mormiag - ■•ve bf m 
 
 Of Indian race who will fcwRSt H nevar. 
 
 ThM8 tdteii are alk ia left, u» of the ii«rti 
 
 Of mighty %ibea mmI raa* conteAmmim 
 
 Now imnk In dark oW*vkm and unknown, 
 
 Bare to a v^mnant on i.he very verge 
 
 Of lands once their* — a waatinn number now 
 
 That inelte like unow in April, in tiMJd^t 
 
 Of muitltudes of jaen of every rnoe 
 
 But oura, the ancient children of the eoU. 
 
 In vain we plead, and give and still give more, 
 
 And pray for common Jwti^w — eneh auGod 
 
 Han thundered In comniandments to tho«e men 
 
 Who »y they worship Him, and violate, 
 
 For greed of l«id^ not theirs Hi« eolenm laws- 
 
 Who force upon ub treaties: and before 
 
 The Ink in dry upon them, with their nnmen, 
 
 \ -rit in dishonour — slxame not to renounce 
 
 Their loudest promisee — and broadwrt sealc; 
 
 Not sacred like «b« humble toteme we 
 
 tJncouthly sign, as witnewHw of truth, 
 
 And which we never bi-eak to Gtod or man. 
 
 In vain we plead their treattes — never one 
 
 Was kept by them unbroken; nor wiH be 
 
 So long as we have lands, or plaoe t© dwell. 
 
 Or graves where Ue our kindred — wh*oh these men 
 
 Covet the more, the m«w« we -wish to keep. 
 
 In this Dominion only — Ood be praised! 
 
 Old English law ai»d jiwtioe, and the rights 
 
 Of every man are sacredly maintained 
 
 Here conscience lives, and the bright covenant chalm 
 
 Were never broken with the bklian tribes. 
 
 We grow and i^-osfier, and nnenvied rira, 
 
 And in the socisd laoa win amny a prise. 
 
 Our wigwams elMK«e to Jkotues, * f&od and stone; 
 
 Our iereiiiB torn to fields^ «nr n^ardeas glow 
 
 With fruits and Aowen ~ oui" barsM are full of «om ; 
 
 The cJrtMfi in oar panterea '. -flM repay 
 
 The mighty game we hunted with the boar 
 
 In our wlld/dsys «f lree*)m imig afso. 
 Now casting off the skins and mantles rude 
 Of our old life, we don .the seemly gsjb 
 Of Christian men and women, worship Ood 
 And make the laws that govwn us, and st«id 
 Not wards, but fi-eemen of this glorious faM. 
 
 Now listen to my tale, and you shall hear 
 What hf^rpened i» thatgreal eventftd year. 
 
 •v... 
 
 uiiiiiiiiiifilri^^ 
 
"Ffru in the warlike <Uiy« of ronttac, 
 
 When all the Weetera landi, forest aqiI ntreain, 
 
 Prftirle «nd lake and muantain, all were oura, 
 
 With undisputed right. The Ohio — 
 
 Which, drlnkiug up ^ hundred streams rolls oa, 
 
 Proud of its fullness, the great river tilled 
 
 In all our tongt es, It westward led the way 
 
 Towards the happy hunting grounds, beyond 
 
 The far horiions of the sunset haul 
 
 Alas I with wider knowledge we have found 
 
 Them never nemx&t than the woitarn seas, 
 
 The ocean deep and oliils where ends the world. 
 
 But all the land was ours - from Erie sea 
 
 To the great lake where roved the Chippaways, 
 
 Pishen and warriors they, whone bark canoes 
 
 Of flexile birch danced lightly on the waves, 
 
 And shot the rapids of the Sanlt that swarmed 
 
 With shoals of silvery whiteflsh all the year. 
 
 The roviug Chippaways in sunoimer loved 
 
 The pictured rocks and bays, where looking down 
 
 Five spears in depth beneath tbi 3 crystal wave 
 
 They saw the moving shoals of glistening flsh 
 
 Fanning their shadows on the silver sands. 
 
 In that sad year, the latest of our life 
 Of forest freedom, there was heard a voice 
 Out of the Great Oak Tree. A roar of leaves, 
 In all jits boughs, like touguos foi*eboding woe 
 And war and tumult in the Indian laud. 
 The ghosts of warriors in the midnight woods. 
 Cried wildly: "All Is lost I Down by the sea 
 Onontio rulM no more! And proud Quebec, 
 The wall girt city long besieged in vain, 
 Falls now in English hands the prize of war." 
 It was not long, ere came with breathless haste 
 Our Indian runners laden down with woe. 
 Quebec had fallen I and then Montreal! 
 And then Onontio, and all his men 
 Were prisoners of the mighty Sagaaosh, 
 The red coat warriors of the English King. 
 The King of France had sealed a peac^ of shame, 
 Not daring he to cUe, as Kings should die, 
 Without dishonour, but had yielded up 
 Our tribes, our lands, our afl, for sake of peace 
 To save himself and nation from the sword 
 Of England's vengeance striking every where. 
 
 We scorned the King of France for giving up 
 What was not his to give — this land of ours. 
 
6 
 
 Ours from uncounted centuries, yea oun 
 Since first our fathers from the hardy north 
 Came down upon the soft hixurions race 
 Corrupt with riches and unmanned with vice, 
 Who built the alfcur-moundB upon the plains 
 And offered sacrifices foul, of men 
 And boys and maidens, till our fathers came 
 With spears of jnstice, and in storms of wrath 
 Drove back the impious race to their, own land 
 Down by the Qulf and Carribean Sea. 
 The King of Prance gave up oui" land, not we, 
 And when the English and our ancient foes 
 The Iroquois came up to old Detroit 
 And on its rampaiis with salute of guniH 
 Displayed the coloura of the English King, 
 And pulled the white flag of the Bourbons down, 
 Then rose a storm of wrath within our tribes. 
 Chief Pcntiac in secret fanned the flame, 
 Held midpight councils to retake Detroit, 
 And all the forts throughout the western wilds. 
 Master of eloquence his tongue could charm 
 Thu beasts in human breasts; his bitter foes 
 Of hostile tribes he reconciled and brought 
 To fight his battles and their own, against 
 Thd English garrison*) which held them down. 
 
 All change of time and seasons were alike 
 To Pontiac. He travelled far and wide 
 To bring the tribes into his schemes of war. 
 The distant nations of the prairies, heard 
 The summons and on horses bridleless 
 Came with their feathered spears and twanging bows. 
 The strong armed Chippaways whose bark canoeq 
 Skim the gi eat lakes and far as water runs 
 Encamp beside the rivers of the north; 
 The tribes of varied moccassin and name 
 Whose war patlis cross Ohio's turbid stream, 
 Miamies, D jlawares, and proud Shawnese 
 Tribes hated of the Iroquois, and held 
 lit thraldom, now revolted in the hope 
 To tii.d their freedom und^* Pontiac. 
 With shaven heads the Sacs and Foxes came, 
 Their one defiant lock flaunting in piide; 
 Th3 wild Sioux with long dishevelled hair 
 And brawny'hJ-easts^and arms and shoulders bare. 
 Band after band the various warriors came, 
 And seated in the woods^eside Detroit 
 In solemn council, in his mother tongue 
 Each heard the wwUke words of Pontiac 
 
 jMM 
 
A chief of ancient lineage, might have be«n 
 
 Descended fi-om the Gk)dB, bo full was he 
 
 Of thoughts and aspirations elevate 
 
 Above the level of the herd of men; 
 
 Yet sharing all their paasions, pride, revenge 
 
 Love of their own, and jealousy of all 
 
 Whose shadows crossed the boundaries of the tribe. 
 
 The vacuous wilderness of Empire theirs. 
 
 Implatiable, ungenerous to a foe, 
 
 Yet full of softness by his own lodge Are 
 
 And in the councils of his tribal kin. 
 
 Was Pontiac — but nervously alive 
 
 To every toxich his bare bronzed bosom felt 
 
 Of inborn hate against the Saganosh. 
 
 His half shut eyes were full of angry fires 
 
 Implacable, his features aquiline. 
 
 Clean cut from brow to chin, and hard thin lips 
 
 Compressed habitually and locked to speech, 
 
 Marked Pontiac. Even in the council dumb, 
 
 Until with lights volcanic flashed his eyes, 
 
 And then the long pent flood of words broke forth 
 
 Like the upbreaking of a winter stream. 
 
 Swelling and bursting through its icy bonds. 
 
 And carrying all before it in its rage. 
 
 Master of eloquence right well he knew 
 By nature all the rhetoric of the heai-t. 
 Suiting]hls theme, his heajers and himself, 
 His words in native imagery fell 
 Like showers of Are from burning pin«s, or else 
 Like drops of dew upon the grassy mead. 
 Persuading men to all things as he would. 
 The eagle winged and soaring Pontiac! 
 Even better than he knew spake Pontiac, 
 In words the wreck of an Archaic ^e. 
 Words cut and polisL i like the sculptured stones 
 Of mystic import found in sandy heaps 
 Of what was Ninevah, the ancient lore 
 Of nations and of tongues before the flood. 
 For when the old world vanished by degrees 
 Of slow mlUeniums, and the parent race 
 Of;thl8 the oldest contlnenl^of all, 
 Once civilized and great, a noble tongue. 
 Rich, full of .meaning, copious, silver-hinged 
 In its articulations, and with sounds 
 Harmonious in Its vowels, as the belk 
 That chime in old cathedral towers at home, 
 In York or Canterbuiy's holy fane. 
 This ancient speech was nobler than the thoughts 
 
 
8 
 
 0£ the degenerate race who speak It now, 
 And in a hundred languages express 
 Their thoaghto in words Demosthenes had loved 
 Had he but known it — ^ the Atlantis speech. 
 
 The nations met in council and were filled 
 With Pontiac's hot foaming eloquence. 
 They leaped in eager hope to his full height 
 Of bold assurance, that the Indian land 
 By the encroaching English seized and held 
 Would be retaken, and with such revenge 
 As would the furies of the wilderness 
 Their wildest women glut and satiate. 
 
 Then to a chosen few he showed his plans^ 
 Revealed in dreams, he said, to more impress 
 The inborn awe that makes the Indian race 
 Of easy faith to men of cunning mind 
 Who practice on them in the name of Gk)d. 
 " It has been told me by the Manitou 
 Who made i;his world and gave us here to live 
 That all those English forts throughout the west, 
 Detroit and Mackinaw, with all the rest, 
 Shall on one day be taken and destroyed 
 With every living thing, man, woman, child. 
 And not one left to breathe our native air 
 Which they suck up from us — our breasts with it 
 We cannot flU. Crowded on every side 
 We die for want of freedom and of air, 
 Like Buffalo empounded on the plains, 
 With hunters spearing them on every side. 
 
 Niagara's stony walls had haunted long, 
 Too long, with their pale shadows looking down 
 Into thy depths and shoals, Ontario^ 
 While Fort Du Quesne sat masterful upon 
 The parted head of fair Ohio's stream. 
 Ohio fair — our own deai* stream no morel 
 The land of ancient truce, and constant peace 
 Where every nation came to chase the game 
 And eat together from the ample dish 
 Of linden wood made by the Manitou, 
 And in a lodge of peace was set for us 
 To feast in brotherhood of all the tribes — 
 \. quiet land before the white men came. 
 
 These English forts and settlements — Detroit, 
 Venango and Presque Isle and Mackinaw 
 Shall fli-st be taken, and on one set day 
 Shall be played for and won — rnd in this way." 
 Then Pontiac held up in sight of «dl 
 
The wondwfaj g i w i kt% anilMae^vv * M^ 
 
 filack flecked wittt red. He wUtted it ioHtm ttt 
 
 And caught it nimbly ere it toadMdi tb* gnMad^ 
 
 Andcriwl, » Wlwn I ■halt to« this f ati^ twtt 
 
 Upon the ktmb bofor* Doferoitto play 
 
 For all the lives of all the Saganosh 
 
 In that great game of ours, Bagataway. 
 
 When through the open gates this ball is driven 
 
 A thousand warriors armed into the Fort 
 
 In sudden rush, shall follow it, and raise 
 
 Their wildest war cry — and above, below, 
 
 And everywhere throughout the startled fort, 
 
 iVom deepest trench to highest rampart, looa* 
 
 Upon the garrison suspecting naught. 
 
 Our armed tribes shall rush by thousands in 
 
 And smite and spare not until all are slain. 
 
 Those English forts shall vanish off the earth 
 
 And in their place our quiet lodges rise. 
 
 The grass shall grow agaiu — our blue soft grass. 
 
 And flowers, not those we know and cannot Dame> 
 
 The weeds that follow on the white man's steps, 
 
 Strange to our soil as he — b«t tiiose our ghda 
 
 Delight to plait into their safcte kair. 
 
 Our triUama, Tiolatft and rtmj bdla 
 
 Will reappear anA fiB our ivoodi again. 
 
 9 
 
 Be cautious then, and don't yourselvea bekiky 
 By word or look — your faces as of wood 
 Shall not reveal a trace of what's within 
 The bloody piurpose of that fatal day. 
 Detroit in strength of walls, cannot be won 
 Except by guile, caught in a thoughtless hour 
 Of false security. The grand old play 
 That tests men's speed and vigour, most be plcyad 
 While look the unarmed soldiers idly on 
 And none Buq;>ect the prise for which we play." 
 A calumet was filled, and then in clouds 
 Of curling smoke from band to hand was passed, 
 And all togeth«r planned the scheme of yrar; 
 And every English fort throughout the west 
 Wasdoomed to dire destruction. One by one 
 The chiefs took up the sable belt and pledged 
 Bach one his clan to follow Pontiac — 
 Accepted as their own the bloody plot. 
 At every post to play Bagataway. 
 
 Then all dispersed, each to bis several tribe, 
 And for a time a solemn dleuce filled 
 The expectant fm-Mts with a creeping awel 
 
10 
 
 While the f eU plot was hatching, not a Bifpn 
 
 Bj' loeii or word betrayed to eye or ear 
 
 Of the confiding Bnglish, over bold 
 
 In their own strength and soomf ol of their foe, 
 
 The great impending danger they were in." 
 
 White Ermine stopped his narrative and spake: 
 " I care not to recite in Indian tongue, 
 And English leas, what followed on the day 
 When all the nations rose throughout the west 
 To slay the Saganosh and all their kin. 
 'Twere better read out of the poet's book 
 Who learned from you and me the bloody tale 
 Of Mackinaw, Venango and Presque Isle; 
 And of the things that happened at Detroit 
 Where Pontiac himself, for one whole year 
 Raged like a war-god round the garrison, 
 Foiled by the stubborn English, and their chief 
 The gallant Qladwyn, warned in timely hour 
 Of his grea danger by an Indian girl, 
 As you shall find in those true pages writ." 
 
 " Well say you I dear old friend!" Gtittord replied, 
 " The girls would rather hear the poet's tale 
 Than our hard prosing; for we should not spare 
 A word for sake of sentiment or love. 
 To round a story in their heai-ts to fit 
 Would not be like the honest Indian speech. 
 So we will read the tale the poet wrote, 
 Blown out to full proportion and perfumed. 
 Like a June rose the girls delight to wear 
 In the thick tresses of their comely hair. 
 But you look grave, White Ermine 1 It were best 
 Not read this tale of blood from old Detroit. 
 Your father was a chief among the rest 
 Who thought it right to follow Pontiac. 
 But you more luckily lived to see the day 
 Of peace and happiness 'neath England's sway." 
 
 '• A^l that is true of me," White Ermine said, 
 •' I only doubt the praise your friendship gives. 
 I doubt myself full often, and I ask 
 Help of my Lord to keep me what I am. 
 I was a warrior once, and do not know 
 How far I could be generous and deny 
 My Indian nature, for we are not made 
 Like you to lavish English, who forgive 
 Your bitterest foes, who unrepentant live 
 
 A t)/1 OAaV^ 1ff/%m* tlol^^A tlttffnn'n ^%trav«4-K«>n«^ 
 
 But I am what Ood makes me, and I know 
 
11 
 
 His grace has lifted me above mjrrolf, 
 And taught me mercy to a fallen foe 
 Once mercilefis, and lore of open way* 
 liWmed from you English. It was once not to 
 When in our native savagery, we fought, 
 Loved secret blows and ambush In the woods 
 And cruel vengeance on our captives. Then 
 We thought it honour in the dark outside 
 A midnight lodge where dwelt a hated foe, 
 To strike him dead as he came oat the door, 
 Suspecting no one near, and heedless quite 
 Of danger to himself and children dear. 
 
 I tremble when I think of what we were 
 Before Christ's teaching in the Oospel came 
 Like sunrise streaming o'er our Indian land. 
 And now I feel humility — not pride — 
 Put off old haughtiness and strive to bear 
 Christ's yoke with patience, and I trust with love, 
 And ever humbly pray my gracious Lord 
 To lead me not into temptation's path. 
 But from the evil to deliver me.' 
 When you and I were young, and side by side 
 Fought in our land's defence with gallant Brock, 
 You were more choice of methods — I of ends. 
 We both together won the silver prise 
 We wear for old Detroit, a second time 
 Possessed by conquest under England's sword 
 Wielded by Brock, and brave Tecumseh's spear, 
 Which never failed him, striking far or near. 
 But you care not for praises; nay, yon flinch 
 Before my words," the Indian sold and smiled. 
 
 " Nay, good White Ermine, I did scarcely flinch; 
 A fly just bit my ear, and that was aU! 
 But we will read the story If you wish 
 Out of the book. Seu-ch for the page, dear May ! 
 But on it rests your flnger, I'll be bound I 
 I Mfely might have guessed it would be found 
 Just where he wrote it pn one summer day. 
 Tour mother sat beside him, and his name 
 In his bs^ki h«id, at her request he traced, 
 And nuL a letter of it is effaced." 
 
 May flushed up rosy red, and gave the book 
 Wide open at the page began the tale. 
 " I care not for it," said she, " In the way 
 You apeak of. Uncle 1 Only I admire 
 xuc luuiou (5111 wuu HMvea uevrom ana ail 
 The precious lives within it — not I hope 
 
 a,E:N?»"»; 
 
 ,A^ 
 
13 
 
 For love of one Omt, htAtmlOm sato 
 
 Of her dear Lord, «■# flanliii", im 
 
 And yet, and yMf May wJMi^cred to iHnnnir— 
 
 If 'twaa tor kyv* of en» iKh» hammrtd low 
 
 And gave in flolAHi wn—iia taNic agiim, 
 
 MakLag a woouB fiik te Mif eaiMn, 
 
 To tUnk kMr lova is Tiria kiul not boot gfven, 
 
 Itoo, couldlwaslmitrvMalM — Itoo, 
 
 Could give^ttia w«rid or lorw «^ all for loT»r 
 
 Old CllffovA ipMRsd her fthoai^rli^ tmi BotMnf tptAe, 
 He took thp book luid with & fis^fw^ raised 
 Imprened npou them idlence, and the tale 
 Of Pontiao began. How on the eve 
 Before the Aiy set for the fatal blow 
 A thousand warriors came brfore Detroit 
 And pitched thefir lodges by the river side. 
 Their stalwart limb* like statuary bar«, 
 Agile a« aatelopet aod strong as tiUtgt 
 Lay stretched arotnid tlieir ilres awaitinf day 
 That was to open with Bc^atawb/. 
 
 The carehns Englfsfa, scornful in their strength, 
 Took MtM© heed of treachery: all slept well 
 Within the fort, except the vigilant 
 And moving sentinels upon the walls. 
 But none suspected danger — least of aB 
 Was Poutiac suspected or his plot. 
 And so th^ slept and dreamed but of the {day 
 Was to be played opon the green next day, 
 For stakes the greatest ever set, they said; 
 Qreat pfles of ftirs worth thousands, and a girt 
 The loveliert of all the Indian maids — 
 Of kin to Pontiae — with face and eyes. 
 And figure like a goddess cast in bronxe. 
 They sighed to think it was for some red hand 
 And not for them to play for such a maid 
 As dimmed the sunbeams in the forest glade. 
 
 In one far comer of the Indian camp, 
 Out of a lonely lodge at midnight hoar. 
 An Indian girl evadin||^ eyes that watched 
 And ears that listened sharper than a woirs, 
 Under the cloud of night, i^om bnOce to brake. 
 Silent as her own shadow, swiftly ran 
 Towards the walls of old Detroit, wh^e slept 
 The English commaudant who held her heart 
 Fast in his keepkag -— faster than hear love 
 For Pontiac or all her dusky kin. 
 
13 
 
 The senMnelfl upon the waUs, *' MPs well!" 
 Cried out from one to other aa she ran 
 From bush to bush unseen, without « sound 
 Of breaking twig or rustUng leikf, so light 
 And noiselAsdy she paamd and almost touched j 
 The heedlMssffii^ry on hisroidKight watch^ 
 Who naught mupeoted, wiMbltttgtor the uuhtd. 
 
 She knew the patii that led to Gladwyn's tmtt^ 
 E8cap<'-d all challenge, and beside his couch 
 Her slender form by all the graces shaped 
 Unmantled stood before the commandant. . 
 She woke hira with a touch, and he beheld < 
 Full in the light of pine-knots heaped ablaxe, - 
 •The maid in robe of blue and scarlet, gay, 
 Close fitting, beaded and with knots to spare 
 Of golden fringes, from her dainty foot, 
 Well mocassined, up to her braided hair, 
 Of ebon blackness i*eaching to hor knees. 
 Her brilliant eyes illuminate with love 
 Shone out in stolen glances, never full 
 But shy and modest, as upon a bongh 
 This way and that, half timid and yet bold, 
 A restleffl squirrel eywi yon through and through. 
 
 " Qlildwynl" she cried, " you sleep unto your death! 
 Unto your death and mine, for Pontiac 
 Will set tomorrow mom a thousand men 
 To play Bi^ataway for all your lives! 
 And I shall be set up, just as you see, 
 With all these ornaments, to be the prize 
 Of him who first shall strike the bounding ball 
 Into your open gate, and lead the rush 
 Of armed warriors In to seise your fort 
 And kill all living creatures of your race. 
 To-morrow morning when the game is set. 
 And all your men are out to see the play. 
 False Fontiae, with feigned smile, will say: 
 •' Come, sit by me, great chief of Sa^moshL 
 And we will watch the game, while all your men 
 Recline in peace unarmed upon the grass, 
 To see the sport and wager as they will." 
 
 The commandant stood up, " My Indian giil 
 Will not deceive me, for I know her well! 
 I have not perfect faith in Pontiac, 
 But his deceit Is deeper thaa I thought, 
 
 T'f V\ft \\4na y\t*r\tm *v\%^ 4-\tin v-tl^-vf 4:n. »fW4%V% O VtaOjl 
 
 I would not and I do not fear him ought;" 
 
 
 HHHimiii 
 
 ■HMIIilMII 
 
 _gllg_^^ 
 
'mm ^'^' 
 
 14 
 
 " Bui O beMeve him not! my Oladwyn, nol 
 I know his counsels long and long ago I" 
 She cried in anguish. " It is all a lure 
 To draw you from the walls — you are the pHae, 
 You and your men they play fori Be forewarned. 
 Keep shut your gatm, for when the fatal ball 
 Is hurled into your midst, the warriors all 
 Athlrst for blood BhaU seise their weapons, hid 
 Beneath the women's mantles, and at once 
 The war cry will be raised by Pontiac. 
 And you will first be slain, then every one. 
 Till not a pale face will be left to tell 
 Where stood Detroit. No pity will be shown 
 To woman, man or child, and only I 
 Of all the Indian women of orr tribe 
 Will weep for you and mourn until I diel 
 Which soon will be, altho' I am the choice 
 Out of a thousand envious Indian maids 
 To be the prize of him who wins to-day 
 This game of blood and death — Bagataway." 
 
 The commandant with many lervid thanks 
 Embraced the girl, believing all she said 
 With eager tongue and eyes aflame, for he 
 Was sharp of observation, and the truth 
 Hot winged with love flew straight Into his heart. 
 He knew the subtilty of Pontiac, 
 The rancour of the tribes, and he had turned 
 The ball play over in his mind and said 
 To his few officers, " Be on your guard! 
 This Pontiac is treacherous to the core 
 And means us mischief with the play, I fear. 
 Shut not the gates, but watch, and half the men 
 Keep under arms within the walls and trail 
 A field piece on the meadow where they play, 
 For there Is treason In the air to-day." 
 
 He kissed the girl, but would not let her rest 
 So near the break of day. She left the tent 
 And crept back to her lodge unheard, unseen. 
 Before the dawn had paled the morning star. 
 Her heai-t wai-med in her bosom, with a glow 
 Of joy, as she remembered Gladwyn's wwds. 
 She felt upon her cheek his warm kiss there, 
 And glowed the more, the more she hoped and prayed 
 For his deliverance wrought by her true hand. 
 
 " He now will love me alway«t" murmured she, 
 " If I shall save Detroit and save hto life, 
 Far dearer than my own, as one rescued 
 
mm 
 
 15 
 
 Prom Are or water by a friendly foe, 
 Though I may perish or becoixie the priM 
 Of one I hate before I know hie name — 
 The wiirrlor who shall win me in the play, 
 The prise set up in this Ba^taway. 
 But on my Oladwyn's heart I placed my hand 
 And b3i it swore to leave my kith and kin. 
 For hint alone, with love no woman else 
 Could give in equal measure all for all, 
 Serve, lionour and obey until I die. 
 Master of Life I O I Kitche Manltou ! 
 And God, which dwellest in the Bookl I pray 
 You both — altho' our black robe teachers say 
 You both are one and father of us all — 
 Preserve my Oladwyn's life, this coming day. 
 And all days after. Love is naught unless 
 It wills to die if need be to preserve 
 The life it lives for — for all human hearts, 
 However vary language, eye and skin, 
 Are of one tint with love and all akin I" 
 
 The river fog lay thick upon the stream. 
 When the bright joyous sun next morning shona 
 On foii; and flagntaff, and the leafy woods 
 Were wet with dew drops, each a sparkling gem 
 Distilled out of the eyelids of the mom. 
 The Indian lodges stood along the shore 
 Mid smoke and mist. The birch canoes in rows 
 Like sleeping greyhounds drawn upon the beach. 
 Out of the camp a ceaseless hubbub came 
 Of barking dogs and women's tongues, and shouta 
 Of children waked untimely. Men in groups 
 Spake to each other savage words and few 
 In accents harsh that deep and defcper grew, 
 About the chances of the bloody game, 
 The plunder of the fort, and great revenge. 
 
 The morning gun Are filled the ambient air 
 With loud reverberations, as the flag 
 Of England rose upon its mast and flew 
 In proud defiance. Pontiac the chief 
 Sprang from bis couch of skins, and viewed the fort 
 With savage wistful eyes, while other chiefs 
 Drew round him, and confirmed what yesterday 
 Hod been resolved in council, to draw forth 
 The English garrison to see the game, 
 Unarmed and unsuspecting aught of ill. 
 
 Already on the plain the warriors sat 
 In stiU expectancy, La crosse in hand, 
 
mmttmmw,-.- 
 
 \imwm 
 
 16 
 
 Their women ■toodia groo|ip«- wltkuce Midn^ia^ 
 The weapoiu of the warrionR, uademeath 
 Their ample maattoH hid^ to arm them all 
 Boon aa the t^gfial came — the bouudioir haU ' 
 Hurled through the open gate aiid war cry raised 
 By Pontlac, repeated o'er and o'erv 
 
 Upon a acaflrolding of poles and boughs 
 Of dainty spruce, a floor was thickly strewn 
 With fura of price and robes imperial^ 
 Ermine and sable, glosey, htoftand rich. 
 With savage splendour, sat the Indian girl 
 In nature's loveliness half bare, half clad, 
 Flashing unstudied beauties all around. 
 Her eyes looked scornful, only when the thought 
 And sight of Qlodwyn in the numerotiu throng 
 Drew out glad glances; then she proudly smiled, 
 Else like a statue sat sh^, Iteautif nl 
 Prom nature's hand, whose art conceals the art 
 By which she works ideals of the Gods, 
 As when in bronze of Corinth, Phideas 
 Moulded the image of the Paphlan Queen 
 For the world's admiration and despair. 
 Or when the Indian, hungering in long fast, 
 Dreams of the lands beneath the s&tting sun 
 And graceful maidens beai-ing bowls of food. 
 Themselves so lovely that he cannot eat 
 For gazing on their loveliness; while birds 
 Sing on the trees around, and flashing streams, 
 Silvery with flsh, roll through the happy land 
 Where in the chase he twangs the sounding bow 
 Aud rides knee deep in prairie grass and flowers 
 That know no frost but blossom all the year. 
 
 The commandant, a soldier, gallant, brave 
 And well forewarned, knew all his danger now, 
 And thanked the girl with many a lightsome glance 
 That made her heai-t i-ebound with tenderness, 
 Still fearing for his safety. He now 
 Quite loved the girl whom he before admired. 
 For by her timely warning they were safe 
 Against the crafty wiles of Pontiac, 
 Who sat beside him with a twitching h«aid 
 Upon his hatchet, waiting for the game. 
 
 In two opposing bantfc the players stood 
 All naked save the blue cloth round their loins. 
 Their heads and bodies painted red and black — 
 Death's colours, as by chance, or mere caprice. 
 
 Ml 
 
mmm 
 
 17 
 
 Not unobaenred by Oladwyn em they Btood 
 Waiting the toasiiig of tlie fatal ball. 
 
 Well BwolKtert % «** AA» rtf iPflnWlic 
 Sat Obutwytt, cahn atiA wia^, wi%fe pWefl 
 The chi^ %4«h tctte «idk ^ttt Ift^ nie«Mt, 
 But watdhedtMWlilRdUbn of litB eyo ttnd htmit 
 And all tfaft) f^ttyVM WtdUmc for the baM, 
 And all the diittky tlPibea at either grocQ, 
 Whose eyes like lytoxen fljted «fn Powtfac 
 Devoow^ Witi with hoft Rlanee* - might biflAti 
 So eager WM^e tikey foi* the bloody game. 
 
 But Pontiao was ill at eafie. He sat 
 In moody silence, for in Oladwyn's eye 
 He caught a look directed to the fort. 
 And saw the soldiers in their ranks and heard 
 The clash of anns, and words of sharp command 
 Half whispered, and a gun wheeled in the gate, 
 Black murjded, pointed on the crowded green. 
 He rose upon his feet and scowling said: 
 As Gladwyn also rose — " My brother fears 
 To trust the peaceful tribes, who come to^ay. 
 La Crosse in hand, to play Bagataway I" 
 
 " Wh»t ttakfls yo« tWJrtt thirt I distwwit ym, mA f ' 
 Gladwyn it^Iied; " I feel quite safe to-day." 
 He smiled and on Ms sword-hiU placed his h«nd 
 And leaned upon it oisrelessly. " Y(»« see 
 As many of niy m«n m can be spared 
 Are -(Mrt to s»e the play npci* the gTeeli 
 And •j«f|r fm the >gmm for«ieh ft prim 
 As never filled a winner's arms bete^te." 
 He glanced towards the girl who bowed K«(r ft^M — 
 She knew tris tibovghto if not the wm^ lie sftld. 
 
 But Pontlae replied, " The SaganoiA 
 Stand in their ranks inside the open gate;, 
 With bayonets fixed; and at the windows, lo! 
 I see your women looking out. Not so 
 They used to watch our ball plity on the greed. 
 The womeiBi of the pale fasetw are fc6eii 
 To show themsftlvM the foremost evBty- dfcy 
 When met go otit to row, to ride, to plAy ." 
 
 The comraandUnt smiled grimly, " That is tree 
 O, PontiacI o«r gentle women ftear 
 To match themselves with your weU mantled squaws, 
 Each one of whom beneath h&t arapk robe 
 Hides axe dr gun m I can plainfy see. 
 
18 
 
 1 have an ointment made tor me by one 
 Of greoteet medicine. Rubbed on thfl eyei 
 It ieta one eee beneath thoae ample robe* 
 The treaoheroui weapon* and the secret heart 
 That harbomu knowledge of the cursed plot, 
 Of yon and your falM warrlom on the green I 
 The prlTO you hope to win is Fort Detroit, 
 With all our livee a nacrlflce — the lure, 
 That girl upon the platform I only she 
 Shall now be played for — and be won by me I" 
 
 Astounded at the sudden change, so true. 
 So fatal to his plot, the subtle chief 
 Stood mute for minutes, looking here and there. 
 Counting the chances still — dissembling deep 
 The while he lied, and hoping to deceive, 
 At least to crave some mercy for his guilt. 
 "The English chief I tall my friend," he said, 
 " We were but children and talked childish things 
 When we for our amusement one dull day 
 Made riddles and cast dice, and some one said — 
 A fool among us he — let us go play 
 A game of ball and win Detroit that way I ' 
 
 We had wei! drunken, and we drank still more, 
 And talked and planned how we could take the fort 
 At ball play and send all you English home. 
 Not hurting any, but as guests who long 
 Had overstayed with us, ate of our dish. 
 Till all was done, and then departed full. 
 And so we talked and planned and all the chiefs 
 Thought it most droll to beat the English thus. 
 But sober grown we found in sore amtuse 
 How we had lit a fire we could not stop, 
 That chased us all before it, like the flames 
 That sweep the prairies, when 'tis death to stay, 
 And every living thing in maddest race 
 Bach for itself, out of the fiery spray 
 And rolling smoke seeks to escape by flight. 
 
 And so we planned this game for your delight. 
 And counted on our fingers nine to one — 
 As foolish i5« the girl we have set up 
 To be the victor's prize. No good hap comes 
 When women leave the lodge and gad about, 
 Revealing secrets with loquacious tongues. 
 I hate them all, and never gave a gift 
 To woman, nor received one, for they keep 
 Nor time nor measure in their love or hate, 
 And mix their fancies up with aiiTuey do. 
 
I! 
 
 19 
 
 Life U but dTMunibg with weak womiin kind. 
 
 And now to prove my friendship, (Hadwyn, bn.v»\ 
 Accept from me a f?lft. That girl, the prlxe 
 Of my yoimg men who stand to play for hor, 
 I give her np to you with all her gauda, 
 In token of my frlendahlp now confirmed, 
 And p«ace between ue both forever more I" 
 
 Oladwyn, contemptumw of the crafty bid 
 For peace and pai'don from the guilty chief, 
 But eager for the rescue ot the girl. 
 Bald, •• Bring her hither quickly, I conitent 
 To let you off with all your treacherous tribe. 
 Whose lives are forfeit by the laws of war, 
 For all is known to me I Your subth' plot 
 To seise this garrison and one and all 
 Torture to death the trusting Baganosh, 
 Lured by your ball play out to meet the doom 
 Your foolish council spake. Now tell your men 
 To bring the girl to me, and with all speed! 
 Decamp with all your lodges 1 Leave not one! 
 Lest I repent the mercy I have shown, 
 And open on you those great guns you see 
 With matches lighted on the ramparts, full 
 Of grape shot to the muzzle, which like hall 
 Will sweep your tribes into the shades of death. 
 
 Nay do not argue, nor deny, nor say 
 Your waiTlors are free men and won't obey! 
 You fear them ? Well! I know a reason why 
 They will obey you, and if not you, me! 
 Mark, FontiacI your men will me obey 
 Without beseechlrg!" Gladwyn made a sign 
 With his uplifted sword towwds the fort. 
 And In an instant there arose within 
 The sound of bugles and the roll of drums, 
 The shouts of Captains and the clash of arms, 
 The ramparts grew Into a serried hedge 
 Of flashing bayonets, and a cannon ran 
 Out of the gate full pointed at the crowd 
 Of startled wai-riors, who with sudden fear 
 ^UioA mute and trenibling, and then turned and fled. 
 Not one by'one, but all together, like 
 A herd of buffalo stampeded by 
 A ti'oop of hunt«rB on the western plains; 
 So they ran yelling to the distant woods. 
 Nor stopped to see their frightened women tibrow 
 Their hlddeu weapouM oyor all the field. 
 
20 
 
 And soreaminK f oVowtlreiritmladly knNlB. 
 
 The girl w» left akxB«,, not! <one of all 
 Took note of her, ati' she l<)aped down and ran 
 Throwing her mantle aS, i« nothing worth, 
 And stood with panting breast and {heading ^aa 
 Before the commandanA whom she had saved. 
 Bhe sought protection from him not in Yaiii» 
 For Oladwyn on her shoulder laid bis hand, 
 dently and loviqgly, and with kind worcb 
 Bet her before them all, and kissed her cheek, 
 Declaring her the saviour of their lives. 
 Whom they were bound to thank forever more. 
 
 Then Pontiac stood sMO. in si lent rage 
 He dai-e not manifest, but mad to see 
 The flight of all his warriors and to hear 
 How by a girl his plot bad been revealed. 
 Calm, wttai enforced dupHc^jy he spake, 
 " Brotfaerl may I go now ? I have fulfilled 
 My promise of this girl; the prize is yomv, 
 My men fly masterless In panic fear, 
 Which when they stop will turn to rago and blood. 
 And one will blame tbe other and each chief 
 Will sm^ his fellow for this shameful rout; 
 Then with the taunt of cowardice they will. 
 Out of revenge for this frustrated game. 
 Attack this fort in earnest, not m play; 
 And now, my brotL«r, pray let me depait 
 Ere they go mad like wolves athirst for blood. 
 And bring them to a ooancil to renew 
 The broken wampum of their peace with yoa. 
 I then will send them to their distant homes 
 Each tribe of warriors, and w<ll leave Detroit 
 Unchallenged in your hands for England's King, 
 Whom we shall serve and honour ever more." 
 
 The commandant saw through the wfly words 
 And craft of Pontiac. The girl looked up 
 And whimpered softly in his ear, " Bewarel 
 He only seeScs permimion to depoftl 
 Believe not Pontiac I Thosi? fugitives 
 Dare not go home wtthotrt a batfite. He 
 Who promised victory the least of all I 
 For every woman in the land wlB cry, 
 ** Where are the lo^ra garlanded with acdpa 
 And prlsoRors for the tortore frara Delsraft t 
 We longed to try the SagmKNA ^irKli llrvl 
 And you IumI promised it, ttim P^nttael 
 
SI 
 
 And now return with empty handfi, the Bcom 
 Of every woman in the Indian landl" 
 
 " I know it allt" the commandant re|>lled, 
 And drew her ahoulder to his manly breast. 
 *• Thanln to your love for me, Detroit is safel 
 But Pontiac I fear not; he shall go 
 To mix in the disorder of the tribes, 
 Whose deep mistrust of him will never cease 
 After the failure of the plot to-day." 
 
 He turned to Pontiac vho moodily 
 Stood mid his English guards, a prisoner. 
 And said to them, " Release him I let him go 
 In safety to his tribes, and bear bo them 
 Our stem defiance if they still want war. 
 Peace only if they crave ifc, and return 
 Forthwith each band of waniors to their homes. 
 
 The chief glared savagely, and eye to eye 
 Looked at the commandant, and then the girl 
 Transfixed he with a glance of hate. " 'Twas you 1 
 You who betrayed me for the white ma^'s sake!" 
 He upake in his own language. For reply 
 The girl said nothing; but with both her hands 
 Clasped Qladwyn's arm, looked at the chief and laughed. 
 He stamped upon the ground in mortal wrath 
 His well mocassined foot, and stalked away 
 With proud slow steps towards the distant camp, 
 Where all was wild commotion, fear and noise 
 Of thousand voices, like the mingled clang 
 Of caweens gathering for their vernal flight, 
 Migrating from Nlagwa to the floes 
 And Icebergs heaving in the Arctic seas. 
 
 L* Envoy. 
 Old Clifford closed the book with much unread, 
 For still its pages told of Pontiac ~ 
 How he rejoined his scattered warriors. 
 And with his fiery eloquence inflamed 
 Their spirits with fresh courage to return. 
 Besiege Detr<ilt, and slay the Saganosh, 
 And burn the traitorous Indian girl with fire. 
 
 It told how they returned, and how Detroit 
 By land and water hemmed on every side. 
 Endured a hungry siege a year or more: 
 Till came the slow relief, fighting its way 
 
22 
 
 With bieody «ti/m imp6tl«4 ttai \Mr§m fall 
 Of mon and food, tbrougli fl»(^ of fwif fe cano** 
 Made flery lanes, and how Detroit was saved I 
 Thevicknyl the landing t th« relief! 
 Bread for the starving, powder for the brave, 
 Were oairied in mid wild^it shonte of joy 
 Of men and women — Gladwyn in the front, 
 Beside the Indian girl, to welcome them 
 With one last sally from the opened s^tes 
 Uppn the savage hosts, which in dismay 
 Fled from the field to seek the forest shades 
 Of distant Wabash and of IlUnois. 
 
 All this, too loni; to read, was left unread, 
 But Clifford added, " In my father's days 
 The tale was fresh, for he had pulled an oar 
 Through the red waters in the gallant barge 
 That bore the King's broad banner at the prow. 
 And led the way through lanes of blood and fire 
 And overturned canoes, and drowning men, 
 Until with victory they reached Detroit. 
 
 Thereafter , in the solitery w?odB 
 A wanderer and a hater of his kind 
 Lived Pontiac, his one great end in life, 
 The expulsion of the English from the west, 
 In failure broke his spirit — broke his heart — 
 He drank the fire water till he died. 
 A boon companion, or, as some relate, 
 A vengeful foe with murderous knife or axe 
 Slew the unhappy chi^ in drunken brawl. 
 
 One made for greatness, in the name of good, 
 And half believing it, he fired men's souls 
 To share his passions and obey his will. 
 A bom disturber, never rare when men 
 Are led by strong delusions in the nam< 
 Of justice, which is but a vain pretence 
 Of gains dishonest, with a lie that fills 
 The land with clamour, till the voice of God 
 Pronounces judgment on the evil age. 
 
 The hand of ttod alone - the Tnjth, the Life 
 Can mould into an image of Himself 
 New men out of thgse stubborn natures. He 
 Alone regenerates the savage heart 
 And spreads the table in the wilderness 
 For the communion of the bread and wine, 
 His blood wsmI body, Truth and love to aU 
 Who worsiup Him In spirit andin life. 
 Our Godly miflsiotis are not all ia>-vain. 
 
 a^T- .mir.m,semtmmxism.,m,.m.mmm^ 
 

 i t 
 
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 BUSHY RUN. 
 
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 BUSHY RUN. 
 
 A. D. 1763. 
 
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 'Twas late in Antamn when the kindly ann, 
 Ruddy as with new wine, through golden mist 
 And incense smoke of Indian summer, shone 
 Like an illumination and a dream. 
 Upon the broad and shallow Muskingum, 
 A row of giant sycamores, broad-leaved, 
 Piebald and bent with age, looked darkly doT^n 
 Upon their shadows in the sKlent pools 
 And reaches of the river, now half dry 
 With summer drought that waited for the rains 
 To turn its shallow stream to full banked floods 
 That go to swell Ohio's turbid stream. 
 
 A broad savannah where the waning grass 
 Seeded its seed, and tufts of golden-rod 
 Mingled its yellow with the azure blue 
 Of gentian, latest bloc«om of the year, 
 Lay like an oasis mid surrounding woods, 
 Through which there ran a path down to the bank, 
 Where women's voices singing mournfully. 
 And children's glee that will not understand 
 The elder^s trouble, and the noise of dogs 
 And lowing oxen, spoil of war, uprose 
 On the still air, with smoke of wigcwam fires, 
 That marked an Indian village sheltered there. 
 
 Out in the gracious sunshine of the day 
 Before the lodges idling, or at work 
 Easy as idling, which free nature loves, 
 Bat groups of women sideways, half disrobed. 
 But clothed with modesty from head to foot, 
 
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 Bronze gtukamrr ot Uvteg flertt tod blood 
 
 Such as UwMtMlttVM to meet i 
 
 In native wiJkknMMes, out ot k«» 
 
 Of life in cities, «adof baunta of : 
 
 Anaid the groups of red-«kiaaed womeD ■•!» 
 
 Commingled with them, rasidi and ciuldiVB ptUrn, 
 
 Of English Idoud nod color, with brown hair 
 
 Flowing ujpoo. their bosoms, covered with 
 
 Th^ innate modasty ot sex and rM»— 
 
 Captives of war upon the rude frontiaiw. 
 
 The children of the daring pioneers. 
 
 Youth, ignoraacd of themselves and U8a«» hisd 
 In their adoption, had nibbed out the naai'k 
 And memory of their native homM, or left 
 A fleei^ dream of it, as whea we wake 
 And striving to remembo- soon forget. 
 Yea, even their mother tongue forgotten, they 
 With long drawn liquid syllaUes conversed 
 In Indian speech together, or to sleeps 
 Hushed the bound babes upon their cradle boards. 
 Knowing bo other ba^iMss than, this — 
 Their very freedom in captivity. 
 
 TTpon the river bcutk, and o» the diy 
 Warm stones projecting from the shidlow stremn, 
 A score of tawny bo3r» leaped In anOt tmt / 
 
 The rippling water, or in deeper potds 
 Dived headlong in, and caMtng out by name' 
 Each other in their language full of mirth 
 And laughter which aloae to man b^ngs 
 Of all Ood's creaturea, mittf^d tn their play 
 With white skinned lads, who Hte their sitfter gMi 
 Knew nothing better than the forest life 
 They led wpon Musktngnm's savage streoHftk 
 They loved the forest as the native bontt 
 Relapse is easy, easier than to keep 
 The vantages we win, our tree of life 
 Roots deep in earth, and still we love the broad 
 Old woodland solitudes. Our nature once 
 Was wild, tmd rerels in its freedom stilt. 
 
 A lofty mound rose midway on the plain. 
 With five huge trees of ancient growth theiwm. 
 Old oaks of cdntnries and landmarks, they say, 
 Of false religions dead and passed away. 
 A broad flat summit> with great ruined ston«^ 
 Fire-eaten, black and grim with age, was seen — 
 An altar of the old AUgewal, 
 
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 The mythical mound>bullden of the pwrt!^ 
 The loag forgotten nation, which hiu left 
 In the great valley of the west theae marira 
 And sole memorials of their ancient race. 
 High places of idolatory, and rites 
 Of bloody worship to the rising sun, 
 Where on high festivals before the tribes, 
 Young men and maidens purified and cleansed 
 By long lustrations, were brought forth to die 
 And on those altar stones were bound and slain. 
 
 At last there came a time which never fall* 
 To come in judgment upon evil things. 
 The savage Iroquois, in mighty league, 
 Whose scanty virtues held a germ of faith 
 In justice, and commandments once revealed 
 By Hiawatha to the bandod tribes. 
 These like a tempest storming from the east 
 Came down upon the soft Aligewal 
 And swept them with their cruel rites away. 
 Leaving these mounds, enigmas yet unsolved 
 Of the dumb darkness of the voiceless past. 
 
 Beneath the five huge trees a flashing spear 
 Showed where a watchman stood upon the mound. 
 Who listened eagerly to catch the sound 
 Of voices bringii^ victory in their cry. 
 But all was silent yet, although the air 
 Was thick with rumour, brought no one knew how 
 Or where or whence. The birds unseen that fly 
 Of woe forerunners, had already flown 
 Through the scared villages of Muskingum. 
 For rumour was, a battle had been fought 
 In the dense forests of the Bushy Run, 
 With victory for the tribes; but some said, " No I 
 The Saganosh had won I" and sounds of woe 
 Out of the sighing trees the dark night long 
 Were heard bewailing as for warriors slain. 
 
 All was expectance in the Ind*an town. 
 The old men trembled doubtlnglj . They knew 
 The power and valour of the Sagvinosh. 
 'The women, sure of victory, prepared 
 A feast of welcome for the wanfors brave. 
 And tortures for the hapless prisoners brought 
 Into the camp, the gauntlet and the Are; 
 Or haply if their woman's nature claimed 
 The right to ransom any, 'Twas their due 
 And saci e<l privilege in all the tribes. 
 
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 And now all ran together, aa the newe 
 PaMed in and out the lodges, old and young, 
 None knew whence came the rumour or inquired. 
 It was enough it came, and was believed 
 With simple faith, the spirits of the slain 
 Had brought the news, as doleful ravens tly 
 Through the blue expanse of the Indian sky. 
 
 The watcher with the spear upon the mound 
 Was seen to raise it fluttering aloft 
 With streamers, as a signal some one came; 
 Then vanished suddenly as he leaped down 
 Its scraggy sides, while distant sounds of woe. 
 Singing a death chant struck the hearers dumb. 
 The wail was oft repeated, cry on ciry, 
 Denoting loss 6n loss of warriors slain, 
 Past count, and lost the reckoning of death. 
 All 1 all 1 the brave Hiamis who had gone 
 In flush of hoped for victory, to war. 
 Were killed or captive, save the very few 
 Wounded and fugitive from Bushy Run, 
 Who with the death cry on their fevered lipa 
 Returned with messages of dire import 
 To aU their nation from the Saganosh. 
 
 The village rushed to meet them, and ere long 
 A score of weary fugitives, unplumed, 
 Disarmed and spent with many a grievous wound. 
 Emerged from out the forest, and their cries 
 Were taken up and answered note for note 
 By all the women as they rushed to learn. 
 The bloody tidings, staring wildly through 
 The countless vacaneios, ani' broken lines 
 Of them they loved, the warriors of their pride, 
 Left dead or captive on the battle field. 
 
 The watchman's spear came foremost of the rout. 
 The only spear was seen, and led them In, 
 The stricken warriors to council seats 
 In a great circle, where upon the ground 
 They sat surrounded by the women, men 
 And children of the town, who gathered in 
 As custom bade, to hear the direful news. 
 In solemn silence, motionless, except 
 "the wringing of the hands unto the bone, 
 Bui-sting with sobs repressed the women stood 
 With all their children hanging to their robes. 
 In wondering ignorance of what it meant, 
 This sudden change of joy to deepest grief, 
 liearning the early lesson of despair 
 
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 Which wiMvtiMkr 
 
 fMraaldnr* land. 
 
 At last one rose among the fugitive*, 
 A wonnded chief, neck-clrckd with the claws 
 Of bears, a cloth alwnt his loins, nought eliie 
 But war paint on him as he left the fight 
 Of Bushy Run, where taken captive, he 
 Was spared to bring the message that he brought 
 
 «« O, wes^n, UstenJ" cfi«i h«„ " and yoa meik 
 Who 'ar»*«* oW f«r battle. We have eome 
 Thro«g)fc the.d«k fow«t% diagginR painfuUy 
 Our w©«iidaA««et. to tell yott all i» losti 
 Our western ^uaion, tmMm»*om m the reeds 
 Upon the rlTe* baris* beat all one way 
 Before.tbe blast jrf w«r, fough* tiH they di«i 
 To the last maa nlMMt..at Bushy Run J" 
 
 All gave a start and as a passing wind 
 Upon the reeds had bent them all one way. 
 Their heads bowed to their knees, their bronzed hands 
 Outspread dispalringiy, clutched at the air 
 As if to grasp, at something was not there. 
 But none cried out, except a few in pain, 
 WhM8 bnwtiJ^ ym ■■#■ eewM na* their gjrief restrain. 
 
 The chief grew faint, a warrior by him stood 
 Upon whose tawny shoulder he reposed 
 His wounded ai-m, and rested, and went on: 
 •• 'Twas at the break of day, the English host, 
 Weary with marches and continual fights 
 With all our allied warriors, struck their tents 
 And stood in line of battle, one to five 
 Of our opposing tribes, who hemmed them in, 
 As when our hunters drive the furious herds 
 Of Bisons oa the prairies of the west. 
 Bo hemnMd we in the Sagnaosh that day, 
 When they bwAe camp amid the treacherwns woods 
 And dai-k nKvines and rocks of Bushy Run. 
 Our proplsrts prophesied a victwry sare. 
 And the biae moaatatHS in the distance stood 
 U ncapped of cloude to soe the battl* wo» 
 And all the boat of Sapiaosli undowi 
 
 The soldiers of the King who wear the red. 
 Had crossed the mountains, making roads to come 
 Where never foot of white man trod before. 
 With guns that roll on wheek, and horses backed 
 By warriors with long swords — Kitchl Koraung — 
 

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 And men bare kneod, /vrith bonnet* eagle plunged, 
 And kilted, with their pouchea worn before; 
 With dnim8 and war pii)es sounding down the lifte 
 Of valour and of victory the Blgn. 
 So the white Boldiere of the King. Our chiefs 
 Boiling with valour from their frequent flghte 
 And scalps with honour plucked from pioneers, 
 Far from the cainPt grew overbold and rash. 
 Despite good waunlngs that to grasp a nest 
 Of angry hornets is not«afe, our chiefs 
 Intoxicated with the feast and dance 
 And war drum's beat, madly reBolved to storm 
 The English camp, and in one rush, slay all, 
 Spare none, except the prisoners doomed to die 
 By torture at the stake, and death by Are. 
 
 But they had wary chiefs those Saganoshl 
 Bouquet the wisest who commanded all I 
 And when the tribes bore down upon the front 
 Of his encumbered camp, with horses, men 
 And wagon trains in dire confusion mixed. 
 When victory was yelled from Indian throats. 
 And scalping knives plucked from their ready sheaths 
 He turned the Rtorm upon our flanks and rearl 
 For while we fought the Saganosh in front. 
 His savage Highlanders, the men in plaids. 
 Bare knees and bonnets, with a round of fire 
 And flashing bayonets and those great broadswords 
 And shouts more terrible than Indian yells, 
 Ambushed us, where we hoped to ambush them I 
 By hundreds fell our warriors. No escape 
 From English bayonets and those Highland swords I 
 No quai-ter gave they, and we anked for none; 
 None we had given — none expected. I 
 Was wounded as you see and dragged headlong 
 Before Bouquet, who bade them spai*e my life. 
 A noble man, as generous as brave. 
 He spared and sent ine on a message home 
 To all the tribes at war i^ainst the King. 
 He offered peace to all our tribes — alasl 
 I read upon his features ere he spake 
 The stem conditions of his grant of life 
 To those were spared, how few, I need not tell! 
 The old, old story followed hard upon 
 His victory. A hundred leagues of land 
 He took as fine and forfeit to the King, 
 And there was none to say him " No!" our best 
 And bravest waniors lay before his feet 
 Dead and.aidHiried, (m the Bushy Bun," • 
 
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 The old men listened tpeechleM, while a groan 
 Ai of despair ntruggled for utterance 
 In their bronze boeonu; for of yore they too 
 Had been brave warriorti who defied all foes, 
 And never cry of anguish left their lips. 
 The women heeding loss the loss of lands 
 Than of their loved ones slain, rose to their feet 
 With outstretched hands and shrieks of wild despair; 
 But he continued the stem mef»age sent 
 Of superadded woe to all the tribes. 
 
 " The great chief of the Saganosh proclaims 
 That on a day. upon the Muskingum, 
 He wiU march in his army, to receivs 
 All English captives, taken far or near, 
 Of every age and sex, however long 
 They have been held or joined by Indian law 
 In maniage or adoption, bond or free. 
 Made of one blood and household; everyone 
 From every comer of the Indian land 
 From every nation that has ever warred 
 Against the English, shall be given up 
 To be returned to their own native homes, 
 To learn again the language of their youth. 
 The customs of their fathers, long forgot; 
 To hate may be the kindly Indian life 
 And Indian love without hypocrisy, 
 Which made them one with us, and they returned 
 Our love, and in the freedom of our woods 
 Would willingly be left to live and die. 
 
 The English army with their chiefs, and men 
 From all the Provinces, who write with pen 
 And paper things which we with memory 
 That never fails, remember, or record 
 With wampum in our councils — will encamp 
 A year and day from now, to gather in 
 The captives theirs by birth, by breeding ours. 
 All must be given upl not one be left 
 Bom of an English mother — men and boys, 
 Women and girls, the fair haired rosy ones! 
 Who twine like vines about our Indian hearts. 
 And love their foster fathers as their own. 
 All shall be reft from us and given up 
 To those who know them not, and cannot speak 
 The kindly language of the forest tribes. 
 
 The'^Sa^anosb will grant no pAHce, except 
 On these conditions; that our captives aU 
 
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 Be gathered In, restored and given up, 
 Weeping may be, but sent to their old homes, 
 Foi^otten now by them, in valea beyond 
 The blue ridge of the Appalachian Idlte. 
 Yea, to captivity a second time 
 Among strange kindred who will bate them for 
 Their Indian speech, and ways, and love for us, 
 And love them only when they learn to hate 
 Us, and the free life of our forest homes." 
 
 The Chief, his manage ended, and forspent 
 With wounds and weariness upon the grass 
 Dropped like an eagle by the hunter hit 
 When his high nest is tumbled from its crag 
 And all his eaglets scattered on the ground. 
 The captive children scarcely understood 
 The message he had brought, but joined their cries 
 With those of their adopted mothers, who 
 The chUdreu's frightened faces held and pressed 
 Close to their bosoms, and with mantles hid 
 The sorrows which they knew not to amuage. 
 
 A word devoid of meaning. Freedom, seemed 
 To them who revelled in its native home; 
 And restoration to their natural Idn 
 Seemed banishment to strangers, long forgot. 
 Who came to claim them with the anger spot 
 Of vengeance on their foreheads for their crime 
 Of loving love, more than estranged kin. 
 The freedom of the woods was dear to them — 
 Part of their nature. Earth and air and clouds, 
 And flowers, and waters, and all things that lived 
 And lay about them, seemed a part of them, 
 To be the expression of the life within, 
 Respondant each to other, as the eye 
 Responds to light, the heart to warmth of love. 
 With love warm as the fountains that spring up, 
 Bubbling with health amid Virginian hills, 
 The captive children said they would remain 
 And never see their English homes again! 
 
 The Deliverance. 
 
 The English colours, first for freedom ever. 
 Flew for deliverance in the Ohio woods. 
 A year and day passed, sines the war began 
 By Pontiac, was closed at Bushy Run. 
 
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 It WM a time of mad «onfualon. Wo« 
 Among the forest tiibei, and those afar 
 Out in the sanihlne of the treeleee plaim, 
 Who dranlc the watem nf the IlUnoiB. 
 A hundred Indian ninnem to and fro 
 Carried the Bngliah Gtoneral'B rtem command, 
 On pain of death to bring the capti^ei in I 
 'However far, however many, few, 
 Or age or sex to bring the captivee in I 
 After a year and day, the Bnglieh camp 
 Would pitch in permanence at Mniiliingum 
 Until the last white captive wna brought in. 
 
 Upon the morning «f that Autumn day, 
 The army came upon a King's highway 
 ' Cut tlu*ou|fh the Mwage wildemees, and pitohed 
 Their -camp, row after row of snowy tents. 
 In the Savannah of the Muskingum. 
 A goodly fdgbt; line after line it stretciisd 
 In true diagonals with entrenched flanks 
 And sentariss pacing round on every sids. 
 
 The drums and trumpets illled the savage woods 
 With martial music — since the world b^gan 
 Not heard before upon the Muskingum. 
 Bold horsemen iirst and scouts of nimble feet 
 Broke from the forest skirts, and led the way 
 Followed by rank on rank of Saganosh, 
 The red coat soldiers, veterans of the war, 
 New plumed with victory, and Highland men 
 From the wild Qrampians, stalwart, bare of limb 
 And terrible with battle cries and pipes 
 That screamed in ilgbt as wild as Indian yells. 
 
 In the autumiicd month, th« last that holds 
 The Indian E>nnnner in its bosom, ei-e 
 The wet soft snow falls gently on the earth, 
 A year and day from Bushy Run, the tribes 
 Warned and forewarned, dared not to disobey, 
 But brought l^eir captives in, to earn the price 
 Of their deliverance, pardon, rest and peace. 
 
 A camp beside the soldiers' camp was set, 
 With rows of empty tents, and dainty food 
 By loving hands prepai'ed, such as of old 
 Had spread their father's tables; clothing- too 
 To drns^heeaptives, and exchange thagarb 
 Of savage life for civilised, to meet 
 The expseted kindi^d they had lost no loog, 
 And hear again t^eir native English tongua 
 
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 A tnlii trf wapina drmwn by two* and foani . 
 
 OfhittyliarMMiof theploDoen, . 
 With mmumAmmum' ^fEiIlow«d liMd npoo . 
 TlM UmiWl wwrtwAin alLtha w»^4maUmh 
 Th« kioa^k of Jli« mqi^vM o«ane to-cOiJiii 
 Their own knt children oltbf yeara of war. 
 Beneath their palms they Jookadi ifitb aacer «iMi. 
 When near the camp, to rae a pala boa fihlld, 
 A prattUngjrotce that*poka theEagliab tonpia, 
 A Tolce — yea one chlld'» cry had bean eno^b 
 To fill their throate with nympatbelio taara. 
 
 Rough (thouffh **'"T T fn fninmiTilwimiiii handa 
 
 Hard with tha JiaiTaaof asai^ yoam of piof 
 
 Had tofllaaMlitlMrir mde natai^ and j«aMMl.« 
 
 ThaJBanly faaeaof the pionaew. 
 
 There ia a beaaty bom of taadevJova 
 
 And iMirvav for the Jait,. with faMi in tope 
 
 That tiaawlll right all wrangii, in God'a«wn<w«y. 
 
 That beauty on the nioumem' faeea Mlv 
 
 A« they awaited silently And l«ng 
 
 The ^«|Md fan of the deUiireraaoe 
 
 ToratnmoBthamt«coaieand.cham.theii - 
 
 Weat of the BLngUah campi» the Indian tr 
 Had pitched their lodgea in the ahady woou 
 Now itncned to gold, and cxiineon with the ieavM 
 Faat dropping over them. Kind Nature's hand 
 Was strewing aU)tha.6airth,witb.enblam«jeA^. 
 Of her compassion for the dying yean. , 
 
 Of many tongnss and mocMsto^ allies 
 In the great war of Poutiac, the trib^ 
 Conquerad.in battle at the Busby Bun, , 
 
 Waited the.signal of iihe.midday gun. 
 
 They .Kloed.andBoewled reluctant ito come in,. 
 Shorn of fiheiE war plumes, and unpaintad, sad. . 
 And loth-jadjui^try that they had. to yield 
 Their captives^ jiow their children, who npon 
 Their foatett mother's bosems cliwg and wept 
 Aind< wondered >what w^ould hi^ip^n them Among 
 Their strange white Jdndred, who caune to enfold 
 Them intboir arms~- perhaps with scornful gaie 
 Would thrustith«n.ibrom them and in speech unknown 
 The youthful sava^^ refuse to. owa. 
 
 But vain their fears, for human nature strong 
 In their dear kindred who had come so far 
 To'i^rfmj^ toin i f|i^r»» fWBi9F would deb«r 
 One froMed<miwi iBiwi(liiiiiie^itbeiloye 
 
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 Of fathers iind of mothers, who bewailed 
 Their lost ones, and of kinsman of their blood 
 And that mysterious knot of brotherhood 
 Which makes a people and a nation one. 
 The mighty love of a strong hearted race 
 Compassionate as giants for their own 
 Wonld :never fail, forsake or leave to die 
 One in the wilderness however far. 
 Without a thousand lives for one well spent 
 For honour, duty and love's sacrament. 
 
 Their dreams for many years had filled their anm 
 With images of sleeping babes, which morn 
 Envious of night turned into nothingness, 
 Leaving them more bereaved, still more forlorn. 
 But when the thunders of the Bushy Run 
 Were echoed for a thousand miles and woke 
 The fears of all the forest ti-ibes, and more 
 The hopes of the despairing pioneers. 
 For rescue of their kindred and return 
 Of peace and safety to their ravaged homes, 
 The fresh grass timidly began to grew 
 Upon the war paths, as the order ran 
 And overan the desolate frontiers, 
 Tuat i\ll should follow and reclaim each one 
 Their long lost children and their captive kin. 
 
 Before the General's tent a lofty mast 
 Cut from Ohio pine bore proudly up 
 The old red cross of England in the breeze, 
 For freedom and deliverance, and return 
 Of all the captives to their native homes. 
 The General leaning on his sheathed sword, 
 Grave, just and full of pity, foremost stood, 
 To grant, refuse, or order what was right. 
 With patience, justice, and an equal ear 
 To every pleading, or from red or white. 
 Upon a rough camp table by his side 
 Lay papers, books and liste of every tribe. 
 With all their captives claimed, and pen in hand 
 Sat secretailes quick to heai* and note 
 The questions, answei-s, and the Judgments given. 
 While true interp. ete'.^ with gift of tongues 
 Stood ready to interpret all was said, 
 ». In many langt iges, which wide apart, 
 Stili spoke as one to every human heart. 
 
 ' Tha sun shone brightly out upon the throng 
 '' Of broken Indisin wRiTiors who came in — 
 
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 Not slayiflhljr though conquered — grare and sad, 
 Their women blanketed in blue, with babea 
 Tied on th^lr cradle boards, and clutching hard 
 With bronsed hands as loth to let them go, 
 Their children by adoption, girls and boys 
 Blooming with health, blue eyed and flaxen haired, 
 Who to them clung and gaaed with awe and fear 
 Upon the red coat soldiers rank and file, 
 Who formed a spacious squaie with ordered arras 
 And glittering bayonets round the council boaid. 
 The Indian warrior- eu*^ered one by one 
 Thfr martial court ot judgment, every man 
 With bis own bunch ol sticks of eveiy size. 
 The number of the captives he restored. 
 
 •Upon the Oeneral's right the eager throng 
 Of Jostling kinsmen were by sentries checked. 
 That no dnseemly act disorder bred. 
 When they beheld with eyes of lllliug tenrs ' 
 Their children lost to them for yearf and years. 
 Upon the left the captives stood in rows, 
 Bleached white with fear, holding the robes or hands 
 Of their fond foster paients Who behind 
 Them whispered words of comfort as they could, 
 Woi-ds of farewell, and soitow and despair. 
 Fierce were the look>j and angry, which were cast 
 Upon the Indians by the pioii'Wrs, 
 Inflamed the more as often ak they saw. 
 With jealous eyes, the signs 6f love that passed 
 'iBetwebn ^e foster pai-ents and the rows 
 Of captive children dressed in Indian garb 
 Of choicest work of loVfe from hoad to foot 
 
 They brought the captives in by ones and twos 
 For recognition by the eager crowd 
 Of kinsmen waiting with such open eyes 
 As never in the world were se<H) before, 
 Eyes blue or black, the shape of i nose or chin, 
 'Figure and face and forehead, tint of hair, 
 Each trait and form and motion,-ge8tures full 
 Of old familiar memories of their homes 
 Were scanned, and when discovered, suddenly 
 A woman's scream was heaid, a rush to see 
 If she was right — a name of all names dear 
 Oied wildly from the unforgotten past, 
 A grasp of hands^ a kiss, a fond embrace, 
 An old pet name of long and long ago, 
 Repeated and repeated, till it woke 
 Response out of the widely staring eyes, 
 
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 A'HIrtrti'of reeolleot^on Uk«<th»-«iii' ' 
 ReturaJnK OB the long dark polar vif^rti'' 
 Aftd'tkenev cry- uf iikdlanwomrarew 
 Oft ai thait fo«t«r 'clii)di%n>tiinied to ki<H 
 Their natond kiiiirfolk, nnd^ then bade farawidli 
 FapeweM- forerer to their foreei Bfe. 
 
 Bach captive as delivei*ed carae toiionoh 
 The Gteneral 8 hand whoso clasp was liberty, . 
 ^hose word waalawf audbyJiini ldadly;«i.vaii i 
 Each one to his own kinsmen;, bat alaai 
 Many unknown and knowing «ot theraaolsety-. 
 The General called hU own, and these into ' 
 His hospitable tent with others paesod, 
 Where all were cared for, comforted and clad 
 In English gaimenta, and with. wonderisigreafB, 
 Not undarstauding, . heard their native <tongae .- 
 The crowd of fii^ttivefhildsen stood, amazed, 
 Shrinking) dflflaut, frightened atlkefp].-esa 
 OCiathers, jnothers, and of all dagrees 
 Of kith aadldaitiiey^kHewckot, lookkigxtft 
 .With. w« ^ing eyes towauds (die Judiaa.thrang,' 
 Who witk impfitienoe heai-d the iutarpretai's 
 ato wly .explain JJie mutual'. words wer« said.. 
 
 ■. ,Ona fametand stood before<the Gteneral then ; 
 Led by the chief still halting from bis .wound, 
 Who brought the message home from Bushy Run- 
 A4air. hair«l,: blue eyied gii^l, lovely of face, , 
 Slender aadsupple as the rush that stands 
 Out of lihe mirror lot the placid pool 
 Among-tiie water lilies, not less fair; 
 English they said, but no one knew her birth, 
 Oi^tddod. or ibreediagtin- Iter 'cradle land, 
 And every word of langnage she had Ictiown^ 
 Except the Indian tongpue, was lost,: and> blank . 
 Was e very'jnBmory of iter native home ; 
 An Indiaa'glr} in- haartjand heart's idasive^ 
 Her wtatt4i<skin> glistened' through the ImttMitpate 
 That opeuedas she lightly trodithe gruuadi, , 
 Clasping.4ier f <tatar iflEtharls tfaamd^ Bhe>i]ane ' 
 Befik'efthe Osnerai modastljf aadloohad' ( 
 WithtoaltB iniMffareuoe at a WMiMii^s fase- 
 WhooMiDBadlier Lolasely wit^ devenitiag ^yaa^ 
 With hantfauiutsttvtchad^ jnd fao&md«aiBaBd,iaaif 
 To spring towaHdsliBr, bafc'whwa t a od lu obaek ; 
 At sight o&the xepiiteiMkiBitha looks 
 Of the white capnabrgigbii, i^»giKveB»OisigB.. , 
 Of wish #»iMi»wAin9': mURtedtenMitty 
 
•n^ 
 
 37 
 
 At last turned from her with a glance of scorn. 
 
 Was she mistaken, thin fond mother f No! 
 The girl wi s like as young could be to old, 
 In form and feature, and spectatoi-v siJd 
 This must be Gtortnide who. was rudely snatched 
 Out of her baby cradle in the raid 
 Made by the wild Miamis and the French, 
 When Braddock bravely chose to die among 
 His gallant soldiers ambushed in the wood 
 Beside Monongahela's rocky flood. 
 
 The captive girl again disdainfully 
 Looked at the group, not knowing what they said, 
 And with aversion turned from them and clasped 
 Her foster father by the ami, and cried, 
 Somewhat impetuous, as her nature was: 
 
 " I will not leave you, father! nor your ?odge! 
 The only home I love, or wish to know. 
 I will not leave it as the swallows leave 
 Their nests when summer fades and leaves turn broT^n. 
 I am your daughter and none else I know, 
 Or wish to know; I have no kindred laft 
 With whom the memory of me remains, 
 Or whom I can remember. Vainly I 
 Have ransacked all my thoughts of infant years 
 To recollect one face, one word, one thing 
 That ever looked at me out of the dark 
 Oblivion of my babyhood — one look 
 Of loving eyes, one place of home of mine, 
 Other than in our lodges where we dwell 
 Beside Muskingum's pea(«fnl, placid stream." 
 
 As spake the girl, not far away a flute 
 Down In the bushes of ripe alder fuD 
 Of clusters, sounded plaintively and low 
 And sweet, yet sad and hopeless, as the note 
 Of Whlppooi-will reiterated oft 
 In the soft gloaming of a summer eve. 
 Such airs as fill the Indian maids with ruth, 
 And pity for their lovers callinp them 
 With scrannel notes made music to their ears. 
 The maiden knew the air and whose the breatli 
 That filled the flute with sad refrains of love, 
 And for a time forgot the passing scene. 
 Forgot the stai iug eyes, the trembling bands. 
 The whispered words or loud, from lip to lip, 
 Of her white mother and her kinsfolk near, 
 Who stood in growing certainty, m if 
 
'^WFwm 
 
 38 
 
 Ready to rush and seize her aa their own. 
 But something checked them in the girl, a look 
 Of proud repulsion kept them back ; but she 
 Who was her mother would not yield her faith. 
 She came and drew with eager hands the hair 
 Back from the maiden's forehead, held her cheeks 
 Between her trembling palms, and looked into 
 Her eyes and face with steadfast look and long, 
 As if to take her image in, to death. 
 
 The girl gazed at her mother and repelled 
 The touch upon her blushing cheek, and said, 
 " I do not know youl" in her Indian tongue, 
 " This is my father, and my mother, this! 
 I know no other, have no wish to know. 
 And want no other." Then she seized the hands 
 Of both her foster parents; " These I love. 
 With these I live, with these I hope to die 
 In the free forests of the Muskingum I" 
 
 As word by word her speech passed through the lips 
 Of the interprei^r, and met the ear 
 Of her true mother, who had one by one 
 Scanned in her features every line and mark 
 To full conviction that this was her child. 
 As one caught in a snow storm in a wild 
 Dark misty night, and choked with whirling drifts, 
 So was Lflr mother stricken with the cold 
 Defiant breath of her she knew her child. 
 Who loved no more her mother, nor her kin. 
 Those lips that from her tender breast had sucked 
 The milk of infancy, whose smiles had caught 
 From her fond eyes a glimpse of open heaven — 
 Forgotten! O forgotten, every trace 
 Of recognition of her mother's face ! 
 
 Her kinsmen stood, half angry at her words. 
 And doubted strongly what they had believed. 
 " This could not be their Gertrude!" cried they. No! 
 Some wilding shoot of lawless life was she; 
 For nature's self could not so change the blood 
 Of one bom of their name that she preferred 
 The Indian lodge, the Indian garb and tongue, 
 To life at home and civilized attire. 
 She was no daughter of the house thrt stood 
 With open door for many and many a year. 
 Awaiting one to come who never came. 
 The child out of the cradle lost, and now 
 Forever lost, for this could not be she! 
 
■«WSW*»^i. 
 
 39 
 
 They all stood idleiit then and knew not how 
 To reach this heart, obdnrate to them aU. 
 Then spake the Qeneral grarely, aa his eyes 
 Rested with pity on the mother's face — 
 He read thereon the secret of the truth : 
 This was her child! and he himself would try 
 To find the meaning of the mystery. 
 And bring the girl to knowledge of herself, 
 And recollection of her mother, whom 
 He questioned then most searchingly, to tell 
 By whom and where and how she lost her child ? 
 Rent from her struggling arms that lurid night 
 When every roof-tree blazed and tracked with blood 
 Were all the settlements of Bhenandoah. 
 
 Then turning kindly to the captive maid. 
 Who stood as cold as snow, with fiigid eyes 
 Indifferent to all was said or done. 
 With one hand pressed she down her mantle's edge 
 Upon her bosom, and one foot withdrew 
 Not to approach too near the woman, who 
 Had claimed her daringly as her own child. 
 Shrewdly the Genera) thought, " Although the eye 
 Is surest witness of the things of sight, 
 The ear is surer to recall the tones 
 And catch the voices of the long ago. 
 Words still work miracles, aa when the world 
 And all things in it, by the Word were made. 
 Words stir the memory oif our earliest love. 
 In winged woi-ds of a forgotten lay 
 Back to the dawn of childhood's farthest day." 
 
 Then to the captive maid, and with a smile, 
 " Sit down," he said, " upon the grass and rest 
 Your hands and face upon the woman's breast," 
 And to the mother bade her sit beside 
 The captive girl, who half obeyed his words 
 And half refused, but wondering out and in 
 What meant the Baganosb ? what meant the look 
 That fascinated her and held her bound 
 Beneath her mother's eyes ? what meant the sound 
 So musical and sweet that from her lips 
 Pell like an incantation on her ear f 
 A melody as of a happy dream 
 Recalled she knew not where, or when or how. 
 The wise pjd General knew the secret springs 
 That move the heart to ruth, aiid as he bade 
 Her mother sang her cradle Hong again, 
 The long forgotten strains of long ago. 
 
 /::>' 
 
 
'wmm 
 
 wtmmmm^'' 
 
 
 1 
 
 f 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^1 '' 
 
 
 40 
 
 '< Hnshl my babel Ue still and dumber, 
 ftoly angels guard thy bed, 
 HeaTenly blessings without number 
 Palling gently on thy headt" 
 
 With faltering voice and quivering lips she sang, 
 So full of love the sweet and saintly hymn 
 First heard in Infancy from mother's lips 
 Of all our English race, upon the ear 
 Of the young girl; it held her spell bound, while 
 She listened wonderlngly to words and sound 
 That opened long shut doors of memory. 
 Like one awakening from a night long sleep, 
 And sent a thrill so sweet it felt like pain. 
 
 Again her mother's voice, weak in its fear 
 Lest this last trial was in vain, went on. 
 Clutching her daughter's hands while ran the tears 
 From their hot fountain down her withered cheek. 
 She trembling sang, like one that fasts and prays 
 And scarcely hopes for answer to her prayer. 
 
 " Soft, my dear, I do not chide thee. 
 Though my song may sound too hard, 
 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee 
 And her arms shall be thy guard." 
 
 The mother bent and kissed the passive cheek 
 That lay upon her lap, no longer turned 
 In hot rasentment, but subdued by love. 
 Music and words surged through the maiden's soul. 
 Her heai-t was striving with new consclonsnesii 
 Of long forgotten things, as in the waves 
 Of shipwreck, facos that we know are seen 
 Emerging from the deep, and hands lift up 
 Their prayer for help; so lay the sobbing girl 
 In agony of knowledge. She upon 
 Her mother's knees, looked upward and her eyes 
 Were caught as by a talisman and held 
 By something she remembered to have seen; 
 A silver bauble set with coral, hung 
 ■Suspended on her mother's breast, a toy 
 With subtle thoUghtfulness of mother love 
 Placed there; she knew itl touched it! kissed I 
 And as the cradle hymn flowed in her ear 
 The words less strange and still less strange appear. 
 One word of it she caught and in her heart 
 
 Interpreted, and rising on her knees 
 
 Flung both arms round her weeping mother's neck 
 
 And kissed her, and with voice all heard cried out 
 
 1 
 
41 
 
 " My mother! O, my tnotherl" nothii.g more, 
 She knew but that one word of childhood's lore, 
 That comprehends all love of oarth and heaven 
 Yes, she remembered now her English tonguol 
 " Mother! my mother!" and it was enough! 
 
 All looked with tears of sympathy upon 
 This scene ef Nature's own enacting. " Yea!" 
 Exclaimed her kinsfolk one and all, " 'Tis she! 
 She knows her mother!" " Yes, and I know herl 
 My long lost Gertrude! now again ray own!" 
 Replied the enraptured mother as she pressed 
 Her to her heart, and with her hands caressed. 
 
 The Indian foster parents with dismay 
 Watched all her movements, and knew but too well 
 Their loved one lost to them, as she embraced 
 The mother she confessed before them all! 
 The General raised his hand to clear the mist 
 That gathered in his brave and steady eyes. 
 Pleased with his stratagem, he bade them go, 
 The girl in her new freedom and the rest, 
 With words of kind advice. Her Indian kin 
 With gifts were loaded, and all sent away, 
 To make place still for othei-s, for a throng 
 Of captives standing waiting to be free. 
 
 The gaunt old Chief showed no emotion, but 
 Stood up before the General, " You," said he, 
 " I know to be a man, as I am one. 
 For you have conquered fairly, and I jrield 
 My arms to you When hopeless is the field 
 And all is lost, 'tis good to bury deep 
 The useless hatchet, when a noble foe 
 Whom we can trust and know to be a man 
 Shall offer peace and friendship to our tribes, 
 As he who conquered us at Bushy Run. 
 Take our dear girl! although our hearts are sore 
 At pai-ting with her; it is right and just 
 That I who took her captive, when a babe, 
 Return her now a maiden, pure and good. 
 Trained in the virtues of our forest tribes. 
 Permit me only to fulfil one wish. 
 To give her gifts — broad lands of hill and dale 
 Beside this river, which she loves so well. 
 Lands of otir nation which we will not sell 
 We give Ut her and hers, while water runs 
 A^\ grass grows on the prairies ever more. 
 
 fill 
 
 A time will come, when those who follow here 
 
 J 
 
t1 
 
 f ! 
 
 49 
 
 Th«) BaganoBh, the aoldlert of the SUng, 
 Will not regard the treaty you have made, 
 Nor any treaty with our Indian tiibee, 
 But hold tt8 1ms than woWea, a common prey 
 For all who choose to take our lands away! 
 But all is oura as yet. I lift my hand 
 And close it in the air — I grasp the wind : 
 But standing on the solid ground, my feet 
 I press upon it, all is Arm and hard. 
 And by this wampum belt, I give to her 
 Ten thousand squarM of acres high and low. 
 Upon Muskingum's bank, as she shall choose 
 To be her portion near or far away. 
 Which while a led man lives of all our tribe 
 Will be held sacred to the end of days. 
 And you shall be her guardian, BaganoshI 
 To see that none of your own race and hue 
 Take from her what I give in trust to you I" 
 
 The girl with many teai-s uid loving words 
 Embraced her foster father, whom she kii»ed 
 ' On hands and cheek, and all her Indian kin. 
 With sad farewell; held fast her mother's hand 
 As if she feared to lose it; then retired 
 Into the tents set f oi* the captives who 
 Were that day freed upon the Muskingum . 
 
 The business of the day went on. The rest 
 Of all the raptives were delivered up, 
 Claimed and unclaimed — the last, alas I not few. 
 And most unhappy with no friends to greet, 
 No homekept memories, no love to cheer. 
 Save the rough pity of the Saganosh, 
 The soldiers soft of heart though rude of speech. 
 Who cared for them as if they were their own. 
 
 All were delivered up — man, woman, child, 
 To the last one; and then the books were shut. 
 A loud salute of cannon and the roll 
 Of English drums that beat for Justice ever I 
 Filled the wild air with glad triumphal noise. 
 The troops mai'cbed to their camp, to end the day 
 With feasting fit and merry, while a sad 
 And slow procession of the Indian tribes 
 Entered the gloomy forest whence they came, 
 To mourn the loss of their adopted ones 
 And brood upon the doom hung o'er their race. 
 
 The General to his tent with heart to fiMt " 
 For both, that all were human and alike, 
 
 
'"'^fi^m^wf^wTm^^mmn^ 
 
 Were eqnall j God's creaturm - whlt« and red — 
 Sat down and with M* fiiiends fared temperately, 
 And talked far in tbe night, of good deed« done, 
 And lem of Bluught»r than ot lives were Mved, 
 And most of all the triumph of to-day, 
 The great Deliverance of the Bushy Run. 
 
 48 
 
 m 
 
 
 L'Envoy. 
 
 Old aifford dosed the book, and read no more; 
 But mused and smiled by turns, like cloud and sun 
 Upon an April day of mottled sky, 
 Prefiguring the summer by and by. 
 •' What think yon of it, brother ?" to the chief 
 He spake, beside him. " Full a hundred years 
 Have come and gone since that deliverance; 
 How is it with the prophecy of doom 
 Was spoken in Muskingum's forest glades 
 When yet the pioneers afraid to cross 
 The mountain barriei-s to the pathless west, 
 Held back their multitudes until the way 
 Was opened by the soldiers of the King P' 
 
 The chief turned sadly to him and replied: 
 " I know full well that prophecy of doom. 
 In all our tribes we count a hundred yean 
 Of fiaud and force, and all those westeni lands 
 Have been rent from us with a fatal cui-se 
 That will not leave them to the end of time. 
 • A century of dishonor,' more than full. 
 Of broken treaties, exile, hunger, death, 
 Has raged In crueltyjagainst the tribes 
 Whose evil fate it was to own the land 
 The pale face coveted, ai.d seized and kept 
 With unclean hands that dripped with Indian blood. 
 iNot so with us in happier Canada, 
 Where right and justice neath the seeptered rule 
 Of her whose natal day we celebrate. 
 Prevail in all your dealings with our race, 
 Wbere never covenant chain was broken yet, 
 Nor treaty toru, nor foul dispai'agement 
 Ikme to our people, who in war or peace 
 Are therefore true to you forever more. 
 With q lickened souls we leain from you who know, 
 Things w i«e and good, and by degrees throw off 
 The robe o' skins and dress ourselves like you, 
 And lay aside the bow, and till the soil, 
 
 1 
 
44 
 
 The ploagh and not the hatchet In o«r haiwta. 
 Thus love we our dear country Mid riw up 
 Tn the fuU heigh* oJ! imbject« of our Queen." 
 
 •• Yeal 'tis well said!" cried caifford, " and a day 
 Will come of recognition, gratitude 
 And pride in the achlevemente of your race. 
 Your noble chiefs, Brant and Tecnmseth both 
 Will stand in bronae in our great cities, with 
 The honours of our annals, as of men 
 Who helped to keep this land, nor fewed to die 
 For Britain's Empire in the Western World." 
 
 And now the games were ended, and the play, 
 In which both sides had lost and won the day, 
 Finished with feasting, music and a dance 
 Upon the lawn of Paradise, the sun 
 Set in the western woods, Iiindling a blaee 
 Of gloiT lite a bonftre of the world. 
 By twos and threes and tens, a merry train 
 Wended their way to town, across the plain 
 Of old Fort George; their moving shadows stretch 
 To lengths portentous on the glistening grasa. 
 The minllt tower of old St. Mark's stiU shone 
 Above the sombre pines, while all its bells 
 Broke out in harmony — a charmi.ig peal 
 That filled the air with music all the way 
 To cl<Me the revels of the Queen's Birthday. 
 
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