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TCEROR
MIST NINSULAMS
CIRCUMSITOR
1
CHARLES A. DENISON
B.L. 1893 LLB. 1894
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TALES
OF
THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
Wilhelm Christian
FRIEDRICH GERSTACKER.
A
EDINBURGH: THOMAS CONSTABLE AND CO.
HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., LONDON.
JAMES M'GLASHAN, DUBLIN.
MDCCCLIV.

EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE, PRINTER TO HER MAJESTI.

Denison
hange
M
7-16 38
3660l
CONTENTS
.f.3.2 be-t-i
PAGE
1
BELL-THE-WOLF,
BLACK AND WHITE.-AN INCIDENT IN THE SETTLER-LIFE OF
MISSOURI,
33
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.-A NEW ZEALAND SKETCH,
88
THE GERMAN AND His Child.-AN INCIDENT IN AMERICAN LIFE,
153
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.--SKETCHES FROM AMERICAN
LIFE,
201
THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICARREES,
239
LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS,
296


TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
BELL-THE-WOLF.
In the sequestered valleys of that noble chain of mountains
known as the Washitah range, the genuine North American
backwoodsman is still to be found. Homely but upright,
rough but hardy, he is as remarkable for the self-sacrificing
generosity of his friendships as for the deadliness of his hatred.
The toils of the chase, the cultivation of the land, and above
all the rearing of cattle, furnish him with the means of sub-
sistence. For these last-named operations the region is
especially adapted, by the mildness of the climate and by its
undulating surface, here rising into grassy slopes and anon
sinking into depressed hollows of marshland covered with
acres of reed and rush. The rearing of vast herds of cattle is
thus a matter of very little trouble. A bandful of salt
sprinkled from time to time near their huts, periodical and
frequent walks from one scattered herd to another to accus-
tom them to the presence of man, so as to prevent their be-
coming wild, is all that is needed in the way of care and
tendance.
One enemy however the backwoodsman has to contend
with, one that in spite of rifle and trap, in spite of wearisome
A
gia

2
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
pursuit and endless stratagems, he has never yet been a
match for ;-an enemy that, coming stealthily in howling
troops upon the lowing, frightened herds by night, fell upon
many a hapless calf, many a straying heifer, to say nothing
of countless sheep and pigs—fell upon, tore, and devoured
them !
This cunning, merciless and bloodthirsty enemy was the
wolf. But in vain the backwoodsman brought ail his skill
and experience to bear against the crafty thief; in vain, night
after night, defying the assaults of gnats and mosquitoes, he
lay in wait in the moonlight, stretched on the gnarled branches
of some wide-spreading and leafy oak, beneath which he had
placed a dainty bait. Seldom could the wary beast be tempted
within rifle-shot. In spite of constant watchings, the wolves
increased and multiplied year by year and the herds dimi-
nished in proportion, till the cattle-farmers felt that decisive
measures must be adopted, unless they were prepared to own
themselves vanquished, and to quit the field and give up their
employment altogether. A backwoodsman vanquished by
the wolves ;-rattlesnakes, and buffaloes ! it was not to be
thought of; life-long disgrace and shame were involved.
That under such circumstances the best shot should be
regarded as the best man was but natural; and so it was that
Benjamin Holick, who, in the half-year since he had come out
of Missouri to settle at Washitah, had killed no less than
seventeen of these formidable beasts with his rifle, received
the honourable soubriquet of Wolf's-Ben, with the reputation
of being the most skilful marksman in the district.
Wolf's-Ben was moreover a fine fellow to look at; he
stood full six feet high, had a giant's breadth of shoulders
and a brawny muscular arm, and was considered a more
powerful wrestler than a man though himself no craven,
would care needlessly to provoke. With all this, he was the

BELL-THE-WOLF.
3
most good-tempered, patient, obliging friend that a settler
could make. A good word would win anything from him ;
he would give away his powder to the last charge, and the
very
last crust out of his wallet. And then who could tell
tales of such exciting adventures as Wolf's-Ben? who gathered
wood so cheerfully for the fires when the woodsmen were
watching at night? who ground the maize so quickly, or
cared so kindly for the cattle ? Indeed his obliging ways and
his handsome face had won him such favour among the wo-
mankind at the settlement as to reduce many of the youth
to despair, and to secure for himself, innocent as he was of
having crossed the path of a single one, a number of deadly
enemies among them. But though Wolf's-Ben gave cause of
offence to none, and just went about his own business, he
nevertheless kept his eyes open, and knew perfectly well
whose fireside he liked best to sit by, in whose eyes he liked
best to sun himself, and who it was that gave him, not the
most friendly greeting—for all welcomed him kindly, but whose
heightened colour it was that sent the warm blood dancing
and leaping in quickest measure through his veins.
But I will not lengthen out a riddle that the reader has
already solved. Benjamin Holick loved, as only one pure
and true-hearted like himself can love; and his affections
were fixed on the only daughter of Robert Sutton, a charm-
ing little girl, and the heiress of all her father's wealth. Ay,
there was the rub; that he, a poor adventurer with nothing
in the world but his knife and his rifle and his strong arm,
should be accepted as the son-in-law of a man who had the
largest possessions in all Washitah and Red River, and who
only came up the mountains in summer for his health and for
the sake of pasturage for the flocks, was not a very likely
thing to happen. And when he remembered too that Sutton
was commonly reputed a covetous man, of what weight


4
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
with such a one would be Benjamin's personal advantages, or
the brave, true, and honest heart, which, though it was as the
pearl to the casket that contained it, even the lover himself
never thought of reckoning among them ?
Ben had often tried to devise some scheme for getting a
little money—of late he had thought of it much and sadly-
just enough to give him a start—to set him going, as it were.
To earn it by daily labour, and so from week to month to
add dollar to dollar, seemed too tedious. And yet something
must be done ; for he knew that he would not be the first
wooer for whom old Sutton had placed a bench outside the
door. But where, in the quiet course of this simple wood-
land life, was he likely to meet with golden opportunity and
to seize it?
A thoughtful sadness fastened on him. He avoided the
houses of his companions, passed whole days and nights in
the woods, having nothing to show for his walks but the
scalps of the wolves he destroyed—the three dollars a head
with which the State rewarded his good service and which
still amounted to a mere trifle, being carefully put by, as
the foundation of his claim for the hand of the beautiful
Mabel.
It was about this time that, in a short excursion in Texas,
old Sutton was told, by some of the outlying cattle-farmers
there, of a plan for utterly banishing the wolves from any
district in which they had established themselves.
The plan was this. A wolf was to be caught, and taken
alive; and then, after having a bell fastened round his neck,
he was to be set at liberty. The creature would naturally
return to his comrades; but no sooner did these hear the
unwonted sound than they took to their heels, and in wild
confusion fled before their former associate. But wherever
they fled the bell still followed; for the strange ornament

BELL-THE-WOLF.
5
around his throat, and the dinning noise in his ears, made
,
solitude doubly distasteful to him.
He shakes himself, he rolls, he leaps, he spins round and
round, he essays every possible means of ridding himself of
his torment; and exasperated to the highest pitch to find that
he can no longer steal unobserved and noiselessly upon his
prey, but is ever betraying his approach by the sound of the
hated bell, he seeks the society of his brother wolves; and
there too he only succeeds in driving herd after herd from
the mountains which he had formerly selected as his dwelling
place; and, urged to extremity, finds himself at last con-
strained to seek another hunting-ground. There again the
sound of the bell betrays him, and not unfrequently drives the
flocks, in well-compacted phalanx, to the shelter of the settle-
ment.
The experiment must assuredly be tried in Washitah.
Sutton returns on a sudden, takes counsel with the neighbour-
ing farmers, and in concert with them announces a reward
of twenty dollars to whosoever shall bring a live wolf to the
village.
It was all very well to affix the reward, but the wolves
were more crafty than the hunters. And even after Ben had
brought in scalp after scalp, it seemed to him impossible to
catch one of the cunning beasts alive and bring him unhurt
to the farmers; for the pits that he dug for them were all
empty, or had trapped only the neighbours' sheep and swine.
Where Benjamin Holick was unsuccessful the other lads of
the settlement soon began to despair; and the farmers, red-
hot upon the matter, and determined on any terms to make
trial of the experiment, raised the sum to be given for a real
live wolf to the unheard-of price, in these woodland regions,
of two hundred dollars !
This was truly a stimulus to Benjamin. With two hun-

6
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
dred dollars could he not stock a little farm, purchase a few
cattle, make a beginning; and then Mabel l-ay, who knows
if she would not be able to persuade her father, if once he
saw her lover with the black thief in chains at his heels? But
there was no time to be lost; for the reward had of course
brought all the hunters of the neighbouring country into the
field, and the woods resounded with the strokes of the axe
upon the sapling trees that the men cut down to prepare
the only kind of traps known in the district. Steel traps for
instance were useless, as there was risk of wounding, if not
of destroying the prey-and the premium was offered exclu-
sively for a “live and unharmed wolf.”
It was at this season that a visitor came to the mountains,
a
who occasioned the greatest uneasiness to our friend Ben, and
even became dangerous to him. This was a so-called cousin
of Sutton's, a citizen in a blue coat with silver buttons and
trowsers with straps to them. How the children laughed
when he went into a house and sat down! How they put
their dirty faces together and whispered; and then, casting a
shy, sidelong glance at the “straps,” and bursting into fits
of uncontrollable laughter, tumbled in wild confusion out of
the door. This, however, was no great matter; the urchins
were but children who knew nothing of the world, and as
little whether a man had anything in him or not. And this
man certainly had an uncle who passed for the richest planter
in Alabama, and he was his only heir. No wonder then
that old Sutton received him in the most friendly manner,
treated him as his own son, and placed his house and every-
thing in it, his daughter's hand not excepted, entirely at his
disposal.
Mr. Metcalf appeared to be fully aware of the treasure thus
thrown in his way; and what if the young lady herself were
shy and avoided his presence, and on every possible occasion

BELL-THE-WOLF.
7
gave him to understand that all the sweet things he said
were positively distasteful to her-was he, a man brought up
in New Orleans, to be driven from his purpose by a little
countrified prude? Like a prudent man, he strove by every
means to ingratiate himself with the father, flattering the old
man in all his weaknesses, and in a very short time persuaded
him that he was the best hunter, the boldest rider, and the
finest fellow that had ever worn the hunter's coat, &c. &c.,
till by his cunning and his prodigious display of learning,
especially in things which he had never heard before, he so
beguiled his host that Sutton was heard to declare that Mr.
Metcalf was the smartest and best man in the
range ;
and
that if his daughter refused to give him her hand, she would
have to reckon with him, her father, on that score.
Poor Mabel! in a private meeting with her lover-it was
the first-she poured out her whole heart to him, told him of
the oppression that weighed her down, declared that it would
be impossible to live without him, and pronounced herself
the most miserable creature upon the face of the earth !
Benjamin perfectly agreed with her as he held her hand in
his, and looked with a sad and sympathizing gaze into the
depths of those blue eyes that were fixed so mournfully on
his. At last in a voice that would fain have been sooth-
ing, but was only sad, he spoke :-“Dearest Mabel ! be not
cast down; all will be well. I have been at work all night,
and have set four new traps with a dainty bait in each ; the
wolf once caught, I secure a small capital, and say to your
father, "Friend Sutton, I would fain have your daughter to
wife. I have a comfortable home to take her to, and I want
nothing but herself. I ask for no portion or dowry;' and
when I add, that you are not unfavourable to my suit"-
“Oh!” cried Mabel, interrupting him, and sobbing as she
spoke, “but you will not be the first to catch the wolf. The
-

8
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
odious stranger has been talking of nothing the whole even-
ing but the newly-invented snare; and he tells my father
that he is going to set it in our woods. Ah! he knows all
the tricks and snares that they invent in the cities, and he
will baffle you, and turn you out of the path yet.”
“Let not that trouble you, sweetheart," replied her lover
soothingly, while a smile of proud self-confidence stole over
his handsome face. “Don't be downcast for that. Men may
invent snares and traps in the cities, but they must learn to
use them in the forest ; and if the city-born prove too much for
:
us there, it's our own fault, and we deserve it. And as to
what you tell me of his pretending to know something of the
hunter's craft, why, there I meet him on my own ground and
yield to no man living; and now, since I've been talking
;
to you, I don't know how it is, but I feel as if new life and
confidence had been infused into me. Only be true to me,
my own Mabel! Your father cannot force you into marriage;
!
and when he finds that I want neither his goods nor his gold,
but only your dear self for my wife, because I cannot live
without
you,
he will see at once that such a son-in-law will
bring him far more honour than would the smart citizen, and
I shall yet win a hearty assent from him."
There breathed such a spirit of earnest, fervid trust in his
words, that the dispirited maiden gathered fresh hope from
them and was comforted ; but Benjamin, impressed by the
tidings of his rival's skill in traps, felt urged to immediate
efforts, lest delay should place hindrances in the way of his
happiness ; so taking a cheerful leave of the maiden, and
pressing a kiss on her dewy eyelids, he shouldered his rifle,
and walked with a firm step and a brave heart towards the
forest.
The favourite resort of the wolves was an enclosure adjoin-
ing the homesteads and at the outskirts of the wood, where

BELL-THE-WOLF.
9
the cãttle were littered down at night; and here it was that
Benjamin Holick had set his snares. One of these, that to
which he especially looked to crown his hopes with success,
was placed near a track the wolves had made between two
elevated ridges, so narrow that it was impossible for them to
pass without observing the tempting bait with which it was
garnished—the head of a freshly-killed horse. The locality
had one great advantage. It was commanded by the summit
of a craggy rock, from whence Benjamin's eagle-glance could
at once ascertain how matters stood below. The necessity
of closer inspection was thus obviated, and there were no
treacherous footprints to arouse the suspicions of the wary
foe. He could not indeed see to the bottom of the pit, but
he could see whether the trap was still set or whether it had
been sprung.
There was nothing to be done at night, and after his part-
ing with Mabel, Ben made at once for his bivouac on the hill
side, where he had determined to remain till he had achieved
the enterprise. He soon succeeded in kindling a fire, and after
eating his simple supper, rolled himself in his blanket and
quickly fell asleep.
There was no need of cock-crowing to arouse him in the
morning, for at the first plaintive note of the Whip-poor-will
he had started to his feet, and prepared his coffee, of which
every sportsman in the backwoods carries with him a supply
roasted and ground, in a linen or leathern bag—and then
sat impatiently watching for the first streaks of light in the
eastern sky.
Slowly, but at last—at last, the longed-for light began to
dawn, the signal for the return of the wolves to their accus-
tomed and generally inaccessible dens; and now, creeping
rather than walking, and carefully avoiding such withered
branches and crackling brushwood as might have told to

10
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
eager look.
some lingering beast the tale of his approach, Benjamin made
the best of his way to his look-out on the rock.
He had climbed the steep; and through the gray, cold,
faint light he had discovered the spot. Again he bent his
Could it be! or was he deceived by the quiver-
ing of the rising sun? The top of the snare was no longer to
be seen ; had it indeed fallen ? His heart beat with feverish
anxiety, and it was with a strong effort that he restrained his
impatience, and waited for the full morning light ere he
descended to the hunting-ground.
The suspense at length became intolerable ; and as he
looked with fixed and strained gaze against the growing
light, he became convinced of the fact, it was no longer a hope
-a doubt-it was a certainty. The snare had fallen, and a
wolf must be at the bottom. It could be nothing else--for
the cows, that had sprung so many snares, still more to their
own discomfiture than to that of the hunter, never frequented
this stony and barren valley.
"Mabel !” he exclaimed, perhaps unconsciously, as with
rapid pace he descended the height, and made for the spot
where, amid a thicket of sassafras and spice-bushes, in a heap
of driftwood brought down by the mountain-torrent, and
sprinkled by its clear rushing waters, the snare had been
laid.
"Hurrah !" shouted Ben, giving vent to his ecstasy in one
loud ringing note of triumph. He had reason; for there, at
the bottom of the pit, looking shy, and as if ashamed to be
seen in the daylight, was a fine, black-coated he-wolf. The
creature's eyes glared fiercely when, through the openings in
his prison, they fell on the form of the young hunter-the
most perilous of all the enemies by whom he was beset, into
whose hands he could have fallen.
“ Hark ye, beastie,” said Benjamin, looking down between

BELL-THE-WOLF.
11
the interstices of the fallen beams, which were about a hand-
a
breath apart. “I have put a stop to your handywork at
last, you hoary old glutton! And there you are, after having
snarled away all your fellows from the newly-discovered
dainty, seated in the place of honour behind the grating !
only wait a while, and I have still more glorious sport in pro-
spect for thee.
It is not now a question of life and death;
nevertheless, once I set thee a running with the bell round
thy neck, and thou wilt find out what it is to have fallen
into Ben Holick's hands!”
The wolf showed his teeth and grinned savagely at the
young hunter as he bent over the trap, but did not attempt
to stir, seeming like an enraged dog to await his oppor-
tunity for a spring. It was not Ben's purpose to irritate the
animal further; he cast one more look down and then laugh-
ingly cried —
“I am not altogether unkindly disposed towards thee, old
fellow, for though you are not altogether the most likely look-
ing of suitors, you shall yet help me to win a bride and so
we will part friends ;” and thus nodding pleasantly to his
captive and shouldering his rifle, Ben sprang, leaping down
the somewhat steep declivity that led by the nearest path to
the homesteads, in order to get assistance without delay, and
so at once to bell the wolf; “and then, hurrah! how he will
jump! He shall go free enough then ; a clear course and
liberty at will."
The inhabitants of Woodville—for so it had pleased them
to call their hamlet of three houses and two stables-had not
perceived the young hunter's approach, and he took all by
surprise as he rushed, singing and shouting, into Sutton's
domicile, where he unconsciously embraced by turns Mabel
and her father, and poured out such a wild rhapsody about
wolves, scalps, farmers, bells, snares, and driftwood, that no

12
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
wonder it was soon noised abroad that Benjamin Holick had
gone out of his wits.
By degrees however the matter was made clear; and no
sooner did old Sutton see how things were going, than he took
down his gun and powder-flask, and, fully participating in the
young man's delight, prepared at once to set forth with him,
regretting only the absence of Metcalf, who had also passed
the night in the wood, watching.
“Ah! he'll have had like luck, I guess,” said the old man,
"for he had fine prospects, and seemed sure of his game.
Well, well, there's no harm done ; you can divide the reward,
and two wolves are, after all, surer than one. It is a wolf
that you've trapped ?”
“ Ay, and a fine one too, as ever tore calf.”'
“Capital ! capital !—come along, Ben. Holla! Scipio and
Cato, away with ye both! Where did you say the beast is ?
By the frog-spring ?”
“On the bank of the stream, about six hundred paces from
the split in the hill-ridge, and just opposite where the devil's
pulpit hangs over the brook. The niggers will be able to
find the spot ?"
“ All right, man ; they can't well miss it-Scipio knows
every inch of the ground—and now for the rope and the bag.
Have you got the collar, Ben ?”
The young man nodded assent, shook the little bell right
merrily, and seemed hardly able to wait till the spot was
reached, so eager was he to complete the achievement, and to
seal his victory.
With hasty steps the two men pursued the narrow path
which led from the dwellings to the wood, and soon quitted it
to pursue a track which, running along the slope of a hill that
overhung the stream, led to the frog-spring.
“But, Ben, you are sure you have him safe ?” said the old
BELL-THE-WOLF.
13
man, suddenly stopping short in his walk, and looking with a
somewhat mistrustful eye on his companion ; “ you were so
wonderful merry with me just now. True, it was early morn.
I trust now, that you are not making a fool of me?"
Ben Holick laughed immoderately, and shook the collar
that he held in his hand, so that the bell sounded clear and
sharp through the forest. “Ha, ha, ha, ha! That is admir-
able! Nay, Sutton, but that is admirable indeed! Can
you
conceive, can you for a moment conceive—ha, ha, ha, ha !-
that I could have deceived you?”
66 Mr. Holick”-
“No, no; excuse me, sir," said Ben, bridling his merri-
ment, when he found how earnest the old man's displeasure
was becoming. “You must not take it amiss,” he said, “if
I did talk over loudly just now. One can't help rejoicing to
see a thief of a beast like that outwitted at last, when he has
so long escaped every snare that was set for him. But we
are hard by now. I see the pines of the devil's pulpit tower-
ing above the dark wood; and there below, where the hickory
is trodden down in the hollow way, is the driftwood among
which my snare was placed. The negroes will be able to
find the place.”
“Scipio knows every inch of the ground,” replied Sutton.
“And here then we shall find the beast.-Patience, patience,
and
you shall be off to make music to your comrades till their
ears tingle. But hark ye, Ben, this is altogether an unpro-
fitable path, and we are just at the steepest part of it. What
do
ye say to a short halt? Hey, man! what are you peep-
ing at there ?"
The
young man had leaped on to the trunk of a fallen tree,
and, grasping the overhanging branch of a young beech, was
gazing steadfastly into the depths of the hollow that lay be-
neath ; but be returned no answer.


14
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
“Hey, Ben! what ails ye, man? You don't rightly know
where you are, I suspect," cried the farmer, looking impa-
tiently around.
66
“We are in the wrong hollow.”
Still Ben Holick answered not a word; but, with a look of
deathlike paleness, pointed, as though incapable of utterance,
to a confused heap of poles and withered brushwood in the
midst of which the old man's practised eye quickly discovered
the rough, four-cornered, massive framework of a wolf-snare,
such as were commonly used in the forest.
66
“ 'Tis a cheat! a cheat, after all!” he cried, when a second
glance had convinced him that it was empty. “This is too
much; and now the sooner I am up the hill again the better.”
But as he turned to climb the ridge, his eyes
fell
upon
the
wild and haggard countenance of the so late joyous hunter;
and as he was about to ask what ailed him, the words—“It
is EMPTY !” broke, in a hollow whisper, from Ben's lips.
Farmer Sutton was alarmed, and quickly exclaimed: “Do
you really mean to tell me that you left a wolf under that
a
trap?"
“ Under that trap," repeated his dispirited companion slowly
and mournfully, as he stood gazing on the pitiless wreck of
all his hopes of happiness.
“ And you would really have me believe that?" growled
the old man, as he nevertheless began to descend the slope,
till he came over against the spot where the trap had been
set.
It was empty, indeed; but of one thing there was no longer
any doubt—it had fallen. The flesh inside did not appear to
have been touched; but there was a trace of scent, and, on
further search, some white hairs adhering to one of the rough
beams, that could only have come from the belly of a wolf.
But what had become of him? That he could have worked
his way out, under the heavy framework, was impossible.

BELL-THE-WOLF.
15
Sutton stepped down and put his shoulder to lift it; he could
scarcely raise it a foot.
While he was thus employed Benjamin joined him, and
without speaking a word placed his rifle against a tree, threw
the bell and collar beside it, and stepping into the middle
of the ruined heap, began carefully, but without disturbing
anything, to examine the state of matters within.
“ And you really had a live wolf there this morning ?” re-
peated Sutton, after a pause, during which, in spite of the
evidence of the hair and the scent, he had become confirmed
in his unbelief.
“I give you my word of honour on it,” said Ben in a
broken voice. "A stout he-wolf was sitting under the trap
when I left this spot scarce an hour since; but the strength
of three wolves would not have sufficed to have moved these
beams and to make an opening through them; and even if
they had, they must have left at least half their skin on the
rough bark.”
“I think so too,” said Sutton. “ And you are fully per-
suaded that it was a wolf?”
“Now hang it, man !” exclaimed the hunter, stung beyond
endurance by disappointment, and now by the oft-repeated
suspicion of his truth, “do you think I don't know a wolf
from a lump of horseflesh ? but there !—look in and convince
yourself at last.” As he spoke he suddenly jumped into the
middle of the heap, and with one vigorous effort threw back
the spring that covered the trap as though it had been but a
sapling lath, and swung himself with one leap to the bottom.
“ There !-look!” he exclaimed, as he pointed to the humid
surface. “ Here ! here ! here ! again, are the marks of the
claws, since you will not take my word ; here is the place
where he drove in the spring as he was taking the bait; and
here it seems, is the spot where it fell. Would you
have more


16
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
proof that it is a fact and not a lie that I'm telling you ?
Plague and poison! it is some vile trick that one of those
skulking villains of the hamlet who can never look me straight
in the face, has played me.
The wild beast has been set free
of wanton malice, and, by my right hand! the man who has
thus shamefully laid his finger on Ben Holick's property, had
better never have seen the banks of Washitah than encounter
my gaze, if once I trace the deed home to him.”'
“Humph," murmured the old man, “it's a wonderful story
“
certainly. Who should give himself the trouble to set a wolf
loose just for the sake of spiting you? And must he not have
dogged your footsteps and been at your heels the whole night,
or how should he have known the exact moment when he
might set about his work with impunity ?”
Ben made no reply, but climbed up the pit and began to
search the wood for any indications that might put him on
the right track ; but the withered brushwood gave no sign;
and he found nothing but a few hairs, and the prints of his
claws where the animal had made his first spring on emerging
from the snare, whence he appeared to have made at once for
his covert by the shortest cut across the hollow. There was
no trace of human footsteps ; the only thing that met the
young man's eye was a couple of stones sunk to an unusual
depth in the wet soil, -notwithstanding which they were per-
fectly dry; he who had made use of them must then, have
passed over within a very short space of time.
.
Holick pointed out the stones to the old man, who confessed
that it seemed to him also as though some person had passed
that way ; but that of course afforded no clue to any particu-
lar individual. From the crest of the ridge there was a track
that passed in a straight line over the hill for about a mile,
and then terminated abruptly in several rough stony declivi-
ties. It was exactly the spot that any one wishing to avoid

BELL-THE-WOLF.
17
pursuit would have selected, and both saw at once that further
search in this direction would be useless.
The negroes were sent back, and Sutton, in no very
pleasant humour, followed them. Holick remained to make
further examination of the wood, and to explore the track
which he imagined the stones to indicate, in the hope that
some propitious turn might bring him-he stamped his foot
fiercely as he thought of it-face to face with his treacherous
enemy. He found nothing. The whole day was spent in
.
crossing and recrossing the wood, and when he returned at
evening weary and dispirited to the hamlet, he had to endure
the condolence of the neighbours, and to minister to the
curiosity which, under the guise of sympathy, eagerly craved
the minutest details of the event. Metcalf especially was
most friendly in offering his services to go over the track with
him again. He had had, as he had assured Sutton, great ex-
perience in tracking, and was convinced he should be able to
discover some clue. Holick however considered himself, in
this matter, as good a man as any that ever trode in mocca-
sins, and courteously but positively declined the offer.
There was something “uncanny,” as our northern friends
would
say, in Metcalf's look and voice, from which Ben Holick
recoiled with instinctive aversion. Was it party spirit and
jealousy that inspired such groundless hatred of the man ?
was it not rather-
“God forgive me!” he exclaimed, checking the thought,
as he strode back to the wood for in this mood of excited
feeling and of "hope deferred,” he neither could nor would
come before Mabel.
“God forgive me that I should think
thus unkindly of a man who, as far as I know, has never done
me wrong; but this Metcalf ever comes across me as my evil
spirit, and if there lives the man at whose door I would lay
this devil's villany, it is HE.
But beware!--if it be thou, my

B

18
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
master, thou hast a pair of as sharp eyes upon thee as any that
are to be found in the hamlet, and who knows whether we
may not yet have something to say to each other!”
Ben was a kindly large-hearted fellow, and, like most men
of his gigantic mould, too well proportioned mentally, if we
may be allowed the expression, to be easily put off the
balance; but, nevertheless, rage blanched his cheek to deadly
paleness as he now stood once more on the spot which had
been the goal of all his hopes, so long struggled for—attained
but to be dashed from his hand and shivered to atoms by the
knavish malice of some masked villain.
But what availed this impotent anger ? He found no trace
whatever; and the wolf's marks were so craftily obliterated
that Ben's suspicions began to waver. He could hardly give
credit to the foppish citizen for so much adroitness; it would
rather have been one or other of the young woodsmen who,
as he well knew, envied his favour with Mabel, and had thus
endeavoured to deprive him of her hand. But all was mere
surmise and he saw no means of arriving at certainty.
What grieved him especially too was that his best snare
was for a while rendered useless, for until a heavy shower had
obliterated every trace of the former captive, it was vain to
think that any wolf would approach it, and there was no site
so favourable as this.
Wolf's-Ben was not a man to be daunted by difficulties.
He was still master of three traps, and here in the hollow, a
little higher up, one of these might be set. This was accord-
ingly done, for Ben set to work with all diligence, lay night
and day in the woods, and kept so vigilant a watch, that not
a rabbit, much less a mortal man, could have stirred in the
whole of his hunting circuit without attracting his attention.
Full of fresh hopes, he awoke every morning with the expec-
tation of finding a second wolf in his toils; but he was doomed

BELL-THE-WOLF.
19
a
to disappointment: his traps were set in vain ; and at last
Ben got so utterly dispirited that he avoided the hamlet
entirely, shunning the presence of all men and living alone
in the deep seclusion of the forest. Still, one thought, one
purpose, possessed him absolutely, and to this his energies
were all bent—the capture of a live wolf.
If he had occasion to visit Woodville, it was by night, so
as to avoid the possibility of encountering Mabel, for he had
now come to regard himself as a dishonoured hunter and to
believe that he was the object of general contempt. Three
weeks had passed in this manner, and if Ben Holick's heart
were unchanged, things had assumed a very different aspect
in the hamlet.
The “city gentleman," as the young hunters of Woodville
usually called him, received letters from Alabama requiring
his immediate return. His uncle had died suddenly, leaving
him sole heir of a property which, as it consisted chiefly of
slaves, called for his personal superintendence without delay.
Time passed, and though his wooing had hitherto progressed
slowly enough, he now brought it to a crisis at once, and
boldly proposed himself as the suitor of the lovely wood-blos-
som, the sweet little Mabel Sutton. On the very day of his
receiving the letter, Mr. Metcalf made his offer, and although
unconditionally rejected by Mabel, her father, to whom the
prospect of so wealthy a son-in-law was particularly agree-
able, did not scruple to give his positive assent, assuring the
young man that "his daughter's refusal was but the expres-
sion of maiden bashfulness,--that he must make up to her, and
all would be right.”
Metcalf would fain have had a more favourable answer from
the daughter, or at least one less expressive of aversion ; but
as things were, he seemed at once to accommodate himself to
them, and expressed a hope that he might be able, by kind-

20
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
ness, to secure first her good-will, and ultimately her affec-
tions—at least so he told her father; and fixed that very
evening for a kind of fête, to which all the neighbours were
invited, and which, he desired, might be regarded in the light
of a betrothing.
Evening came, and the court-house was prepared and
brilliantly illuminated for the occasion. It was a rough log
erection, so called from its having been first used as a sessions-
house. It had been promised to the villagers for a school, but
was at present used as a storehouse for maize.
The large room was lighted with a profusion of candles,
made from the bees'-wax found by the hunters in the fallen
trees; the floor had been carefully cleared of the maize straw;
benches were placed all round for the ladies, and in one cor-
ner was a table with a seat behind it for the solitary musi-
cian, an old fiddler. In a word, no pains had been spared to
make the entertainment as pleasant as possible, and he who
had seen the numerous guests assembled there when evening
came, would certainly have said that the success was com-
plete. Mabel alone was sad ; she thought of her disconsolate
lover, wandering alone in the neighbouring woods, and felt
no inclination to join the dance and the festivity. It was
with difficulty that she was persuaded even to enter the
dancing-room, and no entreaties could prevail on her to
mingle in the joyous circle. She remained a passive specta-
tor in the seat she had taken at her entrance.
But Benjamin Holick was not wandering in the wood, as
his poor, sorely-tried betrothed was fain in her sorrow to
imagine. Old Sutton, as he himself avowed, had, when he
found that none were to be excluded, given him a special
invitation to the gathering. Ben, however, had declined to
be present, though he resolved to be near at hand. Busy
friends had brought him word that it was to be a betrothing

BELL-THE-WOLF.
21
a
feast, and he immediately determined to see with his own eyes
whether it could be true that Mabel, his own Mabel, had so
completely forsaken and forgotten him! If indeed it were
so, then away for Texas ! Uncle Sam was just entering on
his first campaign, and a fellow like Ben-he needed no
looking-glass to tell him this—was not likely to have to ask
twice for service under bim. Cautiously, and fearful of being
discovered, he stole round the house, listening for more than
an hour to the merry tunes of the fiddler. He durst not ven-
ture near enough to cast one look within. After a while he
saw a couple of his acquaintances leave the place and make
for the very spot where he lay hidden, on their way home.
He concealed himself as well as he could behind the stem of
a hickory tree, and heard one say to the other as they passed :
“Well! Mabel Sutton never danced a step that I saw the
whole evening.”
“Not a step,” rejoined the other; "and, moreover, she
positively refused to dance at all, as soon as she came in. I
don't believe she'll ever marry him."
“Ah, pshaw !” cried the first, "you don't know women-
he has money, and that”—
.
Ben heard no more, the rest was lost in the distance; but
what cared he to hear more ? The last was a senseless
calumny.
“Not danced a step," repeated her lover with exultation;
" then she is neither false nor faithless, and she has not for-
gotten Ben Holick ; but what boots it ?—thou canst not help
her, poor Ben. Thou hast lost all luck, and with it, Mabel
also is lost to thee; and what then, if she still think of thee ?
Ah! all the worse for her, and no good to thee either.”
With these thoughts in his mind, he lifted the rifle, which
he had left in a thick bush near, from the ground, and after
casting one look at the brilliantly-lighted court-house, turned,
-

22
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
and took the path that led to the nearest ridge of the Washi-
tah range. He could no longer endure the hamlet-least of
all at night, and preferred sleeping by his watch-fire.
He soon selected a spot in a rocky hollow, just where a
clear spring bubbled out of the ground; and kindling his fire
and wrapping himself in his bear-skin, with a stone for his
pillow, he lay deep in thought as he gazed upwards to the
stars that seemed to shed a friendly light upon him.
An unwonted silence brooded over the forest—the very
frogs croaked in whispers ; the light tread of the opossum,
the nightly robber of the village hen-roosts, was distinctly
heard ; and further off--and now Ben raised his head and
listened—it was, indeed, a wolf howling his even-song in the
hollow below. “Houl your fill, beastie!” he cried, “ only
keep out of gun-shot of me;" and then Ben sank back on
his stony pillow. “I have a special appetite for thy kind
to-night, at least for one of ye !”
He lay thus on the watch for about half-an-hour, striving
at the same time to force his thoughts into their former chan-
nel, but in vain; the howl of the wolf, coming nearer and
nearer absorbed all his attention ; and now, impossible ! but
no, it was a nearer howl in answer to the former from a
ravine behind the spot where Ben had made his bivouac, and
where he soon discovered that the whole pack were assembled.
Ben now roused himself fully, sprang to his feet and felt
for his rifle; the moon shone clear and bright above the
dusky shadows of the distant mountain chain-the hunter's
spirit kindled within him, and for a while banished all thought
of other things.
His situation was not altogether unfavourable; the ap-
proach was tolerably open, and was moreover fully illumi-
nated by the moon; the fire indeed had burned low, but
neither wolves nor even deer, accustomed as they are, through
a

BELL-THE-WOLF.
2:
the continual clearings of the backwoods, to find fire on their
tracks, are apt to be scared by it-so this was unimportant.
A tree that the wind had uprooted from the overhanging cliff,
and which now lay athwart the valley, afforded Ben a con-
venient shelter.
“Now for you, comrade!” he muttered between his teeth,
as, seizing his rifle, he took up his position behind the fallen
tree; "only present yourself in the open space, and
you
shall
rejoice in Ben Holick's rifle-ball.”
He lifted his piece on to the tree-pointed it in what he sup-
posed to be the direction of the beast's approach-giving no
lieed to the pack behind him, it being the well-known habit of
wolves to keep the ground they have taken till joined by their
stray comrades. Ben waited long and patiently,—still he saw
nothing of the returning wolf.
Could the beast have observed anything? But no; the
wind was favourable—so resting his rifle against the trunk of
the tree, Ben placed his two hands before his mouth, and
howled mournfully through them. Although no answer was
returned, Ben was too old a sportsman to be put off his guard
by this, or to allow his impatience to cheat him out of an
advantage. He once more grasped his rifle, took his station
in the shadow of the tree, and awaited the result.
He had not long to wait. The wolf had not indeed re-
.
sponded to the call, but it was only because he was drawing
too near to the pack; and as Ben stood listening with breath-
less attention for the slightest movement, he soon heard a
quick but cautious tread resound among the withered leaves
beneath a clump of trees near where he stood. Trip-trip,
trip-trip, and the wolf made a halt-again it advanced --
another halt-it sniffed the air and stepped into an open space,
either suspicious of danger, or scenting its prey.
From his hiding-place Ben could distinctly hear all that


24
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
was passing, but he could not see the approach of the foe, and
therefore durst not move lest he should reveal his ambush.
Neither did he venture to howl again; the intervening dis-
tance was too short, and it would but have betrayed him to
the crafty beast. There was nothing for it but to lie still
and wait patiently for the moment when the creature should
emerge into the moonlight.
Just then the pack gave tongue again a little to the right,
and a smile of triumph already played across Ben's features;
but this quickly gave place to an expression of painful anxiety
as he saw the wolf, apparently decided by the last note of
call, step into the open space, circled only by a few tall, soli-
tary trees.
Ben's heart beat audibly, but his arm was motionless, and
he concentrated his whole attention on bringing his piece to
bear on the dusky foe. But it was impossible to take accu-
rate aim in the uncertain quivering light--for his life he could
not make sure where the ball would penetrate—and to miss !
No! that was not to be thought of.
He carefully raised his piece, and endeavoured to take aim
by one of the glittering stars that sparkled in the heavens ;
and then laying himself on a line with his rifle, with the face
of the creature as it stood still looking down the valley, in
full range, he pressed the trigger. The shot rang echo-
ing through the forest, and Ben followed it with the speed of
lightning. There lay the black carcase, still and lifeless, in
the moonshine. “Ah, ha!” he cried, as he saw his victory-
“Ah, ha, miscreant! I warned thee! Well, there is at least
some comfort in having put a stop to the handy-works of an
evil-minded, knavish beast like thee! Panthers and bears,
and the whole company of those that prowl about in darkness,
like thee, devising nothing but mischief; I would that heaven's
lightning might blast them all!”

BELL-THE-WOLF.
25
-
Ben had muttered these last words between his clenched
teeth, while he was, sportsman-like, reloading his rifle, before
he moved from the place where he had taken aim. He now
slung it over his shoulder with a muttered curse upon all
liers-in-wait, and made with hasty strides for the spot where
lay the fallen enemy. "It was a large, powerful, coal-black
wolf, with just the usual heart-shaped white spot on the
breast. The ball must have gone straight through his head
-he never moved or raised himself.
“He has not even once stirred,” said the hunter softly, as
he bent over his prey to feel for the hole of his ball. He
stroked the hair of the head backwards and forwards with-
out finding any mark whatever, neither was there the usual
relaxation of the muscles; and his hand when held in the
moonlight was white and clean. "It was a wonderful shot
that,” muttered the hunter; “ but after all, what matters it
where the ball went in, as long as it hit the mark, and since
I have settled the villain's business. Hallo,” he exclaimed
hurriedly, “is the rascal coming to life again ?" He stood
watching with breathless eagerness every movement of the
animal, which now began to give still stronger signs of life,
raising its head, and finally springing forward on its fore-leg.
But Ben was too well versed in the hunter's craft to be
taken by surprise by this movement. His first and almost
unconscious impulse was to put the muzzle of his rifle to the
wolf's jowl, ---but instantly withdrawing and throwing it from
him, he threw himself with dauntless courage upon
the now
vigorous and wildly struggling animal.
“Ho, ho, my man!” cried the hunter, laughing in proud
exultation, as he dealt his blows lustily and with all the might
of his iron fist, upon the prostrate writhing body of the wolf.
“Ho, ho! what, creased * at last !-Ha, ha ! ha, ha! Struggle
* Crease is the term applied by American sportsmen to a shot on the spine or the


26.
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
away-struggle hard my hearty! you won't
escape
this time,
unless you manage to slip out of your skin."
The creature, now restored to perfect consciousness, seemed
fully aware of the dangerous predicament in which he was
placed, and strove with all his might to turn upon his captor
and bite him, and by struggling and scratching to regain his
freedom. But Ben's grasp was as an iron bridle upon him,
and, pressed by the great weight of his tall and athletic person,
the astonished beast, fairly exhausted by the contest, lay at
last perfectly still and attempted no further resistance.
But what was now to be done? Must the wolf be killed ?
That would indeed be the work of a moment, for Ben's
hunting-knife was ready in his belt—but that were to slay
his best hopes. A live wolf, sound and unharmed, was un-
expectedly in his power, held in his grasp for life or death ;
,
but how secure him ? Ben had not so much as a leather strap
about him, nothing but his belt; and even the attempt involved
a fresh struggle in which the animal might be injured, or
might escape--a mere choice of evils. The only alternative
was to carry the heavy beast on his shoulders to the hamlet.
It was half-an-hour's walk without such a burden ; he paused
for consideration.
So, on," murmured Ben. “It is just thou or I, rascal !
thy luck or mine, that this night must decide. But hang it,
I've carried many a stout buck that weighed full as heavy,
and that for nothing but his flesh; my limbs will not fail me
now that they are strung by a higher hope, to say nothing of
the pleasure of the triumph over this crafty and mischievous
beast.”
66
neck of a beast of prey, which has struck, without severing the upper muscles and tendons
–a shot which stuns and knocks the animal over, but only for a moment, and without
doing him any real injury, that often before the sportsman has recovered from his sur-
prise, his prey has risen and escaped. It is in this manner that the Indians of the West
take the wild horses-a plan by which many more are shot than secured

BELL-THE-WOLF.
27
His resolution taken, he renewed his grasp of the still
struggling beast, brought his right foot under the animal,
and supporting himself against an overshadowing gum-tree,
rose slowly from the ground. He had the creature's back
towards him, his right arm was passed between the fore-legs,
and with the left he compressed the flanks as with a vice, so
as to hinder the animal from biting him.* His rifle he was
indeed obliged to leave behind, and his cap
had also fallen
from his head in the struggle; but this mattered not, and with
teeth compressed, and with loftiest determination, he strode
along the path that led to Woodville, the wolf every instant
renewing its efforts to escape.
The sounds of revelry were still issuing from the old court-
house. Bowl after bowl of strong negus was emptied, and
the heat of wax-lights, drink and dancing, became so intoler-
able that a movement was made to admit a current of fresh
air by throwing back the little window that opened on the
wood.
The notes of the old fiddler rang quicker and shriller, as
jigs and hornpipes followed in quick succession. The feet
of the dancers beat time more firmly to the inspiriting tunes.
Metcalf was beside himself with exulting hope ; -he would
only speak of Mabel (although she persisted in her refusal to
dance with him or with any of the guests) as his “sweet
little bride." Twice he had embraced old Sutton as his dear
father-in-law, and in short his rapture seemed beyond his
control. And now Lord Howe's Hornpipe was just at an
end, and then came an interval, during which refreshments
were served round. Mabel, who by her father's desire pre-
sided, was seated near the entrance over against the table,
and Metcalf, who kept by her side, was whispering insipid
* The compression of the loins produces strangulation and thus forces the tongue out
of the mouth.

28
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
compliments in her ear, which brought the deep flush of out-
raged feeling to her cheek, when on a sudden something
smote heavily against the door. “Ha!” cried the bride-
groom, shrinking back, “a somewhat uncourtly approach,
methinks." The guests turned towards the entrance in
astonishment; but the only answer to the inquiry, " Who's
there?” was a renewal of the knocking or rather pushing
against the door.
“ Deuce take the rude fellow," cried Metcalf, " but I will
soon see who he may be," and, hastily lifting the latch, he
threw the door wide open. “Ha!” There met him a pair of
staring, glaring eyes, just ready to start from their sockets,
and a yawning gulf of jaw set with bristling fangs, from
which depended a bleeding tongue-in a word, a wolf's head,
such as the most horrible imaginings might paint it; and
above it, and showing deadly pale in the light of the tapers,
was the haggard countenance of Ben Holick.
" The wolf! the wolf !” cried Metcalf, after one hasty
glance at the terrific pair. “The wolf !” and quickly mak-
ing way for himself through the thronging guests, he rushed
to the window, and before any one could prevent or even
foresee his
purpose, he put his hand on the sill and vaulted
out-and away. Those about the door drew back, scarcely
less alarmed than their host, while the rest of the company,
unconscious of the cause of such extraordinary agility, burst
into shouts of laughter.
6. The bell ! the bell !” were the only words that the ex-
hausted hunter could get out. “The bell! I can no more"-
“ Merciful heaven!” exclaimed Mabel, who had sprung
forward on hearing Metcalf's first outcry, and who, scarce be-
lieving her own eyes as they rested on the deathlike and
agonised countenance of her lover, was herself incapable of
“ Merciful heaven, send help—help! oh help!”
any effort.

BELL-THE-WOLF.
29
“Ma-
66
- The bell !” he repeated in now faltering accents.
bel, the bell! My arms fail me.”
The bell !what bell?” repeated the bystanders, looking
wonderingly at each other.
“Ha! the wolf's bell!” cried Mabel, suddenly and joyously
comprehending what had previously been like a frightful
dream to her. “The wolf's bell! One moment, Ben--a few
seconds only, and I am here with it.”
And rushing past him, and so close to the jagged fangs of
the terrific beast that the red tongue almost touched her
shoulder, the maiden flew to her father's house, reached down
the bell which, on his return from the empty trap, he had
hung up beside his gun, and in another minute presented
herself with it at the door of the court-house.
In the meanwhile, the men had recovered their first sur-
prise; and old Sutton, seeing how matters stood, had entreated
Benjamin to let him take the wolf from him. But Ben would
not consent to relax the firm grasp with which he held the
beast, neither for his own sake, nor for that of the old man.
No sooner however did Mabel appear with the bell, than,
taking it from her hand, he slipped the collar round the neck
of the raging, slavering creature, and buckled it not too
tightly, but so as to prevent its being slipped over the head.
And now, what was next to be done? How was the beast
to be let loose ? for was it not to be expected that, in its pre-
sent infuriated state, it would use its recovered freedom rather
for vengeance than for flight, and, turning on its enemies,
might occasion fearful damage? Were it not, indeed, more
prudent to kill it? Its struggles became fiercer and more
desperate with Ben's failing strength; and the continual
jingling of the bell disquieted the prisoners of the court-house
still more seriously. Many of the young men indeed came
forward with ropes, and one of them produced a sling, in


30
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
which he proposed to hang the wolf, and compress his throat
till he should be stunned, when he might safely be left in the
wood to make his escape on his recovery. But this seemed
far too hazardous an experiment; for in case the beast were
injured, all the fatigue and risk of the exploit would have
been in vain.
Mabel had been standing with her hands tightly pressed
against her temples, agonizing for the danger that menaced
her lover, and madly listening to each proposal, as it was
eagerly made and as quickly rejected. She suddenly hurried
forward, and cried-
“ Take him to the garden, Ben, to the bend of the river;
the bank has fallen, and if you throw him in there, he must
swim to the opposite shore."
“She's right-the girl's right,” rejoined old Sutton.
And in a moment Ben was on his way to the spot. The
fence that divided him from the garden was soon trodden
down, and the weary hunter stood at the edge of the cliff
that overhung the mountain-torrent. Mabel had taken hold
of his arm, to prevent his going too far and falling over.
"Now Ben,” she cried, holding him back. “Now, let
loose!"
46 Thank God!" murmured Ben, as he opened his arms and
let down his dark burden and heard the splashing of the
waters as they closed over the beast.
And now the men of the hamlet came in all directions,
bringing lanterns; and by their light they soon discovered
the black body of the wolf making its way through the foam-
ing stream, and groaning as it swam. But when he reached
the land, and shook himself, the bell was heard jingling loud
and clear. Terrified with the unwonted sound, he sprang
headlong from the bank, tore madly through the wood, where
the peculiar lounging gallop of the creature and its wild

BELL-THE-WOLF.
31
-
leaps were distinctly heard, along with the ringing of the
bell-cling clang, cling clang—as the animal strove to escape
from the intolerable din.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” shouted Ben at length, swinging his
benumbed arms, and breaking the breathless silence with
which his companions had hitherto listened to the still re-
treating sound.
"He has it now-he has it now; we have
made sure work this time. Now Mr. Metcalf may ape me if
he will!”
And where was Mr. Metcalf all this time? Heaven only
knows; at least by no mortal eye was he ever seen in
Washitah again. His leap from the window was an indubit-
able fact, witnessed of many; and he was traced some dis-
tance in the wood in the direction of the Arkansas. His
effects were left behind-even his hat—and were never written
for; and Ben must certainly have been right, when he said
that "it was an evil conscience that had driven him out of
the mountains."
And what became of his "sweet little bride"?
I will leave the readers to imagine, only helping them to a
few facts, which may be as outlines for them to fill up at their
pleasure.
Mr. Metcalf had indeed taken flight; but from tidings which
subsequently reached Washitah, it was evident that the letter
declaring him heir to his uncle's property must have been a
forgery, since that gentleman had been declared a bankrupt
some weeks previous to his nephew's arrival at the hamlet;
and the supposed heir was something worse than a beggar,
seeing he was over head and ears in debt. The wealthy
farmer's daughter was a tempting prize to a needy man, and
Metcalf had naturally enough striven by all means to get rid
of his dangerous rival.
That he had been the culprit in the matter of releasing the


32
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
captive wolf there could be little doubt—such at least was the
general opinion at Woodville ; and that old Sutton, thoroughly
ashamed of his chosen son-in-law, was never once heard to
mention his name, will also be readily believed.
It is now ten years since these events took place, and
farmer Sutton sleeps in his narrow bed in the greenwood.
Ben Holick has given up the hunter's precarious life, and
lives with his Mabel on the farm, to the management of
which he devotes himself wholly. Three boys and two girls
have blessed their marriage; and they realize a measure of
happiness and contentment which is hardly to be found save
in the freedom of the backwoods. Their herds have in-
creased and multiplied, for the belled wolf has scared all his
companions from the neighbourhood. Ben has also added
some acres of clearing to his farm. And on the spot where
he had at last caught the wolf alive he built a cottage, and,
in memory of that happy evening, named it WOLF'S-BELL.

BLACK AND WHITE.
33
BLACK AND WHITE.

AN INCIDENT IN THE SETTLER-LIFE OF MISSOURI.
a
DEEP in the far west, where the ice-capped mountains
crowd their peaks together, and send their foaming torrents
to two oceans—the Atlantic and Pacific; far beyond where it
breaks down for itself a rugged pathway between frowning
rocks, tearing them asunder with irresistible force, or rushing
over them in maddening leaps, and then, as in triumph at its
successful daring, dancing and bubbling onward and ever on-
ward,—comes down the mighty Missouri. The Indians call it
the “muddy stream," on account of the encroachments made
by it on their banks, while the “roaring river" was the name
given to it by the white man when he first gazed in wonder
on its waters, where, with leap after leap like a hunted pan-
ther, it sprang out of the clefts of the mountains, tumbling
and brawling, till, having reached the sheltering thickets of
the lower grounds, it glided between the giant stems of the
primeval forest into the arms of its mighty brother, the Mis-
sissippi.
There, where, in the shadow cast by the oaks and hickories,
the wild vine wound its strong tendrils from branch to branch,
clasping the stately oaks in its tenacious embrace, while,
with gayer aspect, with brighter blossoms and more succulent
leaves, other climbers strove in like manner upwards, thus
caressing as it were the lofty stems, but with poison-kiss eat-
0

34
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ing out their very life, robbing them of light and air, till at
length they stand smothered and withered in their grasp ;
there, in this still almost untrodden sanctuary of nature,
stood a small rudely-built log-hut, with wide mud chimneys,
well protected on the north by a gloomy forest whose colossal
summits reared themselves high above its lowly roof, and on
the three other sides absolutely barricaded by a very chaos of
fallen trees, piles of brushwood, stumps left standing, and
wide-spreading knotty branches lying round.
It was easy to see that the proprietor had only recently
settled here and begun the clearing of the ground ; and this
was further shown by a covered waggon and a car, which stood
near each other, in close proximity to the house, and had evi-
dently conveyed the whole property of the farmer to this his
new home in the woods.
The sun still threw a rosy glow through the highest
branches of the trees, when a horseman, mounted upon a
little Indian pony, and following a narrow cattle-track, ap-
proached the spot, and at last found himself at the clearing,
just where stumps and boughs lay around in the wildest con-
fusion. For a few seconds he reined in his snorting little
steed, and, rising in his stirrups, seemed to look around in
quest of some opening by which he could make his way
through the masses of timber, and so reach the house. But
the glance round was all in vain ; and then, with a slight
exclamation of impatience, he struck his spurs into his horse's
sides, and made him leap over the first obstacle that lay in
the way.
The spirited little horse soon entered into the intention of
its rider, and, accustomed as it was to surmount hindrances
of the kind, which were indeed of hourly occurrence in long
forest rides, it continued with admirable dexterity to wind
itself in and out, getting all the time nearer and nearer to the

BLACK AND WHITE.
35
house; jumping over a trunk here, and carefully treading
through scattered branches there, till, suddenly, after the
boldest leap of all, over, or rather through the top of a fallen
oak-tree, it found itself so hemmed in on every side by actu-
ally insurmountable obstacles, that it stood suddenly still, and
fully convinced that it for its part had done its utmost, it
patiently awaited the decision to which its master would
come, who, after all, was the party most interested in the
matter.
He, however, looked on all sides for a way of egress in
vain ; and at last he did what he might as well have done
at first, he called to the people in the house, and his loud
echoing “Hallo!” was instantly answered by a deafening
chorus of barking and howling from ten or twelve watch-dogs.
At once the wooden door was opened, and a slender, but
somewhat elderly matron appeared on the threshold, looking
round in vain; for the dogs still further excited by the pre-
sence of their mistress, made such a fearful noise, that for a
short time it overpowered every other sound.
“Quiet, Muse, quiet ! down, Watch—down, I say, Dick!
dogs, you are enough to distract any one ; be quiet there, will
you ?” called out the good woman to the pack, who at length
were beginning to appear pacified, when a second “Hallo
there!" again roused their rage, which now seemed to know
no bounds.
Apparently the patience of the good woman had fairly come
to an end, for, seizing a large bottle-gourd which floated in a
full pail of water standing on a projection by the door, she
poured the clear cold stream over the angry dogs, who now
dispersed yelping and howling.
Then, availing himself of the momentary lull, the stranger
called out for the third time, in a voice that had become some-
what impatient, “Hallo there !” and now, first, the matron

a

36
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
discovered the rider, whose head rose a very little higher than
the branches that surrounded him.
“Mr. Henings, is it you?” she called out laughing, when
she saw the position of the young man. “How, in the name
of heaven, have you contrived to lose yourself there?”
“To lose myself !” exclaimed be in comic despair. “I
wonder how I could possibly lose myself here; I am caught
fast like a wolf in a trap. Where, then, is the approach to
your house? I am certainly on the footpath, but it does not
seem to be much frequented.”
“You should have ridden through the forest round the
clearing,” replied the good woman. "My husband has been
felling timber here.”'
“ There's no denying that,” said the horseman, laughing ;
we have the proof of it before us.”
“ Only have patience, Mr. Henings," now broke in a tit-
tering maiden's voice behind the older lady; and at that
moment two most lovely young heads appeared, curious to
discover the exact position in which the young man was ;
only have a little patience ; father has said that in the
course of the next week he will clear away the whole of the
wood, and then the footpath will be open again.”
“Many thanks, Sally,” exclaimed Henings, in a laughing
voice; “but the time would appear somewhat long to me if
I were thus to be hearing your pretty voice so near me with-
out being able to reach you ; no, no, my pony may get out
of the scrape as he can, but I'll soon make my way," and so
saying, he sprang from his horse, took off its saddle and
bridle, flung them over his shoulder, and scrambled, but not
without severe exertion, towards the house, which was scarcely
sixty paces off.
At first, the pony seeing itself thus deserted by its master,
stood still, and only pointed its little ears in a significant

BLACK AND WHITE.
37
manner; but afterwards, when it founa out how matters
really stood, and smelt the contents of the trough at which it
had hoped to be fed, it threw up its head, neighed twice
shrilly, and then, no longer kept back by any weight, flew, in
a succession of bold leaps, over trunks and branches, till, at
last, covered with foam, and striking out at the dogs that
crowded angrily around it, it found itself at the door of the
house, just in time to greet its master on his arrival there.
Henings now threw down saddle and bridle, sprang quickly
up the log steps, and called out, while he seized their hands
and shook them heartily, “How are you, Mrs. Draper ?
Sally and Lucy, how are you ?-give me your hands. All
well, I hope ; at least I am sure you all look well. But
where is the governor ?”
“My father is still out in the woods looking for the horses,"
replied, after this short greeting, Sally, the younger of the
two girls, who might be somewhere between seventeen and
nineteen years of age.
.
“Have you not seen their tracks in the wood ?" asked Mrs.
Draper, while she pushed the great spinning-wheel into the
corner, and with a long shovel stirred up the charcoal fire to
a brighter glow.
“I think,” said Henings, “that those I saw must have
come down from the hills, at least the tracks were near the
brook, and, if I am not mistaken, I heard the bells above the
cross roads."
“Ah! then certainly my father will not find them,” ex-
claimed Sally, in a tone of regret, “ for he meant to look for
them at Potter's Creek, and from thence to the left in the
valley."
“Nay, he is surely upon their track,” replied the young
man, “ for in the damp ground near the brook I plainly saw
the print of a shoe.”


38
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
“My father wore his moccasins to-day,” said Lucy, “so
that must have belonged to some one else.”
“ Very probably; but who is it that wants the horses?
is there a dance anywhere, you all seem so uncommonly
interested in the chances of your father's finding them or
not?"
"A dance !—fie! Mr. Henings, I thought you knew very
well that we were not dancing people,” said the worthy
woman.
“Ah ha! that's the way the wind blows, is it? So, then,
you have joined the church, and become religious, and the
governor as well ?"
“Not yet,” rejoined Mrs. Draper, with a deep-drawn sigh.
“However, we are going early in the morning to the camp
meeting, and I hope much from that; perhaps the Lord may
;
enable him to find out the right way.”
“That he certainly will do—that he certainly will do, Mrs.
Draper; but not by these means, I should say. I know that
the old gentleman is fond of his glass, and that when things
run counter he raps out an oath or two; and I hardly think
he will find it easy to get rid of the habit. But whether he
joins this or that church, he is as thoroughly good-bearted a
man as any who treads upon the Missouri bottom, and he
never injures any one.”
“We are all sinners, Mr. Henings,” said the old lady very
gravely; "and my poor husband especially. He swears and
curses, enjoys spirituous liquors, and has lately not only called
the travelling preacher—who spent the night here, and read
prayers—a hypocrite, but he has even carried deceit so far, as
to rise suddenly during worship and to rush out of the house
on a pretence of his nose bleeding. I however looked at the
handkerchief the next day; there was not a single spot of
blood on it. And there was the poor stranger waiting a full
a
BLACK AND WHITE.
39
half hour in the very middle of the service, that the thought-
less man might not lose one word of it."
Henings laughed outright.
“Poor Draper! So, then, his little white lie was of no
avail."
“Little white lie, Mr. Henings !” said the matron, with
greater severity than was her wont. “You are using wicked,
exceedingly wicked words ; for, letting alone the fact that the
season of solemn worship was not the one for white lies, there
are really no such things.
things. Nothing in the world should
tempt a pious man to tell a lie, not even the most trying cir-
cumstances; for no heart that is not true and faithful can
offer an acceptable sacrifice to the Lord.”
“But, my good Mrs. Draper,” rejoined Henings," you will
surely grant me that there are circumstances in a man's life
where what I call a white lie is not only no sin, but even
right and ”_
“No, that I will never grant,” quickly interposed the ma-
tron; "and even this thought you have uttered is a sin.
“But,” continued Henings, by way of illustration, “if, for
example, your husband or one of your children were danger-
ously ill, and if you knew that any excitement would be
followed by the very worst consequences, would you not-
supposing that some dear friend of theirs had died in the in-
terim, and that they inquired after him-would you not, I
say, conceal that death-would not your only resource be to
tell a white lie, rather than to place a cherished life in
danger?"
“ Mr. Henings, you are putting together a great many
suppositions only to extract an answer favourable to your
views. These are snares laid for us by Saten to lead us out
of the right way; and if we then reach out our little finger
to him, why, he soon has the whole hand in his power, and
,

66

40
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
with it the soul of the sinner. But besides this, Draper called
the pious minister a hypocrite".
“Hm, hum! Mrs. Draper; but Draper told me that he
had made the prayer an hour and three-quarters long, and
that was rather too much."
“It was very edifying; and remembering all the sins we
had to confess, it could not but be long," said the good
woman.
66
66
“Will you not go with us to the camp-meeting, Mr. Hen-
ings?” said Sally to the young man, looking imploringly at
him with her
great dark
eyes.
Certainly, most certainly,” answered he at once. " In
such pleasant company I would go to the-camp-meeting," he
I
substituted just in time for the unguarded word that was upon
his very lips. “But,” looking round, “Draper must have
been uncommonly industrious here; in the few weeks since
his arrival, he has actually contrived to make things quite
comfortable. Why, the roof can hardly be a fortnight old.”
“ Mr. Draper has indeed been very active," answered his
wife; “but who can tell bow long this will last? The
wretched wandering tendency will seize him again, and then
nothing can prevent him from selling for a few dollars what
has cost him the labour of years; and so he goes west, always
,
farther west, always deeper into the forest, into the midst of
savage men and beasts."
Nay, but he cannot go much farther west now," said
Sally very gravely, while she placed a chair near the fire for
their guest. “My father himself has said that we were not
now very distant from the Indian territory, and in that no
white man may squat. And besides,” she continued, with a
roguish smile, “Mr. Henings has likewise settled in the forest,
“
and so the place must doubtless have advantages which are
not to be discovered at the first glance.”

BLACK AND WHITE.
41
Lucy now turned away, and continued her labour at the
great spinning-wheel.
“ You must tolerate our wandering spirit," replied Henings,
who appeared to wish to evade Sally's playful remark, and,
in considerable embarrassment, cut away with his pocket
knife at the chair on which he was sitting. “It is just what
makes us pioneers or squatters, as they call us in the East.
America wants such characters, fearing neither savage men
nor savage beasts, but boldly marching on into the midst of
ber strongholds, and conquering from nature the soil that,
according to all sensible people, fairly belongs henceforth to
them and to their industry.”
“Yes, yes, that is all very fair and right,” said Mrs. Draper ;
“but, for my own part, I would rather have remained in
Illinois.”
“What! in Illinois ?—in the dry unhealthy steppes-be-
tween prairie beasts and prairie wolves, and in the society
of the far-renowned corn-crakes * themselves ?” exclaimed
Henings in astonishment. “Nay, I for one prefer the fer-
tility of our low grounds here—there is nothing dead about
them, at all events; and if we want actual prairies, why, we
shall find them to the west, and far finer and lovelier ones too
than the whole east can show us, in spite of all its boasted
advantages.”
“ That may be very true,” rejoined Mrs. Draper; "but
Illinois, at all events, is no slave State. And let this country
be ever so rich and beautiful, it is horrible to me to be obliged
to live with men who sell their brothers and sisters as if they
were mere beasts of burden."
“God knows, Ma'am, you may be right enough there,"
said Henings, shaking his head significantly. “Often, if I take
to thinking over the matter quietly by myself, it does seem to
* A contemptuous term for the inhabitants of Illinois.


42
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
me that there's something not as it should be, in our selling
negroes as we do, and trying to get the highest possible price
for them, just as for any other sort of property. But for our
sins, there's no help for it; our fathers and grandfathers have
done the same before us, the law of the country has justified
the traffic, and even the Bible treats of it as perfectly natural;
at least I have heard from the Presbyterian minister, with
whom I discussed the question—himself a slaveholder, by the
way—that God has só ordained it, that heathen nations must
needs serve Christian, and I own that sounds reasonable
enough."
“I know it all," said Mrs. Draper. “They defend slavery
even from Scripture itself; but God only knows whether they
are right in this: I should be sorry to decide the point hastily.
Perhaps we women feel that the question touches us more
nearly than it can do men. For my part, if I have to kill a
chicken, it makes my very heart ache to see the old hen run
clucking about all her accustomed haunts, looking in vain
for what she has lost ; how much more, then, must I sympa-
thize with a mother whose child is torn out of her arms by
strangers, to be sold for a few dollars; while she, poor soul!
would willingly give her heart's blood for it, and yet is too
poor to redeem it. I do wish we had remained in a free
State.”
“Here in Missouri, however, we do not see slavery under
its darkest aspects," said Henings. “In the south it is no
doubt much worse ; but here we very seldom hear of any run-
away negroes, and that, I should say, must certainly be a good
sign. With a free State so near, that slaves should yet be
content to remain with their masters, proves that, after all,
their fate cannot be a very hard one.
a
”
“And how could they run away if they would ?” inquired
Mrs. Draper. “Must not every negro-even to go to the

BLACK AND WHITE.
43
a
very next farm or plantation—have a pass, without which
any white man is justified in taking him up? And again, if
the runaway negro were to reach a free State, that State, to
the shame of the Union, would deliver him up to his master.
How then can a poor man make his escape, with no one to
turn to, no one to support and help him on his way, since
whoever did so would have the House of Correction before
him?"
“And yet this is essential,” interposed Henings; " for how
could the United States co-exist if the one withheld the pro-
perty of the other? That would give occasion to endless
disputes, and would not fail to lead by degrees to enmity and
discord. No, the mischief is the existence of slavery amongst
us; and I for one should thank God if He gave us the power
of shaking ourselves free from it altogether, and of sending
all the negroes and their descendants back to their home
across the seas. And, indeed, a sort of beginning has been
made in Liberia ; but the wisest men in the country are rack-
ing their brains as to the best method of helping the negroes,
and have been for many a long year, and so we need not
trouble ourselves about it. Each individual has only to obey
and respect the law as it now exists."
While he was speaking, Lucy had taken a folded news-
paper from a chink over the fireplace, and she now opened it
and held it out before the young man.
“You say,” said she, with something of reproach in her
voice, “ that here in Missouri no negro has run away from his
master. There—there, look for yourself: here are three ad-
vertised, and with each advertisement there is a little picture
of a poor negro with his bundle on his back. One of these
has been inserted by a neighbour of ours, Squire Wallis, of the
next county."
“ This makes both for and against me,” said Henings :

a

44
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
against me, as regards the fact of there being runaways;
but for me, inasmuch as this Wallis is one of your so-called
pious people—he has even preached; and the Presbyterians
consider that in him a great light has arisen in the State, as
well as in their own body. God preserve us from such lights,
say I!”
“But does Mr. Wallis really use his slaves so ill ?" in-
quired the matron.
“Draper and I were lately witnesses of that fact,” rejoined
Henings; we happened to be riding by, just as he had
bound a young negro to a tree, and was sitting by quietly
smoking his pipe; and every now and then, in order to give
himself a little exercise, he got up and flogged the poor
wretch with such good-will, that the red blood trickled down
his back. We asked him the cause of this fearful punish-
ment, but he maintained he only did it out of Christian
meekness ; because it was against his principles to punish in
anger, and, therefore, he allowed himself a little repose be-
tween times, so as to remain quite calm and cool.”
“ And this is what you call a free country !” exclaimed
Mrs. Draper, in an indignant tone.
“And this is what you call a pious Christian," retorted
Henings. “Now, is not your husband, with all his little
faults and peculiarities (weaknesses, as I call them), ten
thousand times a better man, even if he does sometimes tilt
the lower end of the punch-bowl above the upper, and give
vent to his feelings in a rough sounding, but in no way evil
intentioned, expression.”
“But it is a sin to use such, and he should avoid them,"
said Mrs. Draper, already a good deal mollified.
“Yes, and you too, sir,” cried Sally, laughingly. “Lucy
has often said to me that you would be an excellent man, if
,
only you did not "-
>
-


BLACK AND WHITE.
45
“Sally !” exclaimed Lucy,“ how can you”-
Here all further conversation was interrupted by a sudden
outburst of barking from the dogs, and, at the same moment,
Draper appeared, his cap firmly set upon his head, and in his
hand his rifle, which, without looking round, he hung upon a
peg fixed in the door.
“Here I am again,” said he, and turned for the first time
to his family. His face was strikingly pale, and his whole
aspect perturbed ; and when he saw his friend sitting in the
chimney-corner, he started perceptibly, but instantly recovered
himself, and held out his hand to him.
“ Back without the horses ?” asked Henings, heartily shak-
ing the offered hand ; “ with empty bridles, eh! the ladies
here have been very anxious about your arrival.”
”
“ The ladies must exercise a little patience, then,” said
Mr. Draper, with a smile, as he took off his cap, and hung
it on the corner of the chimney-piece. Then his thoughts
seemed to be wandering far away, and with his hand still
on the shelf, he gazed for several minutes into the glowing
embers, as if absorbed in deep meditation.
“Mr. Henings saw the tracks in Potter's Creek, father,"
said Sally, breaking the silence at length; "they must have
gone to the low ground, and then, if once they get amongst
the reeds, you know well you will never find them : so that
it will come to our losing the opening of the camp-meeting
to-morrow.”
“ That would indeed be terrible,” said her father laugh-
ingly—for he had now entirely recovered his composure, and
sat himself down comfortably upon the chair offered to him ;
“in that case, Lucy and you could not display your new
bonnets and gowns, and mother would have to leave her
beautiful shawl in the chest for a whole fortnight to come.'
“But husband," interrupted Mrs. Draper, reproachfully,



46
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
“ do you then really mean to say that you think we go all the
way to the meeting for the sake of vanities like these ? have
I ever given you any reason to think so ?”
“Father is strange altogether to-day,” said Sally, suddenly
going up to him, and looking full into his eyes ; “I saw it
the moment that he came in ; I do not know”—
“But I know how saucy girls can be," returned her father,
chucking her good-naturedly under the chin; “there's Mr.
Henings' pony standing outside, and ever since I came in it
has been neighing impatiently for the maize that it smells
and cannot find ; go and give him half a dozen heads, and
then we will shackle him. He then may look about for him-
self; but first you must tie the little bell round his neck-it
is hanging on the corner of the house, at the back.”
Sally sprang up to fulfil the order given to her, singing
the while; and Draper went up to his wife, stroked caress-
ingly her half pouting and averted cheek, and good-naturedly
said
“Don't be angry, old lady-you know I meant no harm;
you are all a little vain, though you will never own it: one
thing I know, you never go to the camp-meeting in your
everyday dress."
“That would not be seemly, Draper-would not be proper.
When we pray to the Lord, we must show that we take pains
to come into His presence respectably attired.”
“That would not be necessary, according to my thinking,"
said Draper, “but I daresay you are right; you mean well
and are honest-hearted, I know-it's only the hypocritical
pack that I cannot tolerate ; but, Henings, whereabouts did
you see the horses?"
“I did not see the horses," replied Henings, “but only
their tracks; they came down from the hills and went over
the cross way to the low ground, and if I am not much mis-
a

BLACK AND WHITE.
47
taken, I even heard the bell that Fox wears round his
neck."
“Yes, that's very possible, for it is heard at a great dis-
tance; very well, then, I shall find them this evening at
Buffalo-lick, for they generally go there when they take that
direction.
“I saw the track of a man, too,” exclaimed Henings;
“and when I first heard that you were gone out to look for the
horses, I thought that it must have been yours; but as you
did not wear shoes, it may have been some hunter or other.”
“Yes, yes, it was a hunter, no doubt,” said the old man,
getting up and walking once or twice to and fro in the room.
“Yes," continued he, “I saw it too, it went sonth towards
the settlements—a hunter, very probably. What newspaper
have you got there?”
“ The same that the sheriff brought this morning, father,"
replied Lucy; “we are just turning it over.” '
“Well, what news from St. Louis?” said Mr. Draper, pass-
ing his hand over his broad open forehead, as if he would
drive away all other thoughts; “how is the election going
on ? what does our democrat say? has Potts a chance ?”
Well, Missouri at all events will not leave him in the
lurch,” said Henings, with a laugh. “But that was not it
---we were not taken up with politics, but busy debating a
question that concerns the good understanding of the North-
ern with the Southern States — the question, namely, of
slavery; and as an illustration of it, we were reading some
advertisements touching runaway slaves."
Runaway slaves ? deuce! show it here," exclaimed Draper
quickly, and with an appearance of interest which could not
have failed to strike a keen observer; but Henings, ascribing
his excitement to curiosity alone, quietly gave him the paper,
and said

77
a
66
-
-
64

48
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE PUSH.
66
“There are three of them-one is inserted by Wallis."
“Nineteen years old,'” read out Draper, “of slender
growth, with a wide open forehead and particularly woolly
hair ; colour, black as ebony; height, five feet seven'—that
exactly tallies” -
“ What tallies?” asked Henings.
“ What tallies! oh! ah ! why, I know the lad who, in all
probability, has run away,” said Draper, turning with the
paper to the light, in order that he might read it the more
easily.
“ Is it the same, think you, whom we saw so horribly
treated a short time back ?" inquired Henings.
“ The same, the same; his back is still raw and bloody,
the wounds have not yet had time to heal, the poor
wretch
has not been able to close his eyes, night or day, on account
of the pain of them, and yet he has been forced to work.-
Zounds ! old woman, where in the world do you keep the
whisky?” he suddenly interrupted himself by asking, while
he stooped down to look under the bed, where the stone jar
he asked for was usually kept. “I am as dry as an Ohio
Chaussée; I generally lay the dust, you know. Do you sup-
I
pose one can go and look for the horses for you, without
having a drop to drink afterwards? I shall die of thirst if
I do not get something soon !”
“Father may have looked for the horses, but he has not
found them,” said Sally; and as she entered the door, she
filled the bottle-gourd with clean water that was standing in
the bucket before alluded to.
“Is my little lady already back again ?” said her father,
smilingly; “so then, because I have not found them I am not
to be thirsty, I suppose, or I am only to drink water! What
a little creature it is—it takes after the old lady to a hair.
No, no, children, I must have a mouthful of whisky first of

BLACK AND WHITE.
49
a
all ; but leave the water here, Sally--there's nothing better to
finish off with than whisky and water.'
“My good husband,” said Mrs. Draper, imploringly, "is
not this clear beautiful draught from a divine source far
better for you, and more likely to quench the most burning
thirst?"
“My dear good wife,” rejoined Draper, while he drew out
of the stone jar she had reached to him, a cork made of a
head of maize, and then poured out some of its clear golden
contents into a tin cup on the table before him—"water is
indeed from a divine source, as you well remark; but, on that
very account, something more fiery is needed by us poor
mortals to keep body and soul together, and therefore a gra-
cious Providence has created whisky!”
“ That is Satan's creature !” exclaimed Mrs. Draper, with
far more impetuosity than was her wont; “that is Satan's
invention !”
“ Indeed! then I am more indebted to Satan than I
thought—the invention does him honour, and partly recon-
ciles me to him," said the imperturbable Draper, with the
utmost composure, as he emptied the half of the cup and
passed it on to Henings. He, however, paused before he took
it, and looked half irresolutely towards Lucy.
“Lucy is not looking at you,” said Sally archly, the young
man's embarrassment having in no way escaped her observa-
tion ; “you may venture it.
”'
“I advise you not to let yourself be misled by these women,
Henings," said the old man. “If I were to believe them, this
good beverage before us is nothing but an infernal bait, and
my own throat and it combined are to sink me into the lowest
pit—this is the latest discovery made to them by their Pres-
byterian friends!”
“ You are an unkind man, Draper, and you twist every
D

50
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
thing one says,” replied his wife, while, at the same time, she
reached out her hand kindly to him ; “but you know all
the time that I really mean well, and that it is only for the
sake of your own best interests that I sometimes throw in a
word against your habit of”—
Drinking and swearing,” broke in Draper; “yes, yes,
I
know beforehand what you are going to say ; but, however,
I have not sworn once to-day, and as for the drink, provided
I only take enough to refresh and recruit me, I am sure you
do not grudge it, but it is the accursed”-
Sally's little hand was at once placed upon his lips, he re-
moved it with an affectionate smile, and pressed a hearty kiss
upon
the little rosebud mouth of the lovely young creature.
“ Well, well, Sally," he then said, “thou art my own
good girl ; but go and look after your cows. What, is one only
come ? never mind, then, but look about it before dark-the
others will follow, and then light the lamp; or stay, have you
melted down the candles yet?”
“ Yes, father, the three last deer that you shot had a great
deal of fat about them, and the Bee trees that Mr. Henings
cut down for us, have also afforded a good quantity of wax-
the candles are all made."
"Bravo! children. Now, then, get everything ready,
and Henings and I will go meantime to Buffaloes' hill and
fetch back the horses. Perhaps we shall find a colony of
pigeons on our way; at all events I will take my rifle with
me.'
And so saying, the old man took down the heavy rifle
from the wall, slung round himself again the shut-belt he
had so lately laid down, put on his cap, and prepared to leave
the house with his young friend, when he suddenly started
back, and, turning pale, exclaimed, “ Death and the devil !"
His wife and daughter sprang towards him in terror, but

BLACK AND WHITE.
51
they did not long remain in doubt as to the cause of their
father's exclamation.
A
young negro-bareheaded, with only a thin linen jacket
a
and trousers on, with bare feet in thick clumsy ox-hide shoes,
with his black face sunken and distorted with deadly terror,
and exhausted by over-exertion-sprang over the threshold,
threw a frightened scared glance at the bystanders, and then
fell almost fainting at the feet of the old man, whose knees
he convulsively clasped.
“Ben, Ben, for God's sake, what do you mean by this ?”
cried Draper, looking anxiously towards Henings, who stood
by in amazement, not knowing what to make of this remark-
able scene.
“Save me, sir!-oh! save me, if you would not have
,
them burn me alive, as they did the poor negro at St. Louis.
Save me, for the Saviour's sake; they are close behind
me."
He looked up imploringly, and now, for the first time, Hen-
ings was able to recognise his features. Scarcely had he
gazed fixedly at him for one short moment, than he sprang
forward, seized the shoulder of the kneeling man, and ex-
claimed-
“By Jove! it is Wallis's runaway negro! Get up, lad ;
how come you here, and where are you going now?"
The unfortunate Ben threw one appealing look towards the
older man, and then relaxing his hold, fell senseless on the
ground.
“The lad has not, it seems, had strength to get on any
further,” said Henings, as he turned him round, and felt the
poor wretch lie motionless in his arms; "but a little drop of
cold water will soon bring him round. You must keep him
bere till we can send word to Wallis ; he will not be a little
delighted at finding his slave again."
a

52
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“You are not thinking of delivering him up ?” exclaimed
Lucy with horror.
“Not thinking of delivering him up, Miss Lucy? You
would not surely have us help a negro in his flight, and then
pay for the fine in the House of Correction ?”
They will burn him alive!” cried Sally, clasping in her
anguish her little white hands over her beating heart.
"O God forbid !” laughed Henings. “It would be a great
loss to the master to burn his slave ; no, no, Sally, he will
come off with a good allowance of blows, and the lubber has
well deserved them ; why did he run away ?-he knew very
well that he would be caught at last."
Draper bent down silently over the unhappy youth, and
pointed to his back. The twilight was deepening, but there
was still light enough to enable them to see how the red blood
had come through the thin linen jacket, forming long stripes,
of which some seemed fresh, while the others had hardened,
and stuck fast to the festering wounds.
The women uttered a cry of grief and horror, and even
Henings turned shuddering away.
“The poor devil !” muttered he to himself.
Draper at last broke the silence, and said in a hollow voice,
while supporting the negro upon his arm-
“This youth saved my life three weeks ago. I was bath-
ing in the river, and but for his help I never could have
climbed up the steep shelving bank to which the strong cur-
rent had borne me. To-day I met him flying through the
forest, and although I knew very well that he was a runaway
slave, I let him pass on without opposition ; I turned aside
and would not see which way he took. And now God knows
why or wherefore fate brings the poor wretch into my log
hut; but only two courses are open to me-either to betray the
man who saved my life, and deliver him up to his executioners,

BLACK AND WHITE.
53
or to be accused of being accessory to the escape of a negro
-of a slave, and then the House of Correction is my portion.”
“I think,” said Henings, “that there is still a way left.
Wallis knows that no labourer can be of any use to him un-
less he is in health and strength; he lays some stress upon
your word, and if you will ride over to him and tell him that
you will give his negro up to him upon his promise not to
punish any more the poor fellow whom he has so maltreated
already, I do believe that he will hear reason, and not be a
brute. And besides, he belongs to the church, and for ap-
pearance' sake can hardly play the tyrant farther."
“He opens his eyes," said Mrs. Draper, who had mean-
while been rubbing his temples and forehead with vinegar;
“he is coming to himself. 0 God! how sad the poor
fellow's heart must be! Father, think—if our son, who is
now wandering in Texas or Mexico, were lying in this plight
among strangers, how would you have them treat him ?”
"I really do not believe, Mrs. Draper, that he is in much
danger," interposed Henings. “If you wish, I myself will
ride over with Draper to try and persuade Wallis to use
gentle means; but at all events, we must deliver him up
-our own safety, as well as the law, absolutely requires it.
After all, he is only a black, and I do not see why two whites
should expose themselves to such very disagreeable conse-
quences for his sake.”
“ He is ONLY a black ! Mr. Henings,” said Sally, in a tone
of bitter reproach ; " that sounds, to say the truth, very cruel
and ungenerous. My father was in his eyes only a white,
and yet he drew him out of the water! This I know, how-
ever, that if
you deliver
up
this
poor man, were I Lucy, I
would never, in the whole course of my life, speak a single
syllable to you again."
“Be merciful !" prayed Lucy, looking imploringly towards

54
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the young man, who now stood, hat in hand, rubbing his
head in extreme embarrassment.
But, dear Miss Lucy,” said he at length, " what would it
avail him if we were utterly to disregard our own safety ? he
would be not one whit better off. He cannot escape ; how can
a negro get from here to the Canadian border without a pass ?
If we do not deliver him up—we who, in so doing, could in-
tercede for him-somebody else will, and that will be so much
the worse for him."
The negro had opened his large bright eyes, and was look-
ing at the speaker with an indescribable expression of agony
in his dark features. His lips parted, and he whispered in a
scarcely audible voice-
“I am lost—the pursuers are at my heels; I happened to
see one of the men sent after me in the wood, and despair
alone gave me strength to get away from him into the thick un-
derwood, through which he could not so easily pass on horse-
back. I knew that my track would mislead him a little not
far from here, and I came, as my last chance of deliverance,
to your house. I can go no farther; my back is raw, my
strength is exhausted, my wounds burn like fire, and my
limbs sink under me. If you deliver me up, all is over, and
I shall end a wretched life.”
“ Things are not so very bad, Ben," said Henings kindly;
"we will ride over to your master and pray him to spare you ;
he shall not maltreat you any further."
“In vain !-in vain!” groaned out the unhappy youth ;
"it would be all in vain! Last Friday he threw me to the
ground and trode me under foot, the hard stones tore the un-
healed wounds the lash had made; I grew wild with pain,
and in my despair, not knowing what I did, I caught up the
handle of an axe that was lying by, and felled my master to
the earth."

BLACK AND WHITE.
55
66
a
"Miserable man!” said Henings compassionately; "then
indeed you are lost !”
“No, no!" cried Draper ; “may I perish if I give him
up! I know what I risk; I know what awaits me if I am
discovered ; but so let it be—the worst that can bappen will
be, that I shall have to leave my labours here in the lurch
and go back to Iowa ; but at all events, I will not have the
image of this unhappy youth haunt and torture me day and
night for the remainder of my life—will not have to say to
myself, 'He saved thy life only that thou mightest give him
up
tied and bound to his murderers !' Come, Ben, be of good
courage! no harm shall happen to thee. I will see whether
!
old Draper is come to such a pass as to find no means to help
you.”
“But, Draper, Draper! think of your wife and your chil-
dren !” said the young man in a warning voice.
“Oh! do not dissuade my father!” implored Lucy ; “let
him
carry this good work through; and if—if you wish to
show yourself a dear, dear friend to us all, oh! then, help us
only this once to save this poor, poor young man from so
frightful a punishment!”
“Dear Miss Lucy,” replied Henings, still undecided, "I
”
will with all my heart do all that I can to afford you the very
slightest pleasure; but I really do not see how I can help the
poor wretch. If the pursuers are at his heels, as he himself
says, we may look for them at any moment, and in the con-
dition in which he now is, it would be quite impossible for
him to run away; and here in this house we are just as little
able to conceal him, even if we would, for this one open room
does not afford one single hiding-place.”
“We must write him a pass !” exclaimed Mrs. Draper,
" that will help him out of it; no one detains a negro with
a pass.”

56
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“But how can we ?” asked Lucy sorrowfully; "we have
no writing materials, no pen and ink, nor paper; even the
little bit of lead pencil, which was over the chimney in the
old house, must have got lost, at least I have not been able
to find it anywhere.”
During this conversation, the negro looked with sorrowful
glances from one speaker to another, and his eyes shone as
he heard of the pass; but now that his last hope was cut
away,
he hid his face in his trembling hands, and if no sound,
no sob broke the silence, yet the convulsive shuddering of
his whole frame showed the intense anguish that was at work
within.
“Now then, we must consult together,” cried old Draper,
taking rapid strides up and down the room.
Ben must
move on, and I plainly see that a pass is absolutely essential
for that. But he must remain concealed here till I can pro-
cure him one, and I will ride off to-day to Squire Maple and
get paper and ink.”
“But the whole county is up already,” said poor Ben in
mortal terror; "the one who pursued me to-day had heard of
a blow given to a white man; twice he would have shot me
down, but he screamed ont, with an oath, that he would
have me alive, that he might see me stew; they are resolved
to do their worst.”
“Hallo there !” suddenly broke in a voice from the other
side of the fallen timber, which was no sooner heard than the
howling of the whole pack of dogs overpowered it at once,
as upon the occasion of Hening's arrival.
" That is my pursuer !” groaned out Ben, and he sank in
despair, with folded hands, upon a chair close by, whose back
was at once stained by several drops of bright blood that
oozed through the linen jacket.
Meanwhile the old man stepped to the door, and, with a

BLACK AND WHITE.
57
word, hushed the dogs, who, obedient to their master's voice,
only acknowledged henceforth by a low growl the presence
of the stranger. Then Draper called out in reply to this late
guest : “Who is there ? and what do you want ?”
“ Who is there, indeed! why, Pitt is there, or rather I
should say he is not there ; for here he is sticking fast in an
impassable confusion of all possible obstacles, and he does
not know how to get out it. Why, where in the world is
the right road or the path to your house, Draper ? the way
that I have taken, there are at least twenty fathoms of wood
lying strewed about."
“ Are you alone ?” asked Draper in reply.
“Yes, quite ; but, however, a large party will soon be
here; I met them not far from hence, and they spoke of
spending the night with you.”
“I will be with you immediately, Pitt," called out Draper,
" but remain where you are for a moment, otherwise your
horse may injure himself severely with the splinters around ;”
and so saying, he threw the door to, and re-entered his house.
" It is too late," said he gloomily, as he fixed a stony
gaze upon the unhappy youth before him, " they will be here
before we are able even to devise a rational mode of saving
him, far less to execute it."
“ If he could only conceal himself in the forest,” suggested
Sally timidly, “I would so gladly take meat and drink out
to him there ; and perhaps early in the morning we should
be able to help the poor fellow further.”
“No, that is impossible, the dogs would never let him
remain unnoticed there ; and, besides, the strangers, if they
turn out to be really in pursuit of him, are sure to bring
their bloodhounds with them, and then his discovery would
be inevitable. Indeed, I cannot understand how my own
pack have let him come here so unmolested."
66

58
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
" Then hide him between our beds," said Sally suddenly;
“ he may lie there till some way of escape be found for him,
even if it be not till early in the morning.”
“ That is the only plan. Zounds ! Pitt will be growing
impatient; I must go and bring him in.
Hide him as
quickly as you can, and God grant that he may remain m-
discovered, otherwise it's all over with my good name in
Missouri, and I myself shall have to flee from the vengeance
of her citizens."
Deeply sighing, he left the log-hut to bring in his most
unwelcome guest, and the women in the meantime prepared
a tolerably soft couch for the poor sufferer, and so concealed
it between the beds, and a chair on which dresses were hung,
that certainly, except in the case of a thorough search being
made, which was most unlikely, this couch could not possibly
be seen by any one in the room ; added to which, no Ameri-
can would approach or even glance with curiosity at a place
devoted to the repose of “the ladies.”
No sooner was this done than the late visitor reached the
small open space before the door, exchanged there a few
words about his horse with Draper, and then, having already
heartily called good evening from without, entered into the
room, that was now lit up by a home-made candle. Mr. Pitt
was a small well-dressed man, with such light hair that he
used himself to call it cream-coloured, and large light blue
eyes. He was generally dressed in a pepper-and-salt over-
coat. However humane he might be in many respects, how-
ever careful about his cattle and his horses, which he never
allowed to be overworked, he yet thoroughly hated negroes,
and always treated his own slaves with the greatest contempt,
although he gave them good "fodder,” as he called it. The
slaves of the whole district feared him exceedingly, but hated
and
gave him the name of “ Negro Eater."
him still more,

BLACK AND WHITE.
59
And yet this man was a very good citizen, just and upright
in all his dealings and transactions, and had amassed no in-
considerable fortune by his own industry alone.
His ambition had been especially gratified by being ap-
pointed Justice of the Peace in his township, and this for the
second time when that stir was made about General Harrison,
which reached even the far west. Pitt prided himself upon
his fervent whiggism, and was naturally enthusiastic on the
behalf of Henry Clay, and especially of Freling Huysen,
who, according to him, was the most pious man in the whole
world, and deserved rather to be President than Vice-presi-
dent only.
By religious profession, Pitt was a Presbyterian, and so
zealous a church member, that once, at a meeting of the
General Assembly, when it had to be announced to the pious
expectants that the preacher they waited for was taken sud-
denly ill, and could not appear, Mr. Pitt himself mounted the
pulpit, all unprepared as he was, and in powerful language,
accompanied by much gesticulation, related to the congre-
gation how things stood with his own heart. Some time after
that, people tried hard to persuade him to devote his life ex-
clusively to spiritual teaching ; but he preferred to remain
Justice of Peace, and asserted, perhaps with some reason,
that, “as a layman, he could make much more impression
than if he were a minister by profession.” Add to all this
that he was to the greatest degree courteous and complaisant
to the ladies, although, as an old bachelor, he had to endure
from them many a jest and stinging word. Nay, our gallant
had actually, once upon a time, taken an active part in pro-
moting an elopement at St. Louis. But if reminded of that
occurrence, he never failed to remark that it took place be-
fore he had entered upon his duties as Justice of the Peace,
and that, at the present time, he would, on the contrary,

60
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
hinder such an event with all the legal means at his com-
mand.
Mr. Pitt, then, entered the hut, and, not content with the
general salutation, “Good evening, ladies," he offered his
hand to each of them in succession, taking up the whole con-
versation himself so completely, and asking so many questions
about the health and the wellbeing of his “new neighbours"
(his house was eleven miles off), that he never remarked the
confusion and excitement of their manner. He then, with all
alacrity, placed a chair for himself by the chimney (with his
back to the door and his face towards the bed), and thence
addressed a hundred questions to Henings and Draper at the
same time.
Draper, however, was himself too much excited to be able
to answer them, and only put in a query, on his part, in order
to get a moment's breathing time, as to where he met the party,
what they were about, and when they might be expected.
“Stop, sir! stop !” exclaimed the little man, turning him-
self round in comic despair, “here are a great many different
clauses, which must first be put in proper order, and then
dealt with one by one. But first of all, ladies, I am greatly
afraid that your room will be a little crowded to-day, as I
may certainly announce that eight men will be here in the
course of an hour; that is to say, seven, properly speaking,
for one of them is already sitting warm and comfortable by
the fire, rejoicing much that he has got out of the thorns and
briers outside. This one, my dear ladies, whom I have now
the honour to present to you, as my insignificant self, will
probably enjoy the pleasure of spending to-morrow with you
as well. I do not, you see, doubt for a moment that you
contemplate showing hospitality to all the party; nay, the
dresses that I see hanging yonder are probably intended to
lend a still higher grace to your lovely forms."

BLACK AND WHITE.
61
a
“But who are these others you speak of?" broke in old
Draper, impatiently.
“Who the others are ?" returned the little Justice, smiling.
“The flowers of the State, the pride and ornament of our
own and the neighbouring county, brave young farmers,
mounted Nimrods, with their rifles and their dogs with them !
Apropos ! Draper, have you still the wolf-hound that you
bought from Hilbert ? That was a famous puppy, and must
be a valuable dog by this time.”
“ Are the men out hunting ?” said Henings, joining in the
conversation.
“ Hunting? yes, indeed," answered the little man, “but
it is a peculiar sort of hunting—high game; in short, it is a
man-hunt!"
“A man-hunt!” exclaimed the women in horror.
“Do not be alarmed, ladies, it is only a runaway negro,"
said the polite Justice, smiling; “perhaps they have already
caught him, and will bring him with them.”
No one in the house answered a word, and the fluent talker
went on-
“Wallis, as you may perhaps know, has had occasion to
make an example of one of his negroes of late : the rogue
had, on a Sunday, when he was dressed in a newly bought
suit, gone and fallen into the river, according to his own
telling.”
“ You don't mean to say that he punished him on that ac-
count; was that the reason ?” cried Draper in horror.
Pitt looked at him in astonishment. “Well,” he said,
" that was surely one good reason for punishing him, and he
well deserved his certain number of lashes on that account;
but there was another besides, for the canaille had taken
cold, and was not able to do his work properly. Wallis is a
little fiery, and, in short, I do not exactly know how it all

62
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
came to pass on this last occasion ; but so much is certain,
Ben, the lad in question, gave a saucy answer, and as a thing
of course, he had to pay for it. But now picture to your-
selves, that he actually turned against his own master, felled
him to the ground with the handle of an axe—luckily the axe
itself was missing-and-ran away. But he cannot have
got on far. Hilbert came across him this afternoon a short
distance from here ; but unfortunately he had not his dogs with
him, and he lost his tracks somewhere near the hurricane.*
A short time afterwards, he met the whole party who had
come out in pursuit; and as they had their dogs with them,
they proceeded to draw the hurricane, and after that they
mean to come on here and stay the night. They would
doubtless remain in the wood rather than inconvenience you ;
but, however, this evening it looks like rain, and therefore
it would be better for them to be under cover.- But, ladies,
you allow me to furnish all the conversation ; not one of you
has spoken a single word.”
“We must think of supper, sir," said Mrs. Draper; “ if we
are to receive so many guests, there ought at least—to make
up for the other inconveniences they will have to put up with
-to be something warm for them to eat. But when do
you
think that they will arrive ?"
“They will not be much longer-certainly not much
longer," said the little man, raising his eyebrows, as though
he were calculating exactly; “I should say that in three
quarters of an hour they may have drawn the whole hurri-
cane, which is not large, and the dogs they have with them
are excellent. The mother of your wolf-hound is one of
them, Draper. And besides, they may find the lad im-
* This is the name given in the forests of the West to the space where the trees have
been thrown down by a hurricane, which space, after a few years, presents very often a
perfectly impassable thicket.

BLACK AND WHITE.
63
mediately, in which case there will be nothing to detain
them."
Draper and Henings now exchanged a few words, and the
latter took a chair and carried it off to the opposite side of the
chimney, inviting Mr. Pitt to follow him, so that the ladies
might have more room to move to and fro while engaged in
their culinary operations.
Mr. Pitt at once complied with this request, took hold of
the back of this chair and moved it across the room ; but he
had no sooner done so than he felt in his coat-pocket with
an expression of alarm, and then, looking at his outspread left
hand by the bright fire-light, “ Blood !” he exclaimed in some
surprise, and looked down at the chair upon which he had
been sitting.Mrs. Draper at once sprang forward, wiped the
back of it with an old handkerchief, and said, in a voice half
choked with distress and emotion,
“Oh! pray excuse it, Mr. Pitt-Lucy—a sudden bleed-
ing at the nose this evening-we had not observed the
stains."
Henings bent down to Sally, and whispered, with a smile,
" You will remind your mother by and bye of her disserta-
tion upon white lies!”
“Oh! I beg your pardon !-I beg your pardon !" cried the
polite Justice ; "it does not in the least signify; such sweet
blood can only be agreeable to me. Do not give yourself the
trouble—I have got a handkerchief--it is the merest little spot;
what frightened me so at first was, that I thought, when I felt
something wet, that I must have broken, in riding, a little ink
bottle that I always carry in my coat-pocket, and that would
have been a serious inconvenience in every way, and would
have had the worst effect upon my clean trou-
clean troumy
attire."
“ You have got ink?” suddenly exclaimed Henings, spring.
-my clean

64
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ing up in his excitement from the chair on which he had just
sat down.
“I?-certainly; does that surprise you? You see that
here in the forest ink is quite a rare thing, and therefore I
make a practice of always taking it about with me; for if I
come into a house and want to write, I may be very sure that
in the first place, there is no ink within five miles, and that
the only paper to be had is the dirty title-page of some smoky
book which has to be cut out to begin with. In the most
favourable circumstances, there may be an old half used up
pigeon's wing out of which a dry quill is pulled by main force,
and then cut by the hunting-knife of the husband or the scis-
sors of the wife, and there you have your pen; no, no, I could
not put up with that—I must have my implements in better
order, and so I always carry about a little stone ink-bottle,
and
pens
and
paper besides.”
Henings, who meanwhile had walked two or three times
rapidly to and fro, now suddenly stopped by the chair of the
speaker, who had brought out his little bottle with much good
will.
“My dear sir,” said he, laying his hand in a friendly man-
ner upon Pitt's shoulder, "you might, if you would, do Mrs.
Draper a very great, and perhaps a double kindness.”
" How! I?” exclaimed Mr. Pitt, turning rapidly to the
lady just mentioned ; “with the greatest delight. What is
it? I am at your service.”
Mrs. Draper looked, in much embarrassment, towards Hen-
ings, but he gave her no time to speak a single word, and,
turning to the Justice, continued-
“ These ladies were wishing to have a copy of the little
hymn composed by you, which you recited not long ago
at Maple’s, and they were asking me this afternoon about it,
because they had heard me repeat a verse of it from memory.
a
66

BLACK AND WHITE.
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a
But since we, like other settlers, are just in the very circum-
stances you have so strikingly portrayed, that is, without writ-
ing materials of any kind, I would now venture, in the name
of these ladies, to ask you, not only to give us a piece of
paper, and a pen and ink, but to repeat the verses slowly that
I may write them down after you.”
“My good ladies, I am really quite overpowered at the
friendly interest with which you have honoured my poor
poetic efforts,” simpered the little man, while with the greatest
alacrity he emptied out his pockets, and in a few moments
produced a large roll of letter paper, a small penholder, and
the ink-bottle before mentioned, all of which he placed on the
table, snuffed the candle with his fingers, wiped his spectacles,
and, in short, made every preparation for writing down the
wished-for piece of poetry; but this Henings prevented, by
playfully taking away his pen, and assuring him that he would
,
not hear of his straining his eyes—weak already—by the
flickering light of the tallow candle.
“ No," continued he, “let me have it my own way; though
my fingers may have grown rather stiff with wielding the axe,
I can manage it; you, meanwhile, will sit opposite me there,
and thus the ladies will have the advantage of hearing you
recite it, instead of merely looking on.”
Mrs. Draper stood behind the Justice, and held her folded
hands tightly pressed on her heart, as though she would com-
press and force back there the anguish that threatened to burst
its bounds. Lucy held the back of her chair, and, with lips
half opened, colourless cheeks, and glassy eyes, gazed fixedly
at her lover. Sally—the spirited, cheerful Sally-was the
only one who could not bear the fearful suspense, and she
went out through the door, hid her head in her apron, and
wept to her heart's content.
Henings, on the contrary, appeared quite calm and uncon-
E

66
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
cerned, chatting away with the magistrate, while he, on his
part, looked out a clean sheet of paper, and put a newly cut
quill into the penholder. Henings rattled on in a wild sort of
way, telling him how in Louisiana they always wrote upon
magnolia leaves, and in Tennessee made ink of gunpowder and
indigo ; and having overcome the last hesitation on the part of
the much-flattered magistrate, who at first wished much to
write out the hymn himself, he spread out the white sheet be-
fore him, looked at the point of his pen, moistened it between
his lips, and said, as he settled himself comfortably in his
cbair—“So ! now I am ready—fire away!”
Draper leaned against the chimney, and the strong man
trembled with excitement, so as to shake the loose boards
under him. Henings alone remained calm and composed, and
even smiled to himself, as the Justice of the Peace, leaning at
his ease in his chair, his hands folded on the table, his spec-
tacles pushed high up on his forehead, his large round eyes
gravely fixed upon the roof, and upon a number of smoked
haunches of venison hanging from it, and, with a monotonous
sing-song voice, began-
“ O Jesus, sweet Saviour, O come unto me;
Forgive me my trespasses, Lord" —
“Stop!--not so fast,” said Henings; "I can scarce keep
up with you—' forgive me my trespasses, Lord.'”
Draper placed himself behind Henings' chair, and read
what he had written ; these were the words-
The bearer of this, Scipio'”.
Now, go on; I have got it.”
"And give me to find, with Thy Father and Thee,
The pardon proclaim'd in Thy Word.”
Henings went on writing, “6 goes with my knowledge and
consent to see his parents'
“ Have you written it-proclaimed in Thy Word'?”
.
66
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ܕܙ ܕ
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BLACK AND WHITE.
67
asked the magistrate, lowering his spectacles and looking at
the young man opposite him.
“In one moment—there-proclaimed in Thy Word'—
now, go on."
“I am, O my Saviour, I needs must confess,
A servant unworthy and vile,"
declaimed Mr. Pitt, throwing a friendly glance towards Mrs.
Draper, who was bending over him, sighing once or twice
deeply, and then repeating,
“A servant unworthy and vile."
-“ in Illinois; and he has had a month's leave'"-
a
“ Have you got so far?” asked the Justice again.
“Yes—— leave'-
" What?” said Mr. Pitt, looking up at him.
"Oh! nothing," replied the young man, rapidly recovering
himself; “ a hair has got into the pen; so— vile.'”
“Yes—wait a moment; I have lost the thread-unworthy
and vile,'” he kept murmuring to himself.
?“Ah! now I
have got it."
“But Thou, who hast seen my repentance, wilt bless-
Wilt own me at last with a smile."
4* Own me at last with a smile,'” repeated Henings, end-
a
ing Benjamin's pass at the same time with the words, “given
him by me,” to which he added the feigned name of Peter
Rollins, with the yesterday's date, and then folded up the
paper.
“Stay !—I have not done,” exclaimed the worthy Justice,
whom this movement had not escaped ; " those are only the
two first verses-now come five in another rhythm, and then
again three concluding stanzas. Go on now :
'I will, O thou faithful Shepherd,
Be henceforth a faithful sheep.'
But you are not writing ?”
66

68
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
و
a
1
" It was only the two first verses that you wanted, was it
not, Mrs. Draper?” said Henings, rising.
“No, sir, it was only the two first,” stammered Mrs. Dra-
per, who felt that Henings was fixing a meaning glance upon
her. The blood rushed to her temples, and suffused her brow,
from shame at the untruth she had just uttered.
“So you have got the other verses? Well, wait a moment;
I will repeat them once more, so that you may correct a mis-
take, if there be any. But first let me look at what you have
just written,” and he stretched out his arm towards the paper
that Henings was holding loosely between the fingers of the
hand that still rested on the table.
Henings, however, did not appear to have noticed this; he
stood with body bent, fixed and motionless, and raised his left
hand to his ear. The fact was, he heard some distant sound,
and had for the moment forgotten the situation in which he
was placed.
Meanwhile, Mr. Pitt took the paper, opened it, lowered his
spectacles over his eyes, and then first seemed aware of the
young man's strange behaviour.
The inhabitants of the log-hut stood petrified with horror.
If the magistrate but glanced at the page
which he held open
in his hand, all was discovered.
nings!” cried old Draper, seizing him by the arm.
“Mr. Henings!” said Pitt, and screened his eyes with his
left hand, in order the better to observe him. But this, quick
as thought, recalled the dreamer to the circumstances in which
he was placed; he looked at the guest, saw the pass in his
hand, and tore it at once out of his grasp.
“Mr. Henings!” cried the Justice, in much astonishment.
“I have to beg a thousand pardons, sir,” apologized Hen-
ings, with an embarrassed smile ; " but this writing is so bad,
you could not read it. You spoke quickly, and so I was too

BLACK AND WHITE.
69
a
do
much hurried; but wait a few moments, and I will write it
out fair, to convince you that a backwoodsman is not such a
bad scribe after all, and does not want a schoolmaster to teach
him how to write a letter, if need be.”
“But what was the matter with you just now? You
stared as if you saw a ghost,” said Mr. Pitt, mollified by the
explanation given.
“Oh! nothing—at least nothing of consequence,” replied
Henings. “I only thought I heard an odd sort of noise, and
I could not make out what it was-stay! there it is again;
you not hear something ?”
Draper sprang to the door and opened it, and then the
sound of distant voices was plainly heard, as though of people
shouting on the other side of the ferry.
“There they are," said the little man, jumping up, and
seizing a tin speaking-trumpet that was hanging on the wall,
and is almost always used in an American log-hut to call the
workmen to meals. *
Mr. Pitt now rightly concluded that the hunting-party,
overtaken by the night, were not able to find the solitary
hut, lying as it did in the very heart of the forest; and that
they were shouting only in order to excite the attention of its
inhabitants, and arouse them to make some sort of signal-
such as firing a gun, sounding a horn-to make known their
whereabouts. So, without any further ceremony, he took
down the trumpet from the nail on which it hung, walked to
the door, and sounded so melancholy and piercing a blast,
that the dogs first entered a protest against his music by a
short angry bark, and then, as if overcome by the plaintive
note, set up so fearfully wild and mournful a howl, that Mr.
Pitt, in positive terror, stopped in the very middle of his solo
* With a favourable wind, and especially across the water, the notes of this long
straight horn are heard even at a distance of several miles.

70
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
66
-solo no longer-listened to them for a moment, and then,
shaking his head, said: “Did ever any living Christian hear
such a thing in his whole life !”
He did not, however, desist from his musical efforts. And
magistrate and dogs together kept up such an ear-rending
concert, that the whole wood seemed to be alive; while of
such domestic animals as were there—three young pigs, to
wit, and half a dozen fowls—the first came out of their sty
grunting, and ran about from side to side, while the poultry
flapped their wings, and seemed anxious to leave so unquiet
a neighbourhood.
"Here is the pass,” said Henings hurriedly, and crushed
the paper into old Draper's hand :-
“The bearer of this, Scipio, goes with my knowledge and
consent to see his parents in Illinois, and he has had a month's
leave given him by me.-PETER Rollins.'
With this, whoever stops him, not knowing him per-
sonally, cannot place any hindrance in his way; but he must
set out to-night.”
“But how? The Justice stands in the doorway, and in a
few minutes we shall have the house so full of men, that his
escape will be an impossibility.”
“We will find a way; but now go, give him an old coat
and a cap-quick, the magistrate has done blowing, I will
call him out to me. When I imitate the owl's hooting, Ben
must slip out in all haste and join me behind the house.
Hush! he is turning round now.”
Mr. Pitt now gave his lungs a respite, and left off blowing;
but the dogs were not able so suddenly to recover from the
influence of the music they had heard. A young fellow-and
he was no other than the afore-mentioned wolf-hound-howled
a soprano, and seemed delighted with the sound, for after
every occasional pause he repeated it, and was instantly fol-

BLACK AND WHITE.
71
a
lowed by an old blind St. Bernard dog in E flat; whereupon
the rest, as though they had only waited for the key-note to
be given out, broke into a wild discordant chorus, and never
ceased till their very last energies of throat and lungs were
exhausted.
Mr. Pitt now did his best to reduce them to order; he
scolded, he threatened, and even threw some chips and splin-
ters at them; but that measure had only the effect of making
them all front him, turning their heads to one side, as if to
escape any missile he might chance to throw, but going on
with their horrible music all the same.
“Let them alone, sir,” said Henings, by way of comfort,
as the little magistrate, half amused, half angry, appeared
again in the doorway; “I will soon silence them for you."
“Hush, you brutes!” he cried in a voice of thunder ; “hush,
or I will wring your throats !” And seizing a pole that leant
against the house, he distributed such hearty and well-aimed
blows right and left, that the dogs ran off yelping in all
directions, and crept, part of them under the house, and
part into the cover of branches around. Henings remained
for a moment leaning upon the pole, as if lost in thought,
from which he was roused by the rapidly approaching voices
of the hunters, and the baying of their dogs. He threw
a hasty glance around, and then laying hold of his saddle
and bridle, which were hanging near the house, he carried
them behind it, and whistled to his obedient pony to follow
him.
“Now, Madam, you will have indeed a large party quar-
tered upon you," said Mr. Pitt, while he rubbed his hands
with a simper, and drew near to the fire, where Sally and
Lucy were busily employed in preparing the supper. “It
will certainly be a little crowded in this one small room, but
to-morrow we can arrange matters. Dear me, once in Arkan-

72
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
sas, we were seventeen in one room, which if not actually
smaller, was at all events not one inch larger than this of
yours. Draper's bed is between you two, you say? Well,
well, we shall turn every little hole and corner to good ac-
count: the young fellows are up to everything. I wonder
whether they have got the negro? Deuce take the black
beast, to strike his own master indeed! If he is not made an
example of, no one's life will be safe, and we shall actually
be afraid of punishing our own slaves. I understand that
they mean to subscribe, so as at least to indemnify the pro-
prietor in some degree."
Mr. Pitt was standing, meanwhile, half turned towards the
fire, and half towards Mrs. Draper; and she, poor woman!
kept her eyes stedfastly fixed on his, though she did not hear
a single word of what he was uttering so fluently. Her ear
was only alive to the rustling of clothes, and the suppressed
emotion of her husband. Soon she saw the form of the young
slave rise noiselessly into sight.
“Heaven knows where the men can be all this time," the
little man now interrupted himself by wondering, while he
took a step away from the fire and towards the door. "Mr.
Henings does not return-perhaps he is gone to meet them;
but where is Mr. Draper?”
“Here, sir,” answered Draper, taking one step forward,
with the negro close behind him. The very slightest change
of posture on the part of either, could not have failed to have
revealed him to the magistrate. The next moment must seal
the fate of the runaway.
Then the dogs began to bark again; for the hunters had
now, as Henings and Pitt did before them, arrived by the
tolerably passable pathway to the confines of the fallen tim-
ber, and they were shouting towards the people in the house.
Mr. Pitt would be sure to go to the door; and if once that
2

BLACK AND WHITE.
73
a
came to pass, it would be an impossibility to let the negro
out, and he was lost beyond all hope of recovery.
At that moment, the hooting of an owl was heard without.
" Dear Mr. Pitt!” suddenly exclaimed Lucy, "might I
ask
you to be so very kind as to lift up this heavy iron pot
and place it upon the fire, I really cannot move it; and our
guests will soon be here."
“Oh! with the greatest delight, my dear Miss," exclaimed
the polite magistrate, and sprang at once to the fire-leant
with his left arm against the cross-beam over the chimney,
and with his right hand took hold of the bandle of the vessel,
and lifted it off the hook upon which Lucy had suspended it.
“You see, my dear young lady, that it is not so very heavy,
though I will admit too massive for a lady; but where then
will you have it? on the burning embers ? they ought to be
raked a little together first of all.”
“I beg your pardon, good Mr. Pitt, but if you would only
be kind enough to hold it just for two seconds; the logs have
got all misplaced, I will arrange them properly in no time.”
Lucy took the poker and raked the burning wood in the
chimney, while Pitt, Justice of the Peace, bent over the
glowing fire, holding the heavy pot, his face growing redder
and redder, and the great drops standing upon his forehead.
Behind him, glided through the door, a figure wrapped in
a brown overcoat, with a black felt hat overhanging its face,
and then creeping round the opposite corner to that where
the dogs were, it disappeared in the gloom behind the
building:
Draper followed it out.
“Now sir, now put it down ; ah! that is exactly right;
but I fear I have given you a great deal of trouble,” said
the lovely girl, and at that moment it seemed as if a hundred-
weight were lifted away from her breast.

74
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
“Oh! never mind, never mind,” replied the gallant ma-
gistrate, instantly making use of his liberated hands to take
out his pocket handkerchief and wipe his face. “I was very
happy, I am sure the fire burns well — wonderfully hot,
indeed. But where in the world are these people? ah! I
suppose they cannot get through the wilderness before the
house-serves them right: why do they not ride round till
they find an entrance? I, too, ought to have made my way
better than I did.”
Meanwhile, Draper was standing at the door of his dwell-
ing, gazing fixedly into the gloom : the voice of his intended
guests, laughing and swearing, reached his ears, and calling
out to him to show them the private path to the warm chim-
ney corner; but besides this, he heard a rustling in the
branches behind the house, and a low whispering conversa-
tion carried on. At once he joined the parties there. Hen-
ings stood before the négro, who had seized his hand, and, in
spite of the resistanc offered by the young man, had fer-
vently pressed it to his lips. The poor boy could hardly speak
for sobbing, and wanted to throw himself again and again at
the feet of his deliverer.
"Foolish fellow," said the latter, pushing him away;
" make haste to get off, otherwise it will be too late ; you
have my address, and you will send me back my horse to St.
Louis."
" Your horse ?” asked Draper, in surprise.
“He cannot else escape," whispered Henings; “but make
·
haste, otherwise, by Heaven! you will be too late. Can
yoli
ride?"
“ The wildest colt that ever threw off its rider," was the
reply.
“So much the better---you may need all your
horseman-
ship; but spare the little creature as much as you can-it is
9
>

BLACK AND WHITE.
75
-
a
as good a pony as any in the States, and my only one too :
but, by Jove! here come the riders-plague take them ! we
have lost time till they are actually upon us.
What is to be
done now? If you go, you must meet them the only outlet
?
-
this
way is but thirty feet wide.”
The negro stood listening for a few moments, but the
rapidly approaching galloping left him no longer a doubt :
what was to be done must be done quickly; and with a bold
leap, this son of Africa vaulted into the saddle, waved his
hand once more, and pressed the flanks of the little impatient
stamping pony. In a second it had cleared a bough that lay
in its way, and was just about to turn into the only narrow
path that led from hence, through the chaos of fallen timber,
when a loud cry of delight was heard, and in the same mo-
ment a gaily attired huntsman made his appearance at the
other end.
“Hurrah! here is the way !” cried he; come on, Hilbert,
there is a light in the house, and I see figures yonder. At
all events, we shall find a dry corner and a glowing fire: the
first that reaches the hearth shall have the best place.”
With horror Benjamin recognised his master's voice-the
blood seemed to freeze in his veins; but the moment required
prompt decision-bis life was at stake, and, quick as light-
ning he slipped out of the saddle, threw the bridle across his
arm, and walked back to the house.
" Hallo there!” exclaimed Wallis, as he sprang by; "you
fellow, do you hear? take my horse with you, rub it down
carefully—the beasts are all dead tired; but bring the sad-
dle into the house.” And he jumped down from the back of
his foaming snorting steed, gave the bridle to the black,
without once deigning to look at him, and hurried with long
strides to the door, for the threatening sky began to send
down great drops, precursors of the impending storm.
7
-

76
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
“Just in time, it seems," cried he, when he found himself
beneath the sheltering roof. “Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen; I have to make a thousand apologies, but a whole
party of hunters are on their way hither, and necessity com-
pels us to encroach upon your hospitality.”
Outside, the riders were dismounting, and hanging their
bridles upon the branches of the trees strewn around, while
they called in vain to the negro to take their horses and to
feed them properly.
“Gentlemen,” said Draper, who at this moment made his
appearance at the door, and welcomed his guests, "you are
calling for a negro; I have only to regret that I have not one
at your command. But do not be uneasy, your horses shall
not suffer--I will see to them myself.”'
“I have just given my beast to a negro,” cried Wallis.
“ That was me," said Henings, laughing ; “I was aware
that you took me for a blacky!”
“My dear sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons," said the
farmer, reaching out his hand to him ; "it was just beginning
to rain, and I did not look closely, but I really thought it had
been a black fellow; but as for that, Draper, you may be
very
glad that you have no negroes, for there is nothing but plague
and trouble with the brutes.--Ah! good evening, Justice :
how are you? whither are you bound ? to the General
Assembly? that's right: it is a blessing to a land, when those
who are employed in its business do not forget God because
of it. A pious judge is always a just judge. I should
go with you, were I not detained by the search after a good-
for-nothing fellow of mine, that I have to do my duty in
punishing”-
Here the speaker was interrupted by the entrance of the
remainder of the party, and for a few moments there was
nothing but greetings, apologies, moving out of each other's
-

BLACK AND WHITE.
77
way, placing chairs and stools here and there, till at last, after
everything animate and inanimate had changed its place once
and once again, such a number of people not only occupied,
but were comfortably seated in the little room, as is only con-
ceivable by one who has himself lived in a log-hut, and seen
how, in a room of “twenty by twenty,” that is, twenty
feet long and twenty broad, two or three families at once,
with an indefinite number of children, can live, cook, and
sleep.
When the interior of the house had been reduced to some
sort of order, Henings and Draper put on their old woollen
hunting-coats, and hurried out to feed the huntsmen's horses
at the one common trough, and then to leave them to their
fate for the night, since there was no sort of stable or out-
house near.
In the meantime, the storm was coming on, and roared and
raved in the old spreading heads of the mighty trees around.
It came from the south-west and hurled its army of dark
swift-flying clouds one against the other. Thundering they
encountered with their fiery swords, and then poured down
their contents in frenzy upon the earth. The beasts of the
forest crept to their hidden lairs; even the owl remained in
her safe hollow, and put off her intended rapine to a safer
time. The wolf alone, the always-devouring, prowled with
his savage band, noiselessly and stealthily, under the covert
of the creaking branches, in hopes of spying out the hiding-
place of some timid thing. And when, ever and anon, a
louder peal than usual shook the forest, and the echoes from
the distant mountains answered it with a wail, the leader of
the pack would stop and raise his long pointed head to the
driving clouds above him, and join his howl to the uproar of
the elements, till the dogs sheltered safely under the farm-
house would rise restlessly, growling for a moment at the
a

78
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
hated sound; and then, with a suppressed bark, curl them-
selves round more warmly and tightly than before.
The men within, however, did not heed the storm ; he was
an old acquaintance of theirs, and the downfal of the crashing
branches or even trunks, the howling of wild beasts, and the
raging of the winds, were sounds that they were well accus-
tomed to. A glowing fire, a warm supper, and good fellow-
ship, was quite enough to make them forget all that was
going on above them and around. Henings was the most
cheerful of the whole party; and though Wallis and Pitt were
not at first quite disposed to enter fully into his mirth, yet,
at last, they too were carried away by the irresistible humour
of the young man. Heaps of old hunting stories were told,
incidents of the War of Independence revived—Pitt asserting
that he had taken a part in the action at New Orleans; and
so it happened that it was ten o'clock—an unusually late hour
for a backwoodsman-when the men first sought repose to re-
fresh and strengthen them for the fatigues of the following day.
The sleeping accommodation was scant enough, it is true;
but the hunters knew how to make the best of it, each bring-
ing with him his woollen blanket. Some of these were
accordingly placed before the fire, and the whole party lay
down
upon them in long rows, and their host spread over
them everything that he possibly could. A good fire was
kept up the whole night through, and thus the men were dry
and warm ; and what more does a hunter need ?
The next morning found the latest arrived the earliest
ready. As soon as the dawning day sent its first pale beams
up from the east, Wallis went out to look after the horses,
and the others replenished the almost extinguished fire, filled
the great tin coffee-pot with water, and made all things ready
for an unusually early start.
Henings, who was usually the first and foremost of all, was

BLACK AND WHITE.
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66
the only one that was late and inactive this morning. He
stood leaning against the chimney corner, and stared unmean-
ingly at Mr. Pitt, who, the only sleeper at this late hour, had
found for himself a comfortable corner with a feather bed
under him.
Hilbert and Wallis, whose horses were by this time stand-
ing saddled at the door, now came in to take the breakfast
which the ladies had rapidly prepared for them.
Well, Henings," said the first, as he drew on his leggings
which had been hung up to dry, and finding one of them
hard and stiff, went to the door to give it a good rubbing ;
“well, Henings, you take things deuced easy this morning;
,
there is your poor pony standing there, biting the branches
around, and apparently most cruelly hungry."
“My pony ?" said Henings, looking up at him half amazed,
half incredulous.
"Why, yes, the one out there belongs to you, does it not ?
there is not another little rough-haired beast like it in all
Missouri.”
Henings made one spring to the door, and looked out.
What can paint his joyful surprise, when he saw between
Draper's two horses, which had been driven home by the
tempest, his own dear little pony that he had been sorrow-
fully thinking of all morning, as now many many miles
distant, and dead tired by the long ride of a despairing
runaway?
Had Benjamin, then, gone on foot ? he surely could never
have done so foolish a thing !
"I
say,
how ever did Pitt come here?” asked Hilbert at
that very moment, as he counted over to himself the number
of horses assembled in groups before the house.
“On his chestnut," answered Henings quickly, looking
round for the so-called animal.

80
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“On that bright chestnut of his ?”
Yes, but I do not see him.”
“ And he is not to be seen !” opined Hilbert.
“Not at least anywhere near the house, for I have been
up more than an hour, and out of doors all the time.”
At that moment, Mrs. Draper called them all in to break-
fast; and Mr. Pitt rose up quickly from under the horse
cloths that had hitherto concealed him, drew on his coat,
and went out to wash his hands and face in a large pewter
basin outside the door. In the meanwhile, the hunters did
not stand upon ceremony; they fell to brandy, finished their
meal in double quick time, and then, without further delay,
took their rifles to begin again the chase interrupted on the
previous day—a hopeless labour, as we know. During break-
fast, they had laid all their plans as to the best way of cap-
turing the negro, who never could, they maintained, have
got on far in such a storm, and in the circumstances in which
he was.
Draper now heard that all the farmers on the
Missouri who possessed boats, had been made aware of the
flight of the slave, and were prepared to capture him. As to
the fate of the unfortunate man when caught, that was plainly
declared over and over again-he had struck a white man,
and therefore death was to be his portion. The magistrate
perfectly agreed with them in this, and even promised to
draw out the necessary notice to the Governor of the State,
so that the proprietor might have some compensation for his
own individual loss.
Five minutes later, the men were all in the saddle, calling
out their thanks and adieus to their friendly hosts, and then,
with the exception of Wallis and Hilbert, they all went in
two divisions—the one to the right, and the other to the left,
in the direction of the Missouri. The other two, with the
best dogs of the pack, formed the centre of the chain, and

BLACK AND WHITE.
81
prepared slowly and carefully to explore the whole wood,
where they supposed the fugitive to lie concealed, hoping in
this way to start him from his hiding-place, or to drive him
towards the river, where there were two detachments ready
to receive him.
Draper looked after them with a smile, and muttered in a
low voice, as they disappeared behind the bushes in the low
grounds-
"Go
your ways, brave men, go ! spur on horses and dogs
to hunt a man's life down; you won't catch him so easily as
you
think. If he has had good luck, he may even now be in
Illinois, and once there, Mr. Peter Rollins will help him
through !”
Mr. Pitt having had his breakfast, now discovered, with by
no means a joyful surprise, the absence of his horse, which he
was much at a loss to account for; the creature having never
before been known to leave the trough at which it was feeding.
And besides, the storm made it the more unlikely that it
should have done so the last night, since in such weather all
domestic animals are wont to keep as near as possible to the
abode of men. But, however, it was no use to think about
it any longer; and if he wished to be at the camp-meeting, he
had no time to lose in accepting Mr. Draper's proposal to
lend him one of his own horses, while he promised himself to
look for the chestnut on his return. So the two rode off
together, and Henings was the only one left with the ladies,
with the intention of accompanying them later in the day,
as they wished to set things a little to rights in the first in-

stance.
The bushes had scarcely closed behind the magistrate and
his companions, when the young farmer, who had looked after
them through a chink in the log-hut, turned with a triumphant
air to the matron. The poor woman had until now been
a
F

82
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
exercising the most fearful self-control, and, as long as the
strangers were there, she had been able to maintain her out-
ward composure; but now that the pressure was removed, her
strength suddenly gave way, and, hiding her face in her
hands, she sank down trembling upon her chair, and sobbed
aloud.
“ “Mother !” exclaimed both the girls, springing towards
her, “ dearest, best mother!”
“Mrs. Draper!” said Henings, “pray compose yourself ;
do you regret, then, that you have saved a fellow-creature's
life?"
The matron required some time before she was able to com-
pose herself; at last she looked up at the young man with
streaming eyes, and said in a low voice-
“ You have punished me severely, Henings; I shall cer-
tainly never forget last evening during my whole life long.
If I was wrong, may God forgive me, but I could not do
otherwise. Alas! our hearts are so weak, we often do not
even know when we err, and when we are right. But how
has the poor youth got off? and above all, is he saved ?”
"He has taken Pitt's horse with him," said Henings,
laughing; “but that will not do the “negro eater'
Ben must of course have heard all that he said of him and
his race last evening; and I don't much blame him for tak-
ing this little bit of revenge.”
“Oh! that grieves me much, very much,” sighed Mrs.
Draper; "you should have prevented that; I would so gladly
have given him one of our best horses.''
Henings was silent, and looked down; but Lucy took up
the cause, and said warmly--"He did try to prevent it,
mother; he would even have given him his one only pony. I
know that, but the arrival of the strangers sent the fugitive
back. Later, when all of them were in the house, the negro
any harm.

BLACK AND WHITE.
83
boy must have come back at the peril of his life to exchange
the horse of his deliverer for that of his enemy."
Henings took her hand, and said-
“ Thank you, Lucy, for this kind defence. Indeed, it
does appear that this poor negro has shown especial regard
to my property; he even left my saddle behind, covering it
with board to protect it from last night's rain, and content-
ing himself with the very poorest old saddle that he could
find.”
“But will he escape ?” asked Sally anxiously.
" We shall never see him again,” laughed out the young
farmer ; “his pursuers believe him gone north, because, if he
had been on foot and without a pass, he must have done so;
but, however, he is gone east towards the Mississippi, mounted,
dressed in a different manner from what is described in the
advertisement, and with a good pass in his pocket. He will
be passed once at St. Louis and once in Illinois; under these
circumstances be is perfectly safe. Besides, the chestnut is
a first-rate horse, and will soon carry him to his goal."
“ And Canada will not give him up ?”
No, truly-once there, the whole of America may try in
vain to get him back again; but ought we not to be setting
out?"
“Ah! Mr. Henings, shall I ever be able to look the
preacher in the face ?” said Mrs. Draper with a sigh.
"
That
you will !" cried the young man; “ with just as clear
and free a glance as you now raise to the cloudless sky that
smiles down upon us. It is true we have all run counter
to the laws of the State, but not, I am very sure, to the laws
of God; and the only anxiety that remains to me, in con-
nexion with the whole affair, is, that we should not be found
out. But, indeed, there is no danger of that, and so we will
not waste this happy time in useless anxieties. And now, is

66

84
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSII.
Lucy satisfied with me?” he whispered, bending down to the
lovely girl.
“You are a good, good man !” said the maiden with a
blush, and she gave him her little right hand.
Eight weeks might have passed since the occurrence just
described ; and young Henings had not only proposed for
Draper's eldest daughter, but he had borne her away to the
home he had himself built, as his own true wife. For in their
beautiful country, loving hearts do not need to apply to the
police authorities for leave to belong to each other. But, in
order not to live so far removed from his parents-in-law, both
the men had agreed to clear the land that Draper had seques-
tered when he first settled, and the heavy axes of the brave
backwoodsmen penetrated far and successfully into the still-
ness of the woods.
With the help of the fire that devoured the giant trunks,
a noble plain soon extended between the two log-huts; and
cattle, bought from the neighbouring settlers, lent to the little
farm the cheerful animation, devoid of which the most im-
portant settlement would be but a desert.
One Sunday morning, just as the little family party had
assembled round the table, with its clean cloth, upon which
the juicy venison, the brown maize bread, and the smoking
coffee-pot, invited to a dainty repast, a rider stopped at the
door of the house, and both men jumped up in astonishment,
for it was no other than Squire Pitt upon his chestnut !
He was soon brought in, and implored to say at once how
he had got back the horse, that had never been seen since the
memorable night of the storm. But Pitt, who had already
ridden several miles, and was not a little hungry, would not
give any explanation till the table-cloth was taken away; so
a chair was set for him, and our magistrate did full justice to


BLACK AND WHITE.
85
-
the cooking powers of the young wife. Then first, the cups
and plates being now removed, and the table pushed away,
his tongue was unloosed, and, half in anger at the audacity
he had to tell of, half in pleasure at the recovery of his ex-
cellent horse, in such capital condition too, he imparted to his
attentive hearers the wonderful way in which he had become
repossessed of his property.
“Only think, ladies," said he, “ yesterday evening I was
“
I
sitting quietly in my own room, tired to death—for I had
been all day long in the saddle—when my little Frisk, who
sleeps in the house, began to growl, and before I could even
rise, who should make his appearance but the postmaster from
the next village! I thought at first that he was coming from
the west settlement and was on his way home, but he said
that he was bringing me something, seized me by the arm,
led me to the door, and showed me my own chestnut, who
stood alive and well before me there, and neighed as soon as
ever he saw me. Ladies, he is but a brute, but from very joy
I fell upon his neck; and I was just going to ask who in the
world I had to thank for his recovery, when the postmaster
gave me a letter, and told me that a mulatto had brought the
horse to St. Louis, made inquiries there about our post-town,
and then hired a messenger to take both horse and letter there.
Now, these are very remarkable circumstances in themselves,
but the letter is still more remarkable.”
66 Who is it from ?” cried all at once.
“Ay, indeed, who ?-now you shall guess," said the little
man, while he crossed both arms over the back of his chair,
and put on an expression of the deepest mystery ; " but do
not give yourself the trouble-you will never guess in all
your life. Why, picture to yourselves that is from Ben,
Wallis's runaway negro.”
“ Could he write?” asked Draper incredulously.

a
66

86
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
>
“ No, no, he was not quite up to that,” said the magistrate;
" he has only put his mark—a sort of cross—to the document,
but that's all one; another negro has written it for him from
Canada.”
"From Canada ?”
“Yes, from Canada—the beast was lucky! Heaven only
knows how he got there, but it's but a new proof that we
must take that country from the English as soon as we can ;
which, in the first place, belongs to us in the very nature of
things, and from which the citizens of the United States have
had already to bear so many wrongs.”
" But what is in the letter ?” asked Sally inquisitively.
“ The letter is short and sweet, as the Yankees say,” mut-
tered the magistrate ; and it is written by a confounded
negro who calls himself a free Canadian—the canaille! if only
I had him here !-and takes upon him to offer me a heartfelt
greeting."
“Well, that is friendly, at all events,” said Henings,
laughing
“Friendly !--the black ragamuffin goes on to call me his
dear good little Pitt,' and invites me to be sure and visit
him if ever I go to Toronto.”
“ But Ben-what does Ben say ? dear Mr. Pitt," inquired
Sally.
“Why, that he met my horse in the wood, and felt con-
vinced that I should feel much pleasure in lending it him for
a few weeks--the fellow! he knew my good heart, he said,
and only wished for the fulfilment of the prayers and wishes
which the negroes of my district had long put up on my be-
half;—as if I did not know that the black rascals all hate
me like poison."
6. And the horse ?”
“He had sent him-Heaven knows by what means-to

BLACK AND WHITE.
87
66
a
St. Louis. But what surprises me most of all is, that a negro
should send back a stolen horse.''
“And are there, then, no good honourable men amongst
negroes ?” said Mrs. Draper reproachfully.
" Hum! why, Madam, you are perhaps right there,” said
the little Justice, preparing to set out homewards; “this
seems to be a case in their favour. But I do not know
either, it makes me so angry on the other hand, to feel that a
black fellow should have made such fools of us all. Well, I
will now ride over to Wallis, and tell him of the successful
flight of his slave. Whether he be pleased with it or no, it
is a clear loss of eight hundred dollars to him, at all events."
The little Justice now mounted his beautiful chestnut and
rode to “Squire Wallis's” in the next county. But he found
him no longer amidst the living.
One of his ill-used mulattoes had, in rage and revenge,
taken up a pick-axe and struck his master on the shoulder ! —
an hour after, he was dead. The mulatto fled to the Missouri
and tried to swim across it; but, however, he could not with-
stand the strong current, and sank in the very moment that
his
pursuer
reached the shore and saw the flood close over his
head.
All this seemed to exercise a most beneficial influence over
Justice Pitt. From that time forth, he behaved far more
humanely and kindly to his slaves, and was no longer dis-
tinguished by the name of “Negro Eater."

88
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
A NEW ZEALAND SKETCH.
Day was dawning in the horizon; the sweet spicy fragrance
of a tropical vegetation was wafted on the breath of night
from the shore of the island that the vessel was nearing. A
few scattered stars still glimmered faintly in the pale blue
sky, and the white fleecy clouds that were floating beneath,
flushed rose-colour as they at last welcomed the long-
expected beams of the rising sun, and received his morning
kiss. On the surface of the sea a leaden twilight' still lay
brooding; here and there a solitary albatross might be seen
flapping its heavy wing, and flitting like a spirit of the night
disturbed and driven back to its darkness by the coming of

the sun.
Ocean lay like a huge Colossus, its heaving waves rising
and falling in gentle and regular pulsations. The calm was
only broken by the occasional gambols of some early dol-
phin, or by the shrill cry of the water-fowl, that for a mo-
ment roused the slumbering pelican, wearied with his night of
fishing, from his cradled repose on the crest of the rocking
wave, making him shake his head angrily ere he again set-
tled it under his wing.
In the east the light was growing stronger and stronger;
straggling rays from the great luminary shot their burning
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
89
arrows into the very heart of the almost vanquished dark-
ness; and now, swiftly and suddenly, the young day of the
tropics broke from the arms of night, and his glorious golden
face was seen dipping in the dazzled, sparkling sea; and as
though himself rejoicing in his new-won freedom, he gave
out his delight in a gentle breeze that crisped the blue waves
under him, and sent them dancing and sporting, and setting
up their wreathed crests, till he had tipped them all with his
golden light.
The sun mounted rapidly to its throne in the firmament,
and its beams, which filled the whole horizon, fell also upon a
solitary snow-white sail that lay like a tired sea-bird on the
water, with its bow turned towards the land, which was every
moment becoming more distinctly seen ahead. It was not
unlike an American-rigged schooner ; but somewhat broader
and heavier in the bow, as well as a trifle lower in the masts
and spars than is usual with this craft; in a word, it was a
Sydney schooner trading between the Australian coast and the
neighbouring islands, sometimes even to New Zealand, in de-
fiance of winds and waves.
The Cassowary, as the smart little craft was called, had
made a short run from Port Jackson, and was now nearing
her destination, the north-east coast of the island Ika-na-
mawi, which forms the northern half of the great double
island of New Zealand. But the wind, that till now had
'filled its canvas, had suddenly dropped, or had found in the
stiffer land-breeze an adversary too powerful to be resisted.
Not a breath of air was stirring, and the sails hung loose and
useless about the masts, only now and then striking heavily
against them when the heaving of the ocean caused the
vessel to rock.
But if the breezes were lazy, the sailors were not. Three
of the four who were employed on deck were actively scouring


90
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
and scrubbing the planks, till they were white and polished ;
while at the stern, with his arms over the starboard-bulwarks,
sat a little corpulent man, with a nose that reflected faithfully
the ruddiest hues of rosy morn. In one hand he held a tele-
scope, through which, ever and anon, he might be seen casting
sharp and careful glances towards the land. From time to
time he wiped his right eye with the corner of his red silk
handkerchief, and then continued his examination. The only
idler on board seemed to be the steersman, who, leaning his per-
son against the wheel, still held by the spokes apparently only
as a support for his sunken head, which was occasionally lifted
with a stupid vacant expression of countenance to the lazily
flapping sails, and the flag that hung drooping from the main
mast. This inspection over, he resumed his previous position,
evidently considering that the whole of his duty was thereby
discharged.
Another head was now seen at the cabin hatchway, and
immediately afterwards two personages came on deck, in one
of whom it was easy to recognise the master of the vessel.
The other had rather a foreign aspect, and on this account, as
well as from a peculiar interest attaching to his appearance,
we shall pause to consider him a little more particularly.
He might be a man of some two or three-and-thirty years
of
age, with a dark and fiery eye, and a frame that, if not
remarkable for strength or bulk, was yet wiry and muscular.
But although that countenance, once seen, was not easily for-
gotten, that which attracted special attention was not so
much the personal appearance as the dress and bearing of the
man—a strange mixture of the European and the Indian.
He was evidently of European descent; for in spite of a New
Zealand tint that sun and wind might have imparted to his
skin, the light curling hair, the colour in his cheeks, and the
whole cast of his features, bespoke unmistakeably not only the
.

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
91
66
66
European, but the Englishman; while the broad New Zea-
land tapamantle and the moccasin-shaped shoes of untanned
leather, with the gaiters fastened, after the Indian fashion,
below the knee, might rather be regarded as indicating a
half-cast.
His companion, the master of the vessel, who, like those of
the coasting-trade in general, greatly preferred being ad-
dressed as
captain," appeared vastly taken with the cos-
tume of his passenger, and after looking at him from head to
foot, his good-humoured features settled into a broad grin,
which seemed grievously to offend the subject of it, who at
length, turning towards him, exclaimed in a tone of anger-
Well, sir, when you have looked your fill, be pleased to
inform me—Is a tapamantle such a novelty to you, that
you must needs stare at it as though, instead of being on
the shores of New Zealand, we had met in the streets of
London ?"
“I meant no harm,” rejoined the sailor, laughing good
naturedly; “I was only thinking what sort of a face the
governor would make when he sees you at the bow, rigged in
that fashion. Sea-serpents and polar-bears! you make me
think of a man-of-war with a petticoat at the gaff and spin-
ning-jennies at the ports. Are you making a cruise under
false colours?"
“ What's this? what's this?” cried a little fat man, now
for the first time turning himself in great astonishment
towards the speakers ; “Mr. Humphrey as a New Zea-
lander ?”
“Gentlemen,” replied the person thus addressed, without
deigning to take the slightest notice of the captain's remarks,
“gentlemen,” he said, turning to both, “I entreat a word
with you concerning matters that must in anywise be debated
before we set foot upon yonder shore.” As he spoke, his eye


92
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
a
up to
rested thoughtfully on the blue distance, the outlines, illu-
mined by the rising sun, becoming every moment clearer and
more distinct.
“Umph!” nodded the captain, thrusting his hands into the
side-pockets of his short blue sailor's jacket. “ Secrets, I
suppose? We had better go down to the cabin.” He looked
significantly towards the steersman, the space on deck being
too limited to place themselves out of his hearing.
“We have nothing to fear from the people on board,” re-
joined Mr. Humphrey. “Only, I have been told you had
I
better not let them venture on shore."
“Hush,” said the captain. “That fellow over against us
is a convict without a ticket of leave, whom I indeed took on
board contrary to law; but we were in want of men, he was
a smart sailor, and was likely to be useful to us, and
this time he has conducted himself well. For the rest, the
schooner can anchor in the outer bay—we can take the jolly-
boat; and as to the men swimming to land, the sharks will
take care of that, for they abound here."
“That's well; we remain here, then,” replied he of the
mantle, and then turned to the starboard-bulwark, where his
two friends were standing, and placing himself between them,
with his face to the coast, they soon fell into conversation.
But before we follow them farther, it will be necessary to say
a few words respecting the state of New Zealand, just to en-
able our readers to enter more fully into the motives of the
passengers on board the schooner, and to give them a deeper
interest in their undertaking.
It is well known that the English Government sanctioned
and encouraged the purchase of the lands in New Zealand by
their colonizing subjects. However large the payments made
to the chiefs, these, as individuals, were seldom enriched,
since they divided the proceeds received among their relatives



THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
93
and dependants in a spirit of the most open-handed liberality.
The chiefs, of course, when their resources were exhausted,
regretted the exchange they had made; and hence arose quar-
rels, and, in some cases, attempts to dispossess the British.
It was at this juncture that Haki, one of the New Zealand
chiefs—and, according to the English papers, a native of Ire-
land, who had deserted from his ship in early life, and subse-
quently lived as missionary servant in the family of Archdeacon
Williams, at Pahia—took up arms against the British, and de-
clared himself totally opposed to the measurement of the lands
of the natives —clearly perceiving that they would thus be with-
drawn by little and little from the aborigines, while the rule
of the stranger would thereby be confirmed and strengthened.
His hatred against the intruders waxed stronger and deadlier ;
and an event that occurred at this time was as a spark to the
train, causing the long-smothered flames to burst forth in
wild and raging fury.
The daughter of one of the chiefs was shot by the English
-accidentally, as there can be no doubt-in the course of
the engagement off Wairau in 1843, which terminated in the
massacre of Captain Wakefield and his companions in cold
blood by the natives; and the wild passions of the people
were by this outrage—this wanton outrage, as they were
pleased to regard it-inflamed almost to madness; all their
wrongs were recalled to mind, and the long-hushed war-whoop
of the tribes rang in the startled ears of their enemies. But
there was no standing against English cannon ; and the wild
man was constrained to bridle his wrath for a while. It fer-
mented but the more madly within, and, in spite of promises
and pledges, was perpetually breaking out in fresh deeds of
blood.
The result may be anticipated : it will be the experience of
the wild man everywhere. A portion of the aboriginal stock

a

94
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
a
is civilized, and settles down among the dominant race; the
rest must succumb. And if this be through their rejection of
the humanizing influences of the Christian religion, to them-
selves alone can their fall be ascribed. The aborigines of the
great Australian world seem destined, like the Guanchees of
the Canary Isles in a former day, to leave to posterity no
other evidence of their existence but their bones ; by these
relics, affording a melancholy proof that the band of time does
its work more gently than the hand of man.
And now, the object that brought the schooner to the New
Zealand coast may be more easily explained. A little before
the events to which we have alluded had taken place, a per-
son describing himself as a New Zealand planter had arrived
in Sydney. He held a considerable extent of land on the
north-east of the island, and even had in his possession a bond
subscribed by the great war-chief Haki *—a very unusual
guarantee in a transfer of land. Circumstances, which he
did not then explain, compelled him, he said, to return with-
out delay to Europe; and he offered this bond to the well-
known firm of Bornholm, Briggs, and Company, in exchange
for a considerable sum, to be paid down in hard cash. His
only condition was, that a small schooner should be placed at
his disposal, to run across to New Zealand with himself and
two companions, to be named by the firm, to whom he might
point out the exact situation and boundaries of the property,
in order that, when the time arrived for making good the
title, they might appear as witnesses on the part of the house
of business.
As the document was evidently genuine, and the price
asked for the land bore no proportion to its real value, the
purchase was regarded as a promising affair; for it was well
* Haki had married the daughter of the chief Hongi, and succeeded to his Pah, or
village. He owed his leadership to his own courage and daring.
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
95
1
a
known in Sydney that the English Government, when they
had succeeded in putting down the chiefs, would most certainly
maintain the purchased rights of their own subjects. But
hitherto every possible difficulty had been thrown in the way
of the land-measurers. The natives were generally opposed
to the transfer; and, when any unfortunate offender fell into
their hands, manifested their vindictive feelings in judicial
sentences that involved all the atrocities of heathen cruelty,
and revived the old and by no means extinct practice of can-
nibalism. Travellers, however, especially along the sea-shore, ,
were, according to Haki's especial orders, everywhere treated
with respect, unless they should presume to intermeddle with
the rights of the aborigines; they were in that case to be re-
sisted to the death.
The proposition to despatch the schooner-and this under
pretext of a hunting-excursion—to survey the land, appeared
to Messrs. Bornholm and Briggs the easiest and most avail-
able mode of settling the business, although the reason why
Mr. Humphrey should have made it a condition of the sale
was not so clear to them. But they raised no objection on
this account, and expedited the schooner with all despatch ; so
that, three days after the proposal had been received, she hove
anchor and left the bay, with a favourable wind and swelling
sails, for New Zealand.
Up to this period, Humphrey had never, either in Sydney
or on board, appeared in anything but the usual English
dress, which accounts for the surprise of his fellow-passengers
when they first saw him prepared to play the part of a native
on the shores of New Zealand. It soon became evident to
them, from the increased seriousness of his manner as he gazed
long and silently upon the outstretched coast, that it was
neither sport nor pleasure that had induced him to assume
the costume.


96
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
Captain Thomson appeared to await the opening of the
promised communication with becoming patience, and without
the slightest symptom of curiosity. He occasionally cast a
look towards the shore, and at length pulling out his tobacco-
pouch, bit off a considerable portion of the weed, which he
forthwith began to masticate. Van Broom, on the other hand,
the respectable head clerk of the house of Bornholm, Briggs,
and Company, made every effort, by coughing and clearing his
throat, to attract the attention of the remarkable man at his
side, who seemed entirely to have forgotten his very presence,
but all in vain. Humphrey had fallen into one of his reveries,
and neither saw nor heard; so that, at last, Van Broom's
patience being fairly worn threadbare, he turned upon his
neighbour with a rousing “Sir!” accompanied by an awaken-
ing shove. Thus brought back, the surprised planter started ;
but instantly recovering himself, said, without once removing
his glance from the land-
“ Gentlemen! it must appear singular to you, that just as
we are approaching the shores of New Zealand, I should have
adopted the native costume."
“When we are at Rome, we do as they do at Rome," re-
joined Thomson, drily.
“ There is another motive than that," continued Humphrey,
turning suddenly towards the helmsman, as if to be assured
that he was not listening ; but the man, though standing on
the side nearest to the speakers, had his back towards them,
and was still leaning against the wheel, and only occasionally
raising his head, as though even that slight movement were
too much for his listless indolence. He did not appear even
to see the three men, and Humphrey was satisfied. The man,
however, was by no means so sleepy as was supposed. His
features wore a look of earnest attention ; if he stirred not,
it was that he might not lose a single word that was uttered

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
97
by the spokesman; and had Humphrey noticed the keen watch-
ful gaze, he would not have remained a moment on deck ;
as it was, he leaned over the bulwark, and proceeded with
his explanation :
“ You both know that I formerly lived in New Zea-
land, and held land there, made over to me under the
sign-manual of the chief himself, guaranteeing it to me
in undisturbed and inalienable possession. The war did not
appear to involve danger to me--for while the natives
regarded me as one of themselves, my own countrymen
thought to turn my influence to their advantage. But though
Haki was friendly, and repeatedly assured me of his power-
ful protection, I must have been as a thorn in the eyes of
some of the subordinate chiefs, for there was no end of the
contentions with them. I soon found that their object was
to force me to some rash deed, that thus they might have a
pretext for falling upon me. For a while, I was enabled to
withstand their malice, and to escape the snares they were
continually laying for me; but in an evil hour, when all the
injuries I had sustained, and the indignities under which I
had smarted were before me, I was no longer master of my
passion ; I attacked my enemy and killed him. According
to the laws of the aborigines, blood must have blood ! and
from that moment, not even Haki's power would have availed
to protect me.
I knew but too well what was awaiting me,
and fled. It would be impossible to convey to you an idea
of the fury with which these vindictive children of the sun
threw themselves upon my track. Even the missionaries
were afraid to shelter me, lest they should draw down the
anger of the infuriated chiefs upon their hitherto peaceful set-
tlements. After many hairbreadth escapes, a Dutch schooner
took me on board, and I was thus preserved from a lingering
death by torture."

2
G

98
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“And now you want to return there in our company ?”
asked Van Broom, who had listened with evident terror to
the narrative. 6 Are
“ Are you clean mad, man? or do you think
they won't know you again ? And all this you keep secret
till we are just hard on the coast! There's nothing to be
done now but to tack and get under weigh for Sydney."
“ The danger is not so great as you imagine,” whispered
Humphrey, “or I should not have ventured on it. It is in
order to disguise myself that I have assumed the New Zealand
garb, that, under the protection of the Taboo, * I may
be at
liberty to walk the length and breadth of the island, were it
for months, without fear of being recognised. When we land,
this mat is drawn over my head, and thus guarded by their
most sacred law, there is not a hand among them that would
dare to lift the veil.”
“A wonderful story that,” muttered the little Dutchman,
shaking his head suspiciously, "a very unpleasant story; the
failures in which we may be called on to make good with
flesh and blood !”
Umph!” said Thomson at length,“ and that's true. The
Ocean people do indeed respect the Taboo; and this may
probably avert discovery; but”—and he turned short upon
the would-be New Zealander—“ what devil is driving you
back to their coast, when you might, one would think, be
only too happy to have the salt sea between such a set of
savages and yourself?”
“Yes; I should like to know that too,” chimed in Van
Broom.
Only stand by me,” continued Humphrey, without noti-
* The Taboo is the consecration of either a person or thing, for a longer or shorter
period, and is effected through the medium of the Tohungas or wise men. Burial-
places, property deposited in unfrequented localities, maize, Kumera (sweet potato) root,
and the plantain, is Taboo-a law of immense value for the protection of property where
there is no other.

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
99
a
cing the explanation required of him ; “ only stand by me in
a matter which concerns my personal interest here, and, I
promise you, your own shall be handsomely cared for.”'
“Thunder and lightning !” exclaimed the captain, be-
coming impatient; “fire away, sir ! fire away! Down with
your sham colours, and up with your flag, and let's see
whether your port-holes carry guns or paint! What do you
want of us? and how are we to help you ?”
6 Well then,” returned Humphrey, after a short pause,
during which he had turned himself balf towards Thomson,
“I will tell you all, reckoning fully on your co-operation.
You are aware, gentlemen, that ere I delivered up the title-
deeds of my property here, attested by Haki's signature, I
made it a condition of the sale that the house of Bornholm and
Briggs furnished me with the means of making a voyage to
New Zealand, accompanied by two witnesses. The settlement
of the boundaries was one reason, but this touched only the
firm of Bornholm and Co.; there was another which affected
myself. We shall land exactly opposite, and within a few
miles of the spot where, in former days, I had built my hut
-I know not what may have happened to it now; but in the
vicinity is a spot consecrated by the Taboo, where, before my
flight, I carefully buried the wealth I had gotten during my
ten years in New Zealand, as well as the acquisitions of my
previous residence in the Australian colonies.”
“ Ho! ho ! a treasure !” exclaimed both men at once, sud-
denly and surprised.
“ Hush !” said the other, looking sharply towards the man
at the helm. The man, however-though for a moment
roused by the sudden and unexpected movement-recovered
himself instantly, and bent his head again downwards. But
this evidence of intelligence had been sufficient to arouse Hum-
phrey's suspicions, and, in a low whisper, he requested his


100
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
companions to descend with him to the cabin for the continu-
ation of his story.
The helmsman cast a vindictive look after them as they
descended the stair, and then muttered-
“So, so !—there's treasure to be hove yonder, and we are
to be kept tossing here in the bay, and then take the gentle-
men back, like slaves bound to do their pleasure, unless, in
the meanwhile, I can manage to slip this confounded yellow
jacket.* Now or never !-it may be long before I'm so far
ahead of Sydney again. I must be one of the boat's crew
when the gentlemen go on shore; and then -- farewell
slavery!” With this he gave the wheel a sudden turn in
order to keep the bow, which had swerved a little, in the
direction of the shore.
In the meantime a change had come over the aspect of sea
and sky; a sea-breeze had sprung up, which curled the
hitherto quiet surface of the ocean. The little waves, like
snowballs, grew larger and larger, till at last, rearing their
crystal heads, they dashed and leaped, and broke themselves
in foam. The steady even current of the breeze left them
little choice as to their course-it was making for the land;
and thither, in spite of their rising defiance of the mighty
element that wields their force with such terrific power, thither
the proudly swelling billows also were urged. For a while
they opposed themselves, and asserted their pride of place,
but, after a brief struggle, finding their supremacy gone, they
turned in wild confusion, and rushing on in mad career, and
like unruly children, tumbling headlong over each other, they
hurried onward, still onward to the shore.
The Cassowary did not fail to take advantage of the favour-
ing breeze which filled her sails and sent her cutting like a
sea-bird on the billow through the masses of seaweed that had
* The yellow jacket is the dress worn by convicts in the Colonies.

73%.
166
SG
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
101
hitherto opposed her progress. The coast became every mo-
ment clearer and more distinct; detached clumps of trees on
the table-land were first seen, then the darker shadows of the
nearer woods were plainly distinguished.
The Sydney convict was still at the helm, but now the
ringing of the bell announced a change of the watch ; and
from the forecastle, with his two thumbs stuck in the narrow
belt that kept up his sail-cloth trousers, and at the same time
served as a sheath for his wooden-handled sailor's knife, a
mate came lounging forwards to take the place of the Sydney
bird, as the lad was generally called. They were exchanging
places without even a word of recognition, when the convict,
noticing the sly glance cast around the deck by his comrade,
exclaimed
“Hey, Bill ! what's in the wind ?—what do
yon-
der? You’re cutting a monstrous ugly”—
“ Hush !” whispered the other quickly; “Ned, are you a

you scent
man ?"
-
“A singular question that, I take it," muttered Ned
angrily; "should I be wearing this jacket if I were not a
"
man?”
“Well, then, hast a wish to"-he cast a furtive look all
round, and then, seeing no one near—"CUT AWAY?”
“Humph!” growled the other, fixing a steady and pene-
trating gaze on his companion, whose countenance, however,
acquitted him of any but an honourable purpose towards Ned;
and the convict, who had never ventured to make common
cause with the rest of the crew, finding himself thus unex-
pectedly in association, bent down, and, still holding the
wheel, said in a whisper-
“Cut away? yes, if it must be so; but I don't see why
just now. Some of us will have to row the boat ashore pre-
sently, and if we only get one more to side with us we can

102
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
carry out any plan we decide on, and they can't prevent it.
If we can get no one to join, why, then, I'm prepared to see
whether we can't stand together, and so prove ourselves to
be a PAIR OF MEN eh?”
The other, who was a native of Ireland, and had not at
once fully understood the nature of the proposal, looked at his
companion for some seconds with a mixture of surprise and
perplexity. Weary of the English service, he had hitherto
thought only of escaping from it; but with the convict, on the
contrary, it was the attainment of liberty that he sought for;
and he shrank from no peril that promised freedom as the
prize. The Irishman, however, as the probable consequences
of the crime rose before him, shook his head, and said
“No! Ned, no; that may be too bloody a story, the re-
membrance of which might haunt my mother's son with
awkward dreams for the rest of his life. But we will run
together, that's certain ; I stand by you in that, and after-
wards”
“ Hush !” interrupted the other; “I hear them coming
up. I'll soon eat my breakfast, and then we can settle the
rest.”
He sprang to the gangway, and in a moment had disap-
peared on the forecastle, where, as in all other ships, the
sailors spread their hammocks.
Impelled by a favourable 'wind, the schooner was now
nearing the bay, which, like so many of those in the South
Sea Islands, was formed by a semicircular coral reef. On
this the surf was breaking, and, far as the eye could reach,
no other channel was visible than one between two projecting
reefs, through which the waters dashed and tossed themselves.
Thomson desiring, at this perilous moment, to take the helm
himself, sent the Irishman aft to stand by the sails, and to
-
other orders that might be given. For the moment
execute any

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
103

.
all on board were too fully engrossed with the dangers of the
passage to think of the land that the menacing reefs seemed to
encircle and protect; and when, in mid-channel, the master's
loud tones were heard on deck giving orders in quick succes-
sion to “stand by," and then to "shorten sail,” and to “ stand
by the anchor,” all were taken by surprise; the orders were
executed rather than listened to, and the little Cassowary, like
a graceful diver, had changed her course, first making all sail
through the coral reef, and then—as the helmsman let
go
the
wheel, and left it to whirl round and round-drifting rapidly
towards the reef, as if to run aground upon it.
The
cry of “Let go the anchor” followed instantly, the
ponderous mass fell into the deep, and the little vessel lay at
once with her bow turned to the straining cable, and her
length reflected in the still waters of the land-locked bay.
The distance from the shore might be about two English
miles.
With the exception of a New Zealand canoe, the private
property of the master, the Cassowary had no other boat than
the jolly, which was slung aft, and was now ordered to be
lowered—a supply of necessaries having been first stowed
away in it. Humphrey, Van Broom, and Thomson, stood
ready to jump in : the former had now, in addition to the
native costume, assumed the New Zealand weapons. The
long single-barrelled rifle was slung across his shoulders, and
at his wrist, suspended by a narrow strap, was the MERI, the
peculiar weapon of these tribes, prepared from the bone of the
whale, and about a foot long; in his girdle he wore the toma-
hawk, which the men of the American whaling-ships had in-
troduced. Thomson wore the usual arms of a seaman-a
pair of huge pistols, and the sailor's knife at his belt, and a
cutlass at his left side, the former completely hidden by a
large wrapping coat.

104
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
Van Broom presented a different appearance to either.
Instead of offensive weapons, he had judged it more prudent
to supply himself with the means of preserving than of
taking away life. From each pocket of his blouse two long-
necked red-corked bottles peeped out; while, under his left
arm, he carried something that certainly bore no resemblance
whatever to a cartouche-box. Humphrey contemplated him
for a moment with astonishment, and then, in a tone half
angry, half bantering, exclaimed :-
“And pray, sir, what may you be girding yourself with ?
Do
you
think that we”—
“A yard of sausage, half a cheese, a morsel of bread, and
a flask of genuine Schiedam,” interrupted Van Broom, re-
plying with great composure to the first part of the interroga-
tory, and at the same time opening his bag to afford ocular
demonstration of his veracity.
Thomson burst into a loud laugh: “Mr. Van Broom has
made provision in case of a siege !"
“ Begging your pardon,” rejoined the Dutchman, closing
his bag, and tucking it under his arm again; “I never
thought of a siege at all, for if I had, you may rest assured
that I should certainly have remained on board. I have
made no agreement with the house of Bornholm and Briggs
(for which, however, I entertain the very highest respect);
but it is, I say, no part of my contract with that hon-
ourable firm, to allow my limbs to be loaded with lead,
or to be hacked and torn from me by sharp and savage
instruments.”
Humphrey bit his lips and turned away ; but after a mo-
ment fixed his eyes once more on him and his accoutrements,
and said quickly: “You cannot think of landing on this coast
unarmed. Although I apprehend no danger, it were the height
of folly to be wholly unprepared for it-it were to make your-

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
105
self a mark. At least take a musket on your shoulder,
though you should make no use of it.”
"A loaded musket!” exclaimed the merchant - clerk ;
“think not of such a thing-suppose it should go off? I
have never yet had a loaded gun in my hand, but I have
heard of numberless deadly accidents from such gear.
.."
“ Take one unloaded, then,” cried Humphrey, impatiently;
16 at least you can't be afraid of an empty piece of iron !”
“ Afraid ! who said anything about being afraid ? I fear
nothing, only I don't choose to burden myself with weapons of
which I don't understand the use. Is it, indeed, unloaded ?”
“Not even a blank cartridge in it,” said the other; "here !
shoulder it and let's be off; the day is wearing, and it were
better we were on board again before night-fall.”
6. Take it !” repeated the little man; “how am I to take it
-don't you see I have both hands full ? If I must needs
have it, can't you hang it round my neck ? and remember
that, if I sustain any injury from it, I shall call on you to
make it good in Sydney :" and, so saying, he bent his head
forwards, and Humphrey passed a light musket round his
neck, securing the strap across his broad shoulders, and then
jumped into the boat, which was manned by the convict and
Bill, oars in hand.
No sooner did the captain perceive them than he ex-
claimed : “ Away with ye, rascals! who ordered you into the
boat, heigh? What, you are for heel-money and a New
Zealand uniform, are ye? a pretty plot that! off with ye,
scoundrels! Hands off the oar, sirrah!”
“Ay, but master,” said Bill, taking the word; “ aren't
we the boys that can ply the oar, Ned and I ? and, acuishla
machree !-isn't it all out of pure”-
“Will you get on deck, or must I send you there, you red-
haired dog you ?” cried Thomson, in a rage.
All bands on

-

106
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
deck,” he shouted in a voice that made every plank in the
little schooner ring again.
Bill O'Leary too well knew the consequences of disobedi-
ence to hesitate any longer, and clambered on deck forth-
with ; but Ned for one moment still held fast the oar. It was
but a moment, and he followed his companion up the side of
the vessel, pursued by the oaths and threats of his commander.
These, however, he seemed little to regard; and thrusting his
hands in his pockets, he stepped sullenly behind the rest of
the crew, who had by this time ranged themselves on the deck,
to the number of about ten, including the cook and steward,
and a runaway negro from the United States; they were fine
athletic-looking fellows, for the most part dressed in blue
flannel shirts, trousers of white sail-cloth, and low-crowned
round straw hats, the negro being distinguished by a coat of
brightest scarlet, as was the convict by his yellow jacket.
“So, now, ye sea-whelps!" began the captain, with a sharp
glance at the men, as they mustered before him—each well
knowing that he meant them no harm, and was only making
a show of his authority; "ye are to lie here at anchor till
we shall come back to you, as it is to be hoped, before evening.
After dusk let no boat approach unless it give my signal.
Mind this; and fire upon everything else-you understand ?
-And for you, Ned—come ahead, sirrah, when I am speak-
ing to you-you keep quiet and don't mutter, or it shall be
the worse for you when we get back to Sydney. If you have
a mind for a bit of pleasure, you can swim to the shore; only
I warn you, that in that case you have a choice to make be..
tween the sharks—and see, there go a couple of them !-and
the natives; the only difference is, that the one will eat you
with salt, the other without. For the rest,” he added, turn-
ing to the carpenter, who in his absence generally took the
command ;
“ for the rest, Bob, you've my orders to shoot any
a

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
107
(6
scoundrel through the head who may attempt to leave the
schooner in my absence : we're on the enemy's coast, and
martial law is proclaimed-you understand ?”
The carpenter growled a sort of assent, and Humphrey
called impatiently from the boat—“Come away, come away,
man ; the day's wearing, and before we know where we are,
the evening will be upon us.
“Ay, ay!” answered Thomson ; “there's no time lost.
So, my lads, behave yourselves; and when we cast anchor
again in Sydney, you shall have a holiday.”
Humphrey and Van Broom were already seated in the
jolly, and the former had taken the larboard oar. Thomson
now jumped in and seized the other; and Van Broom, who
seemed well pleased to find himself in the stern, helped to
push the boat off with a stick that was lying at the bottom,
while Thomson did the same with his car. The trim little
craft glided rapidly through the crystal waves, and soon
neared the golden sands, that girdled the overshadowing
forest like a zone of light.
The countenances of the crew were no longer to be dis-
tinguished; and in about half an hour the sharp bow of the
jolly stood over the entrance of a thickly-wooded mountain
stream, that, rushing impetuously from its rocky source, had
here, in spite of all obstacles, scooped out for itself a passage
to the bay. Here, under cover of the bushes, they were in
perfect security, and prepared to land.
By the aid of the projecting roots and spreading branches
that covered the steep bank of the little river, Humphrey and
Thomson had, after some labour, climbed to the top, when
they discovered Van Broom caught in the tendrils of a gigan-
tic vine, and so completely entangled, that he could not move
a step either backwards or forwards without assistance. They
hastened back; but so encumbered was he, that it was impos-


108
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
of
sible to release him without first unbuckling the musket, the
end of which had caught in the vine.*
The spot they had now reached, though not more than a
few hundred paces from the shore, was as completely over-
grown with a luxuriant and tangled vegetation as if it had
been in the heart of the wilderness; and to force a passage
through this thick and thorny labyrinth was out of the ques-
tion. Stately trees of giant growth rose, without branch or
foliage, like towering columns, to support the green canopy
this leafy cupola. The Kahikatea,+ the Rimu,f the Totara,
the Kauri,|| the Rata, and other trees, stretched their far-
reaching arms, hung with festoons of bright parasitical flowers,
towards each other. Towering pre-eminent in graceful beauty,
those ornaments of the New Zealand forests the Nikan-palm, **
distinguished by the brighter and more delicate green of its
foliage, and the stately Fern tree, whose broad fan-shaped
leaves impart to the scenery such a peculiar tropical charac-
ter, reared their stately heads.
Not a spot in all the region but teemed with life and loveli-
ness : every stone, every stem, was adorned with its appropriate
moss or parasite, and a rich carpet of fragrant and flowery
vegetation everywhere met the eye. Even the decaying relies
* The New Zealand forests are rendered almost impenetrable by the number of lianas,
or creepers, which hang from the branches in festoons, and envelop the traveller in a
species of network. One of these, the Smilax, or native vine, produces a species of berry;
and the stem, split longitudinally, is used by the natives in fencing, and by the English
for boat-building.-Jameson's New Zealand.
† Podocarpus dacrydioides.
Dacrydium cupressimum. The foliage of this elegant tree has been compared to a
plume of ostrich feathers.
$ Podocarpus totara, an excellent timber-tree, of the Yew order.
|| Used for the masts of men-of-war, two cargoes of the timber being sent annually to
Her Majesty's dockyards for that purpose. It is Dammara Australis.
1 Metrosideros Robusta, an enormous epiphyte, growing to, not from the ground.
Its trunk and branches send down shoots, which sometimes become so massive as to
support the old stem, after having apparently exhausted its vitality.-
Jameson.
** Areca Sapida.

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
109
ܪ
of the forest became ornamental in this enchanted ground.
Shattered trunks, bereft of leaves and branches, still stood
encircled with festoons of the dazzling scarlet climber, and
crowned with wreaths of brightest evergreen; and what had
seemed destined to destruction, germinated and flourished
afresh in a new and gladsome form of life.
Van Broom, though generally quite insensible to the merits
of any natural productions save those that ministered directly
to his material senses, stood lost in wonder, gazing at the
marvels of this stupendous vegetation. Humphrey did not,
however, allow him much time for admiration : he ran down
to the boat, and quickly returned, bringing with him one of
the smallest provision cases, desired his two companions to
follow him without delay, and as noiselessly as possible; for,
although for Van Broom's especial satisfaction he repeated his
assurances of the perfect safety of their expedition even if
they should happen to meet with natives, he yet confessed
that it would be better to avoid them.
As far as any judgment could be formed from the state of
things around, the forest was wholly unfrequented—a soli-
tude untrodden by the foot of man; and if they were for-
tunate enough to accomplish the first part of their journey
undiscovered, they might certainly hope to carry out their
plan, and get back to their vessel without any serious inter-
ruption.
Humphrey, who had covered his face on first landing, now
explained to them, in few words, his further intentions. At
the same time, he bade them remark, that the brook at the
mouth of which they had landed, and which appeared in the
title-deed under the name of TAPOKAT, formed the northern
boundary of the property.
Their path followed the course of this stream, for the west-
ern boundary was the most difficult of all to define; and for


110
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
this reason, as he declared, Humphrey had taken his toma-
hawk, in order, by marking trees as they went along, to afford
to the future possessors a certain indication of their limits in
this direction. He now, without further delay, advanced into
the shadows of the vast primeval forest; and Thomson, with
his hat closely drawn over his brows, one of his heavy pistols
in his hand, and the other ready loaded in his belt, followed
him closely. Van Broom, with his musket at his back, which
was every moment getting him into fresh difficulties with the
great family of the parasites, brought up the rear, though not
at all pleased with his situation ; for, as he said, there was no
knowing whether some fierce cannibal might not be behind,
ready to take aim at him with a poisoned arrow. He objected
equally to the advanced post, to which Humphrey laughingly
invited him, affirming that not for all the treasures in the
world would he plunge into those dark recesses of the woods
till some one had preceded, to make sure that no natives
were lying in wait there. There was no alternative but to
place him in the middle; and in this order they proceeded,
keeping the low land by the side of the brook, and encounter-
ing neither native nor peril of any kind—the many-coloured
parrot, and other smaller singing-birds being their only com-
panions.
After walking for some little time, they reached a more
elevated region; and here the vegetation became less luxu-
riant, and there were occasional clearings, that allowed them
to push forwards. But again their progress was impeded by
the tall fern peculiar to the island, which frequently grows to
a great height. At the edge of a small prairie covered with
this fern, Humphrey suddenly halted, and announced that
their course no longer skirted the brook, but lay along the
ridge of the hill that they had just climbed. The western
boundary of the land began here ; and some sapling trees, that

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
111
a
formed an enclosure round a low wide-spreading palm, cut
down by a few strokes of Humphrey's tomahawk, to mark the
spot for those that should come after.
The crest of the hill that they were now to follow was
much overgrown by the fern, and they had some difficulty in
making their way through, and not unfrequently met with
thickets of it so tangled and impracticable, that they were
obliged to go round them. At length they came to a narrow
track, which appeared to run in the right direction; and it
would seem as though Humphrey must have been previously
acquainted with its bearings, although he had said nothing
about it to his companions.
The elevation was now considerable; and although no
definite mountain-range was visible above the outstretched
woods that lay before them, the path became steeper and
steeper, and led them over precipices, from whose dark sides
the gushing waters poured and dashed themselves into the
ravines below. Still the little band kept the narrow track,
till they again encountered a thicket of fern, here set as a
crown on the summit of a hill, surrounded by diverging
valleys, when suddenly Humphrey's progress was arrested
by a loud shout from Thomson, echoed instantly by Van
Broom.
Humphrey, who, unsuspicious of danger, had withdrawn
the mat from his face, now carefully brought it forward again,
and, as though distrusting his own assurances of safety, pointed
his gun across the path. But in vain he looked on all sides
for the cause of alarm ; he saw nothing but Thomson holding
his pistol cocked in his outstretched hand, and gazing fixedly
into the midst of the fern.
“What's the matter, sir ?” cried Humphrey impatiently;
“has anything suspicious crossed your path ?”
“Something crossed my track in mid-channel,” rejoined the


112
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
sailor, but without removing his eyes from the spot in which
the unknown had disappeared.
" Was it a man?” asked the other.
“ Tar and feather me, if I know," muttered Thomson ; "it
went like lightning, that's certain ; and, moreover, it was
black, at least in the back, and that is all I saw of it.”
“ It must have been one of the wild boars," said Humphrey,
resuming his composure ; “there are many in the island, and
scarcely any other wild beasts. There's nothing to apprehend.”
" There it is again !” shouted Van Broom, pointing in
alarm into the fern ; and, while they were all intently looking
and listening, they perceived that the bushes near the place
where they were standing were pushed aside and crushed, as
if by the passage of some heavy body.
Humphrey leaned forward, but the thicket was higher than
himself, and he could distinguish nothing.
There was no
elevation that he could ascend, not even a tree, within more
than a hundred
paces.
" Van Broom !-Mr. Van Broom !” whispered the pretended
New Zealander-for the unknown stirred again--and Hum-
phrey, as he spoke, levelled his musket at the spot from which
the rustling movement appeared to proceed: “See if you can
get on Mr. Thomson's shoulders, so as to command the thicket
and make sure of what it is that is creeping about yonder,
and I in the meanwhile will guard the open track.”
Ahem !” muttered the little Dutchman—turning to the
seaman--who, though probably taken by surprise, met the
proposal good-humouredly, and showed his readiness to act the
part of observatory by placing his left hand as a step against
his left knee. " Ahem! I'll try; I trust I may get down
again safely.”
“Quick! quick!” cried Humphrey impatiently; "a plague
upon all delay! Do you think he yonder will wait ?”
66
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
113
" He ! who ?” asked Van Broom astonished, and turning
again towards the speaker. Even Thomson looked about him.
Humphrey stamped his foot angrily; and Van Broom, who
had hardly yet made np his mind whether to take part in the
adventure or peaceably to await the issue, now stepped up to the
captain, and shaking his head, caught him from behind round
the neck, set his left knee against Thomson's hip-joint, and
jerking himself forwards as though to spring into the saddle,
fell with his whole weight so unexpectedly upon the cap-
tain as to precipitate him headlong with his burden into the
midst of the thicket.
“Storm and thunder!” cried Thomson ; and as he fell,
stretching out both hands to save himself, forgetting the
loaded pistol, his finger pressed the trigger, and the ball
whizzed over Van Broom's head into the air.
Humphrey bent down unconsciously, and at the same mo-
ment the dark object again glided across the path, and before
he had time to recover his musket and take aim, had once
more disappeared amid the fern. The momentary glimpse
had, however, determined him to throw aside the musket,
which could only be a hindrance among the tangled bracken,
and grasping the tomahawk which hung at his girdle, to
throw himself at once into the thicket where the crushed
stems betrayed the track of the fugitive.
Thus when the others had recovered their feet, it was only
to find themselves deserted by their companion, and, as it ap-
peared, surrounded by danger, and as Van Broom pleasantly
suggested, by cannibals. What was now to be done? Should
they await the return of their leader, or endeavour to retrace
their steps and take refuge in the boat? Van Broom was all
for the latter; Thomson, however, judged differently, and
decided that, as they were ignorant of the forest, any attempt
to thread back its mazes alone would involve certain destruc-

н

114
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
tion, supposing that they were indeed watched by the natives.
To remain where they were, exposed to attacks on all sides, was
yet by no means satisfactory. Van Broom already heard the
death-winged arrows whizzing in his ears, and Thomson
looked round uneasily.
Just then a rustling was heard in the bracken, and the cap-
tain, resolved to sell his life dear, pointed his re-loaded pistol
in that direction, and stood ready to fire; but, in a moment,
a well-known low whistle met his ear, and immediately after,
Humphrey himself reappeared on the track, his face once more
uncovered, and deadly pale. Without a moment's delay, without
even waiting to answer the questions addressed to him, he
signed to the others to follow, and advanced with such speed as
the rank fern allowed, in the narrow path.* It soon terminated
at the edge of the forest; and here, though no longer impeded
by this obstacle, their way was frequently obstructed by fallen
trees, thorny shrubs, and tangled brushwood ; but of these
also they came to the end, and found themselves at the foot
of a precipitous cliff, whose rugged side Humphrey began at
once to ascend. His companions hesitated; but again an im-
patient gesture urged them on, and, after a few minutes' sharp
climbing, they stood side by side on the top of a volcano-like
and isolated rock, which rose high above the lofty masses of
the forest, and commanded a noble view over the greater part
of the island and the encircling sea.
It was a strange sight: the land lost, as it were, beneath
these dusky, overshadowing woods, varied only by an occasional
patch of pale gray fern, and cradling the bright blue waters
in which the sun's rays poured down in noontide splendour.
There lay the little Cassowary, rocked by the foamy waves of
the coral reef, while in the horizon a scattered sail was visi-
ble here and there, gently gliding under the influence of the
* The native paths are never wide enough for two persons to walk abreast
a
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
115
favouring breeze. The sky was clear and cloudless, except
in the south, and there a transparent rose-coloured mist rest-
ing on a darker background hung over the forest distance.
The crest of the rock itself was bare, but on one side it was
overrun by a tangled growth of flowering plants, interspersed
with a "low broad-leaved shrub. The view of the opposite
hill was thus in great measure interrupted.
But beautiful as was the scenery that met their eye, not one
of our three friends had expressed interest or admiration in
word or gesture; and although, on reaching the summit, each
looked sharply and earnestly around, each stirred by different
feelings, seemed alike unconscious of the magnificence of the
panorama spread before him.
Van Broom's eye glanced not beyond the immediate range
of vision—if there only he was safe from pursuit, it sufficed ;
Humphrey's eye at first followed his, but soon ranged to a more
extended field of observation apparently he was soon satisfied
that no present danger threatened them, and being well ac-
quainted with the country, he was likely to know the sources
from which it might be expected to proceed. He seemed now
again to turn his whole attention to the land-marks of the
estate they were thus surveying. Thomson's attention, on
the other hand, was bent entirely on the sea; there lay the
little schooner, her sharp masts cutting the dark blue sky—an
image of perfect repose. He turned, and there the mist that
had gathered in the south, was now spreading east and west
in thin and vaporous streaks.
“ Thomson ! do you see that dark ridge in the distance ?"
cried Humphrey, at length breaking the silence ; “just to
the left of that solitary group of bright green palms ?”
" Straight under the pale gray streak in the cloud yonder ?”
“ The same ; that is the southern boundary of my land;
;
and there another stream takes its rise, and, after a course of


116
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
about five miles in an easterly direction, empties itself into
the bay in which you anchored. Do you think you should
now be able to find the boundaries again ?”
“ Assuredly, when we come to the end of them,” replied
Thomson, replacing the pistol, which he had hitherto held
cocked in his hand, in his belt. “But we had better be off ;
and if we can finish the business without seeing any more
of those dark-skinned rascals, so much the better-I've no
hankerings after a closer acquaintance. That would be a
native that was crouching in the bracken yonder, eh?”
“We must not venture to pursue the bearings farther,” re-
joined Humphrey, darkly, and without noticing the question.
“You are both aware of the danger of being recognised as
land-surveyors by the natives; if we skirt the whole of the
boundary-line, we run the risk of exciting their suspicions; by
turning towards the coast and keeping a straight line through
the wood, we avoid this, and shall thus, I hope, annihilate every
trace that we have hitherto afforded them ; for by thus strik-
ing off at a right angle to our former course, our path lies
for a good mile over a rocky surface where even an Indian's
eye would have difficulty in discerning a track.”
“But the treasure !” interrupted Thomson ; “have you
renounced the treasure ? and are we to return to the boat
without it?"
Yes, to the boat certainly,” rejoined the other, “but not,
I hope, without that for which I have perilled my life.
life. But
are you indeed sure of being able to find the boundary-line
again, as I have now shown it to you ?”
'Humph! I could hardly say that,” muttered Thomson,
“if it were to be on my oath. If we had the map with us”.
“I have it, I have it,” cried Van Broom, drawing from his
well-filled pocket, though not without difficulty, the desired
document carefully rolled in lead ; “here it is, gentlemen,


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
117
the
though I don't exactly see how it is to help you; it is
not" -
“See, here,” said Humphrey, quickly unfolding the paper ;
"
"here is the brook, our starting-point-you know its name,
and any one upon the coast will be able to show you the
entrance; here is the little fern prairie where I marked the
palm. You could find all that ?”
“Yes, from the mouth of the river, certainly,” rejoined
Thomson.
“Good !” said Humphrey, resuming his description ; “here,
shown by a cross, is the rocky eminence on which we are
standing; and that southern slope, where the mist is now
gathering, and from which you may see the torrent come
leaping down, and follow its course with your eye till it joins
sea,
is the southern line. It is impossible to make any
mistake."
Thomson looked long and carefully at the map, and then
folded it up and returned it to its case, held it out to Van
Broom and said, pointing at the same time to the south, where
the land lay, “I engage from this spot to find the bearings, but
not my little schooner, if we delay our return a moment longer
than is indispensably necessary; she lies too near the reef, and
there's a storm brewing, or I never saw salt water."
“ The storms on this coast are often terrific,” said Hum-
phrey hurriedly, and as though ready to welcome anything
that precipitated their return.
“ But the treasure !” reiterated Van Broom, who was by
no means disposed to abandon the enterprise without some
personal recompence for the trouble it had cost him.
pass the spot on our way back to the boat,” replied
Humphrey; "and now, gentlemen, the greatest, I may say the
only danger of our march is past; we have a direct and easy
route before us, and I trust that ere those streaks have time

66 We

118
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
He en-
to touch the sun, we shall be safe in the bay, and then
friend Thomson may carry us back to Port-Jackson as soon
as he likes.”
And without' awaiting an answer, he sprang over the edge
of the declivity, a leap of about twenty feet; there was no
other outlet, and Thomson accordingly followed his example ;
but this was by no means so easy a matter to the stiff-jointed
book-keeper, wholly unused as he was to such ways.
deavoured to hold by the rock and let himself down gently,
but his foot slipped; he clambered up again, but, overpowered
by his own weight, was bbliged to let go, and, flinging away
his flasks, and scattering his carefully-packed provisions in all
directions, and uttering grievous lamentations, he stumbled
and went rattling down the declivity, till, caught in his de-
scent by a young fern-palm, he stopped for a moment and
cast a despairing glance at the path he had so abruptly de-
scended.
But now, from the thicket of lianas that covered the cone
of the hill, there emerged, noiselessly and warily, a dark
tattooed form ; it glided to the edge of the rocky eminence
where the three men had disappeared, and where their course
was betrayed by the rolling of the loose pebbles over the
declivity; there, under cover of the luxuriant vegetation,
the dark eyes, glaring fiercely amid the thick paint that
smeared the cheeks, watched their every movement, while
Thomson and Humphrey retraced their steps and approached
the cover to rescue their fallen companion. He had sustained
no injury, and seeing this, they turned again into the east-
ward track, and were soon lost among the bushes.
For about a quarter of an hour, the Indian retained his
crouching position, and then, convinced that the strangers had
really left the spot, drew close to the edge of the rock, slid
over it, and, alighting below, followed on the track of the

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
119
white men, but in a half circle, and avoiding the spot where
the glass lay shattered, till, when he saw them turn along the
dry bed of a river, he struck into the same path, and was lost
а
with them in the covert of the wood.

In the meantime the Cassowary was lying peacefully at
anchor; the crew, as soon as the jolly had vanished from
their sight beneath the brushwood, had stretched themselves
at length under cover of the sheltering tarpaulin, and were
looking listlessly into the blue depths of the gently-rising
waves; for ocean seemed like themselves, to be idly slumber-
ing through the noontide heat; the very fish must have re-
treated to their coral caves, for it was but seldom that a
many-coloured dolphin rose to the surface, and even Mother
Carey's chickens scarcely spread their wings above it.
There was no one at the helm of the little vessel, but hard
by, on the gangway, with their heads towards the cabin, and
apparently as listless as the rest, lay Ned the convict and his
new friend, Irish Bill.
“Bill," whispered the convict, gently touching his com-
rade's elbow.
The Irishman raised his head a little, and looked carefully
around.
“When the cook pipes to dinner,” continued Ned in the
same low tone, "you go forward and do as I tell
you ;
I have
not given up the game yet; and if my plan is to answer, that
must be the exact moment for carrying it out.”
“But how and what is it?" asked the other. 66 We could
not think of swimming—far better remain a sailor for ever than
be eaten by the sharks; and it would be hard for you and me
to float the canoe."
“Not so," rejoined Ned; “I've a plan for getting it over; ;
and where might doesn't reach, cunning may. But time presses,

120
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
get you up and find something to do about the cook; and as
soon as he begins to fill the cans, you call • Sail ahead ;' if
there's nothing to be seen, they'll just have their laugh, and
then you come back here as soon as you can unobserved-do
you hear?"
" And what's to come of all that?" asked the Irishman.
" You'll soon see,” replied the other, turning away. And
Bill, after stretching himself for a minute or two, lounged
slowly off, and sauntered to the fore-part of the schooner,
where the cook, a genuine fat “buck nigger," who generally
on board went by the name of “Doctor," was busily employed
lifting heavy kettles off and on the little stove, shifting pans
and cans, and floating sea water in inordinate quantities, till
the warm drops ran down from forehead and temples, covering
his face with a veil of shining fat. It was a feast-day; for, in
order in some degree to console them for not going on shore,
Thomson had ordered pork and pudding to be served to the
men,
and various embassies had been despatched to inquire
whether these “would be ready at noon.” All this was
known to Ned, and he trusted to it for the execution of his
plan, which was nothing less than to persuade the sailors to
launch the canoe, that was now lashed to the deck, with him
in it, and there to leave it during the mid-day.
Near to the place where Ned had laid himself, and close by
the helm, stood two green-painted buckets, with the name of
the schooner on them, and filled with linen belonging to the
captain and the carpenter. Ned, who very well knew the
value of money, and who never lost an opportunity of getting
it, had undertaken to superintend the linen of both these
officers for a consideration; and now that his companion had
left him, and there was nothing else to be done, he betook
himself to this occupation.
Beside the two pails, which were filled with salt water to


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
121
66 and
the brim, he placed an empty one, and taking out some of the
shirts, wrung them dry and threw them into the empty pail
till it was about half full; then, setting it on the taffrail, which
was not indeed very high, poured the water out of the other
into the sea.
“You'll hurl the bucket over, Ned, if it rocks ever so
little,” called the cabin-boy, who was just going down the
gangway; you have not even a rope there.”
“ Mind your own business,” growled the convict, with a
mischievous glance at the vanishing, laughing face, and con-
tinued his work. But his eye often wandered to the bow of
the schooner, where Bill, leaning against the capstan and
feigning sleep, only cast an occasional look towards the move-
ments of the “ Doctor.” The latter now came out of the
forecastle bearing his wooden dish in his hands, and the Irish-
man advanced to the bulwarks and leaned forwards, with his
elbows on the second anchor, which was fastened there; and
then he shaded his eyes with his hand and looked towards the
horizon, where several small white specks might now be
discerned. The rest of the crew, however, took no heed of
these ; some because they apprehended no danger from pirates
in those seas, the greater part because their attention was
wholly absorbed by the presence of the cook.
A fragment of tow, the relic of an untwisted rope, lay at
Ned's foot; he picked it up and threw it over, following its
course with his eye. The tow drifted slowly, borne by the
current, out to the reef, and the convict laughed inwardly as
he saw it; for just there, the dark, broad back of a shark was
visible, sunning himself in the foam. Just as he was turning
again to his work, he saw the carpenter coming towards him.
“ Pest take him!” muttered the convict between his teeth-
for the presence of that vicegerent was destruction to the plan.
" A sail ahead!” shouted the Irishman from the bow. The


122
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
carpenter turned in astonishment to look after the sail, and
Ned, jerking himself against the bulwark, upset the lightly
balanced bucket into the sea.
"I told you so," cried the cabin-boy, who had just re-
appeared on deck, and now sprang to look over the taffrail.
“There swim the carpenter's shirts. Nay, but that's too
bad; can't I swim too ?” and as he spoke he threw off his
jacket and was about to cast himself into the sea in pursuit
of the floating bucket.
But this in nowise suited Ned, whose whole plan would
thus have been frustrated. “Hold! for your life, hold !”
cried he, seizing the arm of the fearless daring boy ; "you're
lost! don't you see the shark there ?”
“Hallo! what's the matter there?” shouted the carpenter,
interposing. But at that moment descrying the floating
bucket, “Water-spouts and sea-serpents !” he exclaimed ;
"my shirts! Ned, you scoundrel, you've done that on pur-
pose; but look ye, rascal! I deduct the value from your pay,
if I keep you on board a year to wash for me. Will
ye
let
go the younker, then ? what for have you got him in your
grip?”
“He was springing over, sir,” replied the convict, in ap-
parent contrition ; "and there, there,” pointing to the reef,
" lies a shark !”
66 And what is it to thee if he choose to risk his skin, lub-
ber?” thundered the carpenter. “Are you his keeper? or
don't
you wish the captain to get his shirts again? In with
you, my boy; the shark won't be after you just yet. So;
thunder and lightning! sharks are not to be trifled with,
though.” And then suddenly recollecting that Thomson had
left him in charge, it occurred to him that if the lad were to
get back unharmed, who could say that the whole crew, en-
couraged by his immunity, might not desert the schooner and

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
123
swim off to the shore—for it was but a narrow channel that se-
parated them from it-especially if they waited for the flood.
Moreover, the boy, now fully convinced of the danger of the
feat that he had volunteered, relaxed somewhat of his chivalry
to the shirts, and drew back.
And now the cook's voice was heard : “Dinner, boys,
dinner !"
Halt, there !” shouted the carpenter, as he saw some of
the men pressing forwards, justly supposing that they were
intending to seize the best pieces. “Lower the canoe. Here,
ye scoundrels! must I call you for the fiftieth time ?-over
with it. Where's Bill? give a hand, sirrah; it was your
foolish · Sail ahead' that caused all the mischief. Quick, ye
sea-whelps! do ye think the bucket will wait for you? By my
compasses ! it sails like a Portuguese man-of-war (Nautilus).
And as for you, Ned, you will rejoice in a rope's end as soon
as Thomson is on board; I wish nothing better than that the
1
shirts may not be recovered.”
But the carpenter's deeds contradicted his words, uttered
with a fierce sidelong glance at the culprit ; for he exerted all
his energies to get the somewhat unwieldy boat into the water.
It was a genuine New Zealand canoe, with a richly-carved
prow, and a stern adorned with albatross feathers. But
although two of the short slender oars used by the natives
were lying inside, it looked too small and too narrow to
hold two full-grown persons; and the carpenter declared that
it was his intention to embark in it alone, and row himself to
the bucket, which was not above two hundred yards from the
schooner. Ned did not venture to offer his services, for he
well knew they would have been rejected; and the proposal
might moreover have exposed him to suspicion, and aroused
a measure of watchfulness that would have rendered abortive
all the efforts of his previous art and cunning.

a

124
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66 but we
Before he jumped overboard, the carpenter called to the
sailors, bidding them remain on deck till his return, in order
to heave the canoe immediately.
His orders would probably have been obeyed, had not the
impatient cry of the cook been again heard : “Dinner ready,
boys; quick, or it will be cold !” And the Irishman, who
was known and feared as a terrific eater, now seeing clearly
the drift of his comrade's manæuvres, thrust his hands into
his pockets, and jerking his quid into the sea, called out, as
he walked with firm and determined step forwards: “We
shall be back again before he is.”
“Better stay for him, Bill,” cried two of the others. “We
shall have him cursing and storming all the rest of the day.”
“If it please him,” growied bill, walking away;
don't get a pork dinner so often that I choose to be last at it
to-day.”
He made straight for the smoking dish, and the rest knew
him too well not to follow as fast as they could—for where the
Irishman was the first, the stragglers were wont to get more
bones than meat; so while the carpenter was rowing with
all his might after the bucket, the crew were swarming to the
forecastle to secure a rightful division of the dainties. Ned
alone remained at the stern, watching for the return of the
The carpenter did not keep him waiting long : he
had cast one look behind him, and seen that all his men had
left their posts—under what influence it was easy to guess;
and while he muttered imprecations, not loud but deep, on
the “gluttonous scoundrels” and on the “gallows-bird,”
meditating a speedy vengeance on the latter, he plied the oar
right vigorously, and soon reached the bucket, caught it by
the handle, lifted it into the boat, and turned the prow

in
the direction of the schooner. And now he had to row against
the stream, but the tapering build of the New Zealand canoes
canoe.


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
125
66
makes this only a slight obstacle; he soon ran the little craft
under the stern of his vessel, and Ned threw him a rope,
which he made fast to the halliards, and clambered on the
deck.
“And the rest of the scoundrels ?" shouted the enraged
carpenter, as he set down the rescued bucket with a jerk and
stamped his foot in a fury.
“ They're at dinner, sir,” said the convict, humbly. “I
,
.
told them they'd better stay, but they bid me go to the devil.
You—you”.
“You what?-out with it! you what? I say,” cried the
”
other, exasperated to the highest pitch. “What are you stut-
tering about you what ?”
“I can't say what they said,” rejoined Ned, retreating a
step as he spoke.
What did they say, rascal ?” exclaimed the carpenter,
foaming with rage. “Will you sing, you gallows-bird, or
must I loose your tongue for you?”
“They said you would eat up all before them, if they waited
till you came back,” cried Ned, drawing back still further.
The carpenter, without saying another word to him, mut-
tered a curse between his closed teeth, seized a short end of
rope that lay near, and made at once by the starboard-gang-
way for the forecastle. At the same instant, and just as he
reached the water-casks that were fastened amidships, the
crouching figure of the Irishman appeared on the larboard
gangway; and as Ned threw himself over the bulwarks—for
the moment for action was now come-Bill, with a sort of
waggish humour, caught up the bucket which had cost the
carpenter so much trouble, and with it sprang after his com-
panion into the canoe, just as the latter, unwilling to lose
time in unfastening the knot, had cut the rope that attached
it to the schooner.

66

126
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
a
The whole had passed in a few seconds; and the fugitives
would have had time to row themselves out of harm's way,
had they not been overlooked by unfriendly eyes—those of
the cabin-boy, who happened to come on deck just as Bill
disappeared over the stern. Without wasting time in call-
ing to the fugitives, which would have been worse than use-
less, the boy ran at once to the forecastle, where his cry of
· Help! help!” soon roused the carpenter and the crew to a
sense of the urgency of the circumstances.
With a fearful oath the old seaman sprang like a wild goat
to the stern, but it was too late; the little boat was drifting
with the stream, and Ned, who was seated in the stern, took
up one of the oars and shook it, laughing in the carpenter's
face. “Good bye, good bye, sir!” he shouted across the
water. “We are off to take the captain his shirts : he'll like
a change of linen this hot day. My best respects in Sydney,
if you please.”
The carpenter, comprehending the plot at a glance, had
rushed to the cabin for his rifle, and levelling it through the
open port, shouted at the top of his voice to the runaways:
“Halt, halt! or I fire."
“Duck, Bill, duck!” said the convict to his companion, who
at this moment happened to look round; “ down with
I
say,” at the same time throwing himself flat at the bottom of
the canoe. The Irishman, however, partly from the rocking
of the canoe, partly from the terror inspired by the carpenter's
threat, instead of throwing himself at once on his face, turned
round to do so, and thus presented a broad target to the
enemy. A sharp blinding light issued from the port-hole,
you,
.
and with an oath the Irishman fell over on his side. The
convict saw the twofold danger, and cast himself on the oppo-
site side of the canoe to balance it; but the wounded man
rolled over too, and the slender craft, overweighted and un-
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
127
able to right itself, discharged its cargo into the waters. The
Irishman still grasped convulsively the side of the boat, but
in a moment the waves closed over it, and it sank.
A shout of triumph was heard from the schooner: it was
raised by the carpenter alone. The rest of the crew beheld
in silent horror the result of the shot; for, just ahead of the
sunken canoe, a shoal of sharks was now discovered. These
monsters of the deep were distinctly seen swimming nearer
and nearer to their still floating comrades; and the sailors held
their breath as they contemplated the catastrophe which they
had no means of averting.
In the meantime the canoe had reappeared, and was float-
ing slowly down the stream, its sides just visible above the sur-
face of the sea. Ned was holding on to it and striving to bale
out the water, but alone this was impossible; and as he cast
a look at his companion, to ascertain whether there was any
hope of help in that quarter, his eye fell upon the breakers on
the coral reef. They were fast nearing this dreadful rock: a
wild, heart-chilling horror seized him, and involuntarily he
turned to measure the distance from the schooner. But even
if he had been willing to return to his slavery, he had no
longer the choice; the interval was too great for him to think
of swimming it.
“Ned,” groaned his stricken partner in crime, “Ned, I'm
wounded, by St. Patrick !-the man has shot me through the
shoulder. Let us-- let us float the canoe ; I have yet strength,
but I feel it every moment getting less and less.”
“We can't bale out the water,” cried Ned hastily--and
his pulses stopped, as he saw on the top of the nearest wave
the open jaws of a monstrous shark. Come, Bill! there's
nothing for it but to swim ashore; there's a shark ahead.”
“A shark !” rejoined the Irishman, as though that word,
and not the carpenter's ball, had been his death-knell. It is


66
a

128
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the most terrible that can resound in the ear of a swimmer,
operating like a torpedo shock on all his
powers.
"A shark !!
he repeated, feeling again after the side of the sinking boat.
" A shark! Holy Virgin, we are lost ! !”
Ned hesitated for a moment. Should he leave the canoe,
,
and seek to save himself? But then his comrade !—and his
eye fell upon the countenance of the wretched man, as, half
leaning against the side of the boat, he sat stupidly staring at
the dreaded enemy. Ned now perceived that blood was flow-
ing from the wound in his shoulder, and that the sea before
him was tinged with red. To remain by him was certain
death. The shark, attracted probably by the report of the
rifle or the cry of the victim, had now perceived the blood,
and escape was hopeless. The wiles that are sometimes suc-
cessful in repulsing the creatures—such as clapping the hands,
shouting, and splashing—were now impracticable; and with-
out listening to poor Bill's agonized entreaty, he glided still
and noiselessly into the water, and struck out with vigorous
strokes towards the land. This movement was instantly seen
on board the schooner, and an indignant shout from the crew
proved that they saw and execrated his purpose.
Their shout seemed also to awaken the unhappy Irishman
to the full consciousness of his situation. He saw the treacher-
ous desertion of his comrade, he cast a despairing glance at
the schooner, but durst not raise a cry for help, lest he should
betray himself to his deadly enemy; and putting forth all
his remaining strength, and pressing his broad chest athwart
the current, he made for the vessel. It was in vain-the tide
which was running towards the shore only carried him further
away; his vital force ebbed with the warm gushing life-
blood, and the nervous system that had only been stimulated
by the fear of death, gave way beneath the superhuman
effort.
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
129
Meanwhile, the shark swam nearer and nearer. Was it
indeed attracted by the blood of the victim? But now it
seemed uncertain what direction to take, for the sailors on
board shouted and discharged guns and pistols, in order to
withdraw the attention of the monster from his prey. Stupi-
fied by the noise, the shark described several circles, and once
darted madly forward in the direction of the sounds; he was
now so near to the canoe that the ripple, as it eddied from the
prow, must have borne with it the scent of the blood. Sud-
denly it stopped and lay motionless on the surface, with its
fins depressed. A ray of hope rose in the Irishman's heart-
perhaps the shark was baffled, and he might yet reach the
shore; but the monster had now tracked his prey, and cross-
ing over, right and left, as though to ascertain the most direct
course, it again lay still for about half a minute, and then at
last, as if sure of victory, shot forwards with such terrific
force that half of its smooth shining body rose above the sur-
face of the sprinkled waves. Another moment and it made
straight for the canoe to which the wretched man still clung
convulsively with one hand, his eyes all the while fixed upon
the frightful monster. He recognised the messenger of death,
saw that his comrades could do nothing to avert the impend-
ing fate, and resolved to make one last attempt to escape
from death, at least in that form. He struck out into the bay,
turning his head towards his pursuer, but his strength was
exhausted— his head sank on his chest - the limbs still
laboured, but now no longer consciously, and bore him into the
very jaws of the shark. The monster of the deep darted for-
ward, its white and silvery belly became visible ; one shriek,
smothered in the death agony, escaped the victim, a few
seconds passed away, and there was nought save the track
of blood and the seething of the waters to show where a
man had met so fearful a fate.


I

130
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
And the treacherous convict, had he witnessed the death of
his hapless companion ? No, he was out of sight; but the
shrill death-cry ringing in his ears had warned him of his
own danger, in case other sharks, attracted by the blood,
should cross the bay. In breathless terror he urged his weary
limbs towards the shore, now but a few paces distant; he no
longer looked behind him; far more than even the devourer
of the deep did he dread the paralysing sight that might
have met him there, and safety was bound up in speed and
perseverance. He swam for his life, and when at length the
breakers drove and tossed him on the hospitable sand, his
senses forsook him-he had not even strength enough to crawl
to the top of the beach ; he was conscious only of being
grasped by friendly hands, and by them lifted and carried on-
ward. He would have shouted, but his voice was gone ; he
would have looked around, but his eyes were heavy, his re-
maining consciousness had fled, and he sank into a long

Swoon.
How long he remained in it he knew not, but when he
regained his senses, he found himself laid beneath the cool
green shadow of some gently waving trees; and surrounded
by natives, one of whom, a tall stately figure, with a long
and remarkable staff in his hand, and a pair of falcon's
feathers on each side of his head, was standing over him, and
looking darkly and earnestly in his face. As soon as he
began to recover, he was beset on all sides by questions in the
New Zealand tongue. These were wholly unintelligible;
but now the man with the wild-bird's feathers, who appeared
to be the leader of the party, addressed him in good fluent
English, and desired to know what he was seeking on this
coast. For this inquiry Ned had a ready answer—he might
safely say he was seeking the first European settlement; but
he felt that it would be more to his advantage with the


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
131
natives to tell them that he had been pressed for the service
of the English vessel now anchored in the bay, and having
been ill treated on board, he had determined, rather than
endure such barbarous usage longer, to take refuge with the
natives of New Zealand, even at the risk of being devoured
by the sharks on his way.
“Is the yellow jacket the uniform of the English navy ?”
calmly asked the chief, when the other had ended his tale.
“ The yellow jacket!” repeated the astonished convict, not
a little embarrassed by the question; but without appearing
to notice this, and turning half away from him, the chief
continued, pointing in the direction of the Ta-po-kai river-
“ To whom pertains that boat ? and where are the men
who rowed across in it?"
Ned hesitated; he thought of the treasure, and doubted
whether by betraying his secret to gain the confidence of the
chief, or by keeping it, to secure the whole of the booty for
himself.
But was this practicable in his present circum-
stances ? When he laid his plan he had counted on the
Irishman's help for its execution; now he was alone and un-
armed too. No, it was impossible ; so he resolved to make
the best bargain he could, and without meeting the Indian's
calm cold glance, he offered to reveal an important secret,
which would secure to them the possession of an enormous
booty, provided they would guarantee his life.
This was immediately promised ; and Ned, emboldened by
his first success, asked to be still further protected against the
pursuit of the white man by being adopted into the tribe of his
newly-formed friends. But this proposal met a stern rejection.
“I guaranteed thy life," exclaimed the leader, “and that
was more than thou couldst claim, for it was no love to us
that brought thee here, and I scarcely need thy help; for,
from the moment those three men landed, my spy has dogged

a

132
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
their steps, and their boat is in my power : yet if thou deal
truly, a share of the treasure shall be thine to do with as
thou wilt. Gold is the white man’s god : let that suffice
thee.”
-
This was more than the convict had expected, and he
gladly promised to deal faithfully with his allies, whom he
had supposed little likely to relinquish any portion of a trea-
sure that was in their own power. He now told all that he
had overheard ; how one of the white men-a plague upon
him! he had used him like a dog-disguised as a native, only
with a mat hanging over his face, had come on shore to
identify some land which, according to a document he had
with him, had been made over to him by Haki himself.
The chief, who at first had scarcely paid any attention to
the story, now listened with the most eager impatience, but
without once interrupting the speaker; and only when Ned
had ended his narration of all that he had heard on board,
put to him some questions as to the appearance of the false
craven who was walking their shores under the deceitful
cover of their holiest law. Ned gave as good a description as
he could, and the New Zealander nodded his head with a
ferocious grin as he proceeded. He then drew back for a
while to his people, and it was only by the fierce gesticulation
which accompanied his words, that the convict gathered an
idea of the powerful interest they excited and the wild
passions they evoked in the breasts of his followers, making
their dark eyes gleam with a wild and almost preternatural
lustre.
No one appeared to think any more of Ned, and the warriors
reclined for some hours beneath the grateful shadow of the
wood. The sun had long passed the zenith, and fleecy
clouds were rising in the southern sky and diverging across
the firmament, when suddenly a rustling was heard in the
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
133
bushes, and there sprang from the thicket, at the edge of
which they were resting, a warrior in his war-paint ; his
features scarred and seamed by the scarcely healed punctures
of the tattooing. The tidings he brought were of course un-
intelligible to Ned, but it was evident that they were of
importance and had been expected ; for now in all directions
scouts came hastily in, and increased the number of the party
to fifteen.
These were now divided into two bands, the one keeping
the cover of the wood, the other gliding stealthily to the edge
of the forest, where the Tapokai discharged its waters in the
Ned was committed to the custody of two warriors be-
longing to the latter, and all that was required of him was to
keep close to them; and their appearance convinced him that
had he ever meditated flight, it had now become utterly hope-
less. He accordingly stepped out manfully with the rest, and
when the last dusky form had disappeared among the bushes,
a silence as deep and peaceful brooded over the spot as
though it had never been trodden by mortal foot or disturbed
by human passion.

sea.
In the dark forest, the lofty summits of the primeval trees
waved gently as they wreathed their giant arms together, to
prevent the entrance of the sun within their sacred shadows,
lest the children of their care, the sapling palms and flower-
ing mosses should fade away and wither beneath his burning
glance. It was high noon; the birds had sought the shelter of
the underwood, and the gliding lizard moved noiselessly from
bough to bough, sometimes rocking on the slender rods, and
anon pursuing the flying insect and the crawling caterpillar.
Gently, too, waved the lofty summits of the majestic forests
around one little clearing, on the grassy slope of a swelling
hill, overshadowed only by fruit trees, and by a few cultivated

134
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
palms. This was a New Zealand Pah, the dwelling, and
also the fort of a native, enclosed, as is always the case, with
a breast-work of strong, sharp-pointed palisades, and divided
within into a series of courts communicating with each other.
In the middle was the low, one-storied dwelling-house, with
its fantastically carved pillars, and its cool verandah. Low
benches, ranged round the wall of the house, might be seen
inside, and between two of the wooden pillars hung an empty
hammock, woven from the fibres of the New Zealand flax.
But not a living creature of any kind was to be seen. All
seemed deserted and desolate; even the outbuildings, mostly
sheds and pig-styes, stood open and empty. The kitchen,
which abutted on the dwelling, was in ruins—the roof had
fallen in ; the paling that divided it from the adjoining yard
was either thrown down or overgrown with moss; there were
no domestic animals in the court; only a hawk that probably
had its eyrie in the neighbourhood, hovered over the building
as if seeking its food. It now rose circling higher and higher
in the air, poised itself on its powerful wings for a minute's
space, and then slowly, and with its beautiful head curved
backwards, took flight towards the shore. It had perceived
its enemy-man; and scarcely had it disappeared above the
tall trees than a wild figure was seen emerging from the
thicket that bordered the deserted Pah.
It was Humphrey—his face covered by the mat, his rifle
firmly grasped and ready cocked in bis hand-who now en-
tered the clearing, and gazed long and silently on the spot
that in former days had been his dwelling-place; and where
were those who then shared the solitude with him ? where
lingered the dear ones who can turn a desert into a para-
dise ? on what soil were they wandering? who now supplied
them with food and clothing ? or had Humphrey indeed
lived here alone and unloved ? was no eye darkened when
THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
135
he forsook his home? were there none to watch with anxious
glance for his return? No one knew ; he never spoke of the
;
past himself, and those who had since become acquainted
with him in Sydney, carefully avoided all allusion to what
seemed like evoking his evil genius.
And what must have been the tide of feeling that now
swept over him, as he stood amid the living wreck of all that
was associated with bygone, and still remembered, days! He
stood staring with a look of wild and blank dismay upon the
spot.
“Pest and destruction," muttered he through his closed teeth,
and stamping firmly on the ground; “what care I that they
have chosen to forsake the place, and, in observance of their
foolish law, to leave it desolate, and to shun it ? All the better!
It leaves me to pursue my task in security and unwatched.”
Suddenly he retreated to the thicket in which his com-
panions awaited him, and signed to them to follow him. The
path, which had hitherto been of the roughest, now became
smoother; a sort of hewn road appeared, as far as Thomson
could judge, to run in an almost parallel line with the sea,
leaving the hills, or rather skirting the foot of that on the
slope of which the Pah was situated. After crossing two
shallow sparkling brooks, they soon came to another grassy
declivity, where, at the summit of an earthwork about twenty
feet high, a monument of a singular description met the eye.
This was the half of a canoe, cut through crosswise and
set up like a sentry-box, and painted on each side in stripes
of white, black, and bright red ; while at the top waved
feathers such as the chiefs and hunters of the island are wont
to deck their heads with ; the white feathers of the albatross
being conspicuous in the midst. A many-coloured mat sus-
pended from the top, and reaching the ground, concealed the
inside of this remarkable erection,


136
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
From the elevation they had reached, the party could com-
mand a view of the whole enclosure; but to effect an entrance
was by no means an easy matter—for it was surrounded by
a strong stockade of sharp-pointed stakes, noways fallen to
decay like those of the deserted dwelling-house, but to all
appearance in good repair. The space between the fence
and the mound was overgrown with a rank and luxuriant
vegetation, so that it was impossible to determine whether or
not it had been formerly planted and the wood cut down to
render the monument at the top more conspicuous.
Humphrey and his companions, who were concealed beneath
some palm-like fern-trees, had for a while contemplated this
strange object in silent wonder; at length Van Broom, op-
pressed by the forest-solitude, and puzzled by the singular
appearance of the lonely erection, set like a watchtower in
the heart of the wilderness, spoke-
“Is this then the spot which we have been seeking for so
many weary miles, and through thorns and tangled briers, as
if the Evil One had been driving us ?”
Humphrey only nodded an affirmative.
“ The entrance will be on the other side,” cried Thomson,
raising himself on tip-toe in order to see over, if possible.
“ Gentlemen,” said Humphrey, turning suddenly towards
them, and speaking in a low and broken voice, “the time
for action is now come—we have reached the goal, and have
escaped all the perils which I dreaded, nay almost expected.
There is not a native in the district ; we are now within a
thousand paces of the spot where our boat is lying-for yon-
der, just where you see that light streak, beyond the nearer
wood, is the entrance of the Ta-po-kai. In half-an-hour's
walking we can reach it, and then the jolly will soon carry us
beyond the reach of danger.”
“Then why not go to work at once ?” cried Van Broom


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
137
6
impatiently. “ I'm by no means easy in my mind while I'm
upon cannibal land; the very trees have a fierce greedy look
;
about them, as though they would willingly furnish the
wood to roast us. And now how are we to get into this
monument, or whatever it may be?”
“ There is no access,” said Humphrey, still speaking in
the same low and cautious tone. "It is surrounded on all sides,
as you see. The burial-place of Man-a-soha-too is under the
sacred law of Taboo; and this is in force till another of his
race be called from earth, and then the law is suspended.
At the appointed time, and after the celebration of Tan-
ghee,* the 'wise men' bring the bones to this spot, and the
law again shuts the enclosure against every one.”
“ How then can we get over ?” muttered Van Broom.
“ Are we to stay here till some one comes to give notice of
our presence, and brings the whole population upon us, just
in time for them to roast us all for supper ?”
Humphrey turned away, and glided between, we might
almost say beneath, the tall fern that grew thickly round the
stockade, tried one of the stakes with his hand and then an-
other, till he came to one less firm in the ground than the
rest; then setting his back against the palisade, he struck his
tomahawk into this up to the haft, and so gained a hold, and
at last succeeded in wrenching the stake from the earth and
effecting an entrance.
Van Broom, although wholly ignorant of the fearful penalty
they were incurring in case of a surprise, was yet conscious of
an indefinable feeling of dread, as he marked the change that
had come over the bearing of their hitherto bold and confident

* The celebration of the mourning for a New Zealand chief or person of distinction,
is so called. The women cut their arms, faces, and breasts with sharp mussel-shells.
The garments and other property of the deceased are put into the grave, and left to
perish with him.

138
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
leader, now so timid and cautious. Humphrey had crept
carefully into the tangled mazes of the overgrown thicket and
there disappeared, giving neither sound nor sign, till suddenly
he was seen emerging from the bracken, lower down than
where he had entered. He had on his arm the skin of some
unknown animal, and advanced hurriedly to the narrow open-
ing, through which he pressed himself in nervous haste, threw
his burden on the ground, replaced the stake he had removed,
and then appeared to have shaken off all that for a brief space
oppressed his heart, and resumed his usual self-possession.
He breathed freely, and a smile of triumph, if not of scorn,
was playing round his lips.
“Now forward !” he cried, lifting the skin from the ground;
6 forward! In a few minutes we are on the shore, and then
we've a free and merry life before us.”'
" And is this all we have to do?” exclaimed Thomson, in
astonishment. “ All these formidable preparations and equip-
ments for nothing but this ?”
“Forward ! forward! I say, and on the deck of our good
,
Cassowary you shall know all; only, for the love of Heaven,
linger no longer here; the very soil begins to burn under my
feet.”
And without waiting for an answer, and casting a hasty
glance towards the west—where the clouds had almost obscured
the declining sun, letting down so thick a veil before him that
his glowing countenance could scarcely show itself through-
he advanced with such rapid strides into the thicket that his
companions were scarcely able to keep up with him. For
about a quarter of an hour they kept on in the same direction,
and then striking into a valley, left the hills behind them.
The streak of light which Humphrey had pointed out when
at the monument, became broader and clearer, and following
a bank which divided two narrow streams on their way to the


THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
139
sea, the party reached an open sandy level, which extended to
the mouth of the Ta-po-kai, and was not more than two hun-
dred
paces distant from the spot where they had landed, only
lower down. Humphrey cast a searching look around, but
without perceiving anything in the least degree remarkable or
dangerous. The only living things that met the eye were a
pair of albatrosses winging their way slowly and cautiously
across the creek, where, still and motionless, her snow-white
sails clinging to the masts, lay the little Cassowary, like a
tired sea-bird that, wearied by a fatiguing flight, has betaken
itself to its home and cradle on the wave, and there, with its
head nestled beneath its wing, lies rocked and rested.
“ By Jove !" cried Thomson, who now for the first time
got a clear prospect of the southern sky, which was anything
but satisfactory, “it is time we were on board. Humphrey,
a tempest is brewing yonder, and it mustn't catch us upon the
tack of those reefs, unless we would catch a tartar. We
might ride it out if we were off the coast, but”-
“Do those light gray streaks betoken mischief, then?” in-
quired Humphrey timidly and gloomily.
Certainly not good,” growled the seaman. “I only wish
we may get out of it with a dry eye."
“Gentlemen, I presume you intend to take tea here at the
edge of the forest ?” said Van Broom, who had become very
fidgety; “or perhaps you think of staying till the danger
you apprehend has overtaken us? Where is our boat lying ?”
“ Straight before us, under cover of that angle of the wood," "
replied their leader; "and you are right, delay is useless; we
must go through-come on then,” and again drawing the
mat over his face, which, from the time he had left the burial-
place he had thrown back, and striding in front of his two
friends, he made his way over the lower sands, which, in time
of flood, were covered by the tide, to a grassy stripe that led

66
66

140
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
direct to the edge of the forest, and girdled the coast as it
were with a zone of verdure.
But as they drew nearer to the shore, the danger only be-
came more apparent. The clouds had assumed a still more
threatening aspect; and as they reached the middle of the
sandy level, Thomson stopped to make farther observations.
As he did so, his attention was arrested by some moving ob-
jects at the edge of the wood, and an exclamation of surprise
escaped him, as he saw, emerging from the shadow, a body of
Indians clad in variegated mats, and following slowly on the
white men's track.
Humphrey and Van Broom hastily rejoined him ; but there
could be no mistake, the dark figures showed but too plainly
against the bright green background. And Van Broom, as
soon as his eye fell on the advancing warriors, would at once
have taken to his heels, had not Humphrey seized his arm
and prevented him, at the same time whispering softly-
“Hold, sir !—there must be no precipitation. Our boat
lies within a hundred paces of us; flight will but arouse their
suspicion, only let us walk slowly forward ; we shall soon
have the thicket between us, and shall thus secure time to
embark; or if not, we have fire-arms, and are thus more than
a match for the little band. Slowly, then, gentlemen ! slowly,
straight ahead. Ha !” he exclaimed suddenly, and levelled
his musket-for suddenly, from the thicket to which he had
pointed, there issued seven or eight dusky Indians carrying
muskets or clubs, and some of them wearing the long-haired
war-mantle, which Humphrey knew but too well. They ad-
vanced and threw themselves in the path, so as to cut off all
retreat to the boat.
Van Broom raised a despairing shriek; but Thomson, who
gathered from Humphrey's manner that the danger was
greater than he had chosen to confess, felt for his pistols, and

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
141
carefully examined whether the caps were on, brought his
cutlass a little forwarder, and then waited calmly the result.
Humphrey too had now regained his self-possession, which
he had only lost through the suddenness of the surprise-for
the disguise he had assumed proved that he had calculated on
the possibility of an encounter with natives—and drawing the
mat closer over his face, and whispering to his companions
to be of good courage, he stepped forward, altering their
direction by the slightest possible curve, in order to conceal
the hiding-place of their boat from the Indians, in case they
should not yet have discovered it. But if he had hoped to
pass unchallenged, he soon saw his mistake; for as soon as
they saw him turn out of the path, they also followed in the
same track; and Humphrey, seeing that he had no means of
evasion, now endeavoured to appear calm and unconcerned.
If the natives, beguiled by his dress, should regard him as a
guide under the protection of the Taboo, he had nothing to
apprehend.
And now the Indians suddenly came up with them; the
three strangers halted to receive them; but Humphrey's con-
fidence gave way as they came near enough for him to dis-
tinguish the features of their leader, and he drew back in
silence, instead of offering the first greeting to this lord of the
soil. The natives, conscious that their superiority of numbers
gave them an additional claim to this customary act of
courtesy, also kept silence; and at length Thomson, astonished
at the demeanour of his companion, stepped before him, and
extended his hand to him who appeared to be the chief, say-
ing at the same time in a frank and cordial tone-
“God be with you, gentlemen! I don't know whether you
understand English, but be that as it may, we shall soon
know."
“We trust the greeting is as honest as it sounds," returned


142
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the chief, and to Thomson's unbounded astonishment, in pure
English, though perhaps with a very slight Irish accent, and
at once grasping the offered hand.
The chief of the New Zealand warriors was a man of lofty
and commanding stature ; his eyes were dark and expressive,
and his face was tattooed in regular, we might almost say
ornamental lines. His head was adorned on either side by the
large feathers of the black falcon, and the hairy war-mantle,
which hung loosely round him, was fastened on the left
shoulder, leaving the right arm perfectly free. In his ears a
few albatross feathers were fastened, and round his throat he
wore the amulet of his tribe-the green TECKI,* with its red
and glittering eyes—the hair, as is partially the custom in
the islands, was long and hung over his shoulders, and his feet
were covered with embroidered moccasins, + the handywork of
some young squaw in the far off prairies of the west, who
little thought that she was bestowing her labour to adorn the
chief of such a distant isle. His followers carried fire-arms,
but he himself had only the Meeri,& fastened at his wrist, and
cut out of the same green stone as the amulet. In his right
hand he held the chieftain's staff, which, with its curiously

* The New Zealanders, like most savage people, are fond of dress, and adorn their
persons, their weapons, their houses, and their burial-places, with feathers of all hues.
But their most highly prized ornament is a small representation of a man, with large
red eyes, cut in green jade, and worn as an antalet of singular efficacy. It is seldom
that a native will part with this ornament, which is handed down as an heirloom in
families.
† A frequent article of barter between the North American whalers and the natives of
New Zealand.
| The Meeri is in shape somewhat like a battledore, varying from ten to eighteen
inches in length, and about four or five broad, thick in the middle, but worked down to
a very sharp edge on both sides. It is most commonly formed of a species of green jade
found in New Zealand.
§ This staff is called, in the native language, I-Hainei, and is the peculiar and sceptre-
like emblem of authority. It is made of some hard wood, and terminates in a grotesquely
carved head, with a long tongue hanging out of the mouth, as if to express scorn and
defiance of all enemies; the eyes are of mother-of-pearl, and it is adorned as above.

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
143
carved head surmounted by bunches of red parrots' feathers and
dogs' hair, bore some resemblance to an old-fashioned halberd,
though used only as an emblem of authority. In giving his
hand to the white man, he threw this staff over his shoulder,
and only resumed it when, stepping back a pace, he fixed his
eyes on the pretended Indian, who now stood with his head
erect, his rifle, as it seemed, negligently slung in the bend of
his left arm, but ready to be brought into instant action.
Once only he turned to see if he were surrounded; the
Indians were scarcely a hundred paces from him, and some
were slowly making for the shore. All hope of escape was
thus cut off, and the only thing to be done was to play the
game boldly to the end.
The silence was first broken by the New Zealand chief.
Leaning on the Hainei which he held in his right hand, and
keeping his eyes fixed on the pretended Indian, he said, in
the language of the Maories :* “ Thine hand is armed, but
thy face is veiled. Does the head protected by the sacred
Taboo need the murderous weapon? Does my brother fear
that a Maori might raise the club against him, or is he unac-
quainted with the laws of our land? A Maori is safe.'
“Well do I know the sacred laws," rejoined the other-and
the voice sounded broken and hollow beneath the overhanging
mat. “I have nought to fear, and it is only as the guide of
the white men that I carry arms. This hand is unstained by
the blood of a friend, and at home in my Pah are the skulls
of
my
enemies. A Maori is SAFE.”'
“Thou liest, FALSE MAORI,” shouted the fierce warrior,
raising himself in a moment to his full height, and swinging
his staff backwards and forwards. “Pale traitor! cast off the

This staff is also used in war and in council, and is then always held by him who ad-
dresses the assembly, high in the air.
* New Zealand term for a native.
a

144
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
up the
sacred covering to which thou hast no claim! Down with
thee! down with thee, Listowel! MURDERER OF THY WIFE,
the hour of vengeance is come !"
As if struck by an arrow, the disguised criminal had shrunk
back in horror as the first cry of that terrible voice resounded
in his ear. “Lost, lost !” he muttered feebly, and the blood
curdled at his heart. It was but for a moment. How should
he not dare all when he had all to lose ?
"To me, Thomson !” he cried, and levelled his rifle as he
spoke. The blinding flash was followed instantly by the
deadly ball; but it glanced harmlessly over the head of the
chief, who, seeing the purpose of his enemy, knocked
barrel of the rifle with his staff. Thomson, with his cutlass
in one hand and his pistol in the other, might have done some
mischief; but while some of the Indians threw themselves
upon Listowel, the rest surrounded the seaman and his com-
panion—the latter being already half killed with fright-took
from them their weapons, and bound their hands behind them.
But Listowel still struggled like a madman. On seeing
the failure of his shot, he had seized the tomahawk that hung
at his girdle, and aimed a blow at the chief, which would in
all likelihood have been fatal, had not a blow from a patou
struck him at that moment on the forehead and felled him to
the ground.
Even in falling, he still held the skin beneath the tapa-
mantle. But the grasp of the chief was on his throat; and as
the mat that had covered his head was fiercely torn away, and
the wild throng beheld the features of him whom they had
long regarded and pursued as their most deadly enemy, a yell
of savage triumph rose around him, and the chief was fain to
lay his staff across the victim, lest judicial vengeance should
be defrauded of her due.

* The New Zealand club.

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
145
Thomson, who neither in the strife, nor even when, as he
believed, in danger of his life, had forgotten the menacing
aspect of the clouds, and the perilous situation of the little
Cassowary, was at the same time struggling hard with those
who held him. But now the chief, having seen his personal
enemy in safe keeping, drew near, and laying his hand lightly
on the seaman's shoulder, said, while Thomson regarded him
with dark and scowling looks-
“Fear nothing, sir! You have not broken the laws of our
land, and trampled them under foot, as he has,” pointing to
the guilty man. “He LIED when he told you that our only
ground of offence lay in the death of an inferior leader, slain
by him in open fight. He LIED when he declared himself to
be under Haki's protection; for I am Haki, and he has not
in the wide world a more deadly enemy than myself. From
the hallowed sanctuary of the Taboo he shamefully stole
the property of the wife he had barbarously murdered, and,
like a cowardly traitor, fled from the consequences of his
crime.
" He LIED when he declared himself to be the possessor of
a single foot of ground in New Zealand; the land was given
to the husband, not to the murderer of my sister.
“But he was only too well acquainted with our laws; and
perhaps, under shelter of that which he at the same time vio-
lated and disgraced, he might even now have accomplished
his evil designs and escaped with his treasure, had not the
Great Atua himself given him into the hand of the avenger.
But our vengeance is for him alone. In a short space you
shall depart unharmed to your vessel; but I warn you to
beware of treading our shores again.”
Thomson, although to the last degree astonished to think
how the New Zealand chief could have become acquainted
with all that had passed on board his own vessel, was far too
K

146
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
deeply absorbed in its impending fate to bestow more than a
passing thought on anything else.
“Unharmed !” he rejoined, looking wildly and anxiously
at the southern sky; “look there at the coming tempest, and
then tell me whether I shall get back unharmed. If the
storm rises and dashes our little craft upon those confounded
reefs, I wouldn't give a shilling for every living thing on
board."
“Your God is punishing you for having broken the peace
of our land," said the wild man calmly. “But what matters
it to me? it was not I who called
you
hither.”
Without vouchsafing even a look to the captain, and after
exchanging a few words with his people, Haki strode into the
forest, followed by the natives with the prisoner in the midst.
The sun had gone down, and only a thin purplish vapour
shrouded the western horizon; but the reflection of the parting
rays
fell
upon dark masses of heavy clouds that came drifting
up from the south, and towering higher and higher. What
the day in the glowing might of his strength had kept back,
now gathered in irrepressible force. But not at once did the
tempest burst forth, like the rushing hurricanes of the gulf-
stream, with their whirlpools and waterspouts : long did it
struggle with the fiery north for a vent, and slowly but surely
did it win its way; and the waters of the bay, as if conscious
of the fearful strife, broke gently quivering on the shore, and
only now and then lifted their heads in little jets of waves, as
though to see if the dreaded adversary were at hand, to lash
them out of their pleasant and peaceful repose.
The dolphin and the sword-fish retired to the depths, and
even the albatross spread her heavy pinions and sought the
shelter of the land; and only Mother Carey's chickens, the
storm-swallows of the ocean, flitted in narrowing circles above

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
147
the waves, sporting with the foam that their light dipping
wings had raised.
Suddenly, as it had risen, day gave place to night, and a
murky twilight cast its gray veil over wood and sea and sky,
confounding all in one undistinguishable mass.
The darkness was only relieved by the foam that broke
white and spectre-like upon the shore, and by the light that
flashed from three warning guns, discharged from the schooner
as a signal to their absent commander.
а
At the same moment, and as if in answer to it, there glided
from beneath the overhanging trees at the entrance of the
Ta-po-kai one of the long sharp-bowed canoes which the na-
tives of New Zealand manage with such admirable skill. It
was rowed by eight men, who sat with their faces to the
prow,
which was beautifully carved, and adorned with albatross'
feathers; while Haki, still holding his chieftain's staff in his
right hand, stood erect at the stern, and with his left hand
shaped the swift course of the little boat. In the centre, and
just before the chief, lay three prisoners, securely bound,
who contemplated in silence the threatening firmament above
them; and in silence also the natives dipped their light oars
in the hissing waves, over which they urged the canoe with
lightning speed.
It was ebb tide, and the current would have carried them
away from the schooner; the steersman, therefore, instead of
making direct for the light at the mast head, left this a little
to windward, as if he were drifting through the narrow chan-
nel into the open sea. Thomson must have suspected this,
for he several times raised his head anxiously, keeping his
eyes fixed on his ship. At last he could bear it no longer,
and with a muttered curse struggled to make his way to the
helm; but instantly the Indian squatting nearest him lifted
his oar with a menacing gesture, which told plainly enough

a

148
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the fate he was provoking by any further manifestation of
impatience. Where resistance is hopeless, the only alterna-
tive is submission; and Thomson crept back to the side of
his companion Van Broom, who was half dead with fright.
But who was the third that lay motionless beside them ?
Had the Indians renounced their revenge? or could it be the
CORPSE of Humphrey ? But no—it lived and breathed; be-
yond this the captain could ascertain nothing. Indeed, his
attention was now riveted on the schooner, towards which
their bow was suddenly turned.
But now the spirit of the storm broke loose from all oppos-
ing influences : broad flashes of lightning gleamed across the
southern sky and illumined the seething waters; the thunder
pealed around, and the blustering hurricane responded to the
call, and came puffing his cheeks in triumph over the sea,
caught the retreating waves as if in sport, and carried their
shining sparkling foam aloft in the air with him.
The whole surface of the bay was now covered with
yeasty foam, and the canoe darted like an arrow through the
breakers ; already the dark outline of the schooner was visi-
ble, and just as a second blinding flash played along the
water, it shot rapidly beneath the bulwarks of the little ves-
sel, still lying fast at anchor. In the twinkling of an eye it
was secured alongside, and the sailors of the watch rushed
forward in astonishment, as, one after another, a number of
dusky spectral forms sprang on board, as if issuing from the
stormy deep. Supposing it to be some night surprise of the
New Zealanders, the crew, in their alarm, laid hands on any
thing in the shape of weapons that came first. But before
they had had time to understand how matters were going, a
violent shock made the schooner vibrate to her keel; at the
same moment a wild demoniac yell rung in their ears, and
,
the dark shadow of the slender canoe was seen receding from

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
149
the vessel, and again cleaving the foam of the roaring waves
that contended fiercely with her, and dashed and leaped
around her prow; but, unmoved as before, the lofty form of
Haki loomed like a mast through the darkness, the rowers
plied their oars vigorously; and, as though urged by spectral
hands, the canoe shot through the opposing elements.
“Help!” groaned now Van Broom, who had been tossed
by the heaving of the schooner against the bulwarks, fully
believing that he was overboard ; “ help! help!"
The sailors scarcely believed their senses when the sounds
of the well-known voice met their ears; but the captain's
call soon roused them from their astonishment.
“ All hands on deck! all hands on deck ! and here, Bill!
Ned! Bob! Storm and tempest! are none of the scoundrels
there ? let us loose, I say—let us loose !”
I
The crew still wondering how their captain had got on board,
but seeing that with danger threatening all around it was
no time for questioning but for immediate action, soon undid
the cords with which the captives were bound ; and as a
third flash lighted up the deck, all eyes, and Thomson's
especially, were turned in the direction of the other captive,
who still stood speechless and immovable between them, and
the surprise may be imagined, when all together shrieked out
" Ned!”
Although Thomson neither comprehended how the convict
came to be on shore nor in their boat, he yet saw instantly
that it must have been he who had betrayed them to the
natives ; but the care of the vessel demanded all his thoughts,
and left him no time to follow up that matter.
“Loose sails!” he exclaimed; " death and destruction !
those dark villains have cut our cable, and we are adrift.
Stand by the gaff! up with the mizen! Stand by, I say—
d'ye hear?-lubbers that you are !” And seizing the helm,

150
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
amid hastily-delivered commands and muttered oaths, captain
and crew strove by skill and strength, and with one accord,
to get the schooner out of her pressing danger.
The tide, urged by the eddying wind, was now running as
fast through the narrow channel outwards, as, when the schooner
had anchored in the morning, it had been driven landwards ;
so that the little vessel, which had been every minute driving
nearer and nearer to the rocks, scarcely felt the press of sail
under which she was now steering, as she tacked and swung
round on the top of the mad wave, and then, with wind and
tide in her favour, cut through the surf towards the yawning
gate before her. She was now within forty fathoms of the
little strait, and the crew could mark the wild fury of the
breakers, as they were dashed by the tempest, like ridges of
fire, against the craggy reef; and now indeed, it seemed as
though the next wave would drive her in full career upon the
ridge, there to go to pieces and founder. The seamen were
standing round the bow—the next moment would determine
their fate-there were but a few fathoms between them and
death. The reef was straight before them, and the schooner,
hah! it swerved—a harsh grating noise was heard that forced
the blood back upon the men's hearts; it was the larboard
side of the Cassowary in contact with the stony ribs of the
western pillars of the reef: and again the schooner, driving
before the wind, rode free and safe into the open sea,-the
sails were backed, the tempest, too, took in a reef, and as
though herself a portion of the elements, the gallant vessel
went dancing over the swelling waves.
The sailors had not had time to recover from the fearful
panic of that moment of peril; they still stood staring and
immovable at the bow, scarcely able to realize their wonder-
ful deliverance, when they were suddenly recalled by Thom-
son's voice to a recognition of facts, that the terrible excite-

THE VOYAGE OF THE CASSOWARY.
151
arm.
ment of the moment had for a season banished from their
minds.
“Bind that scoundrel—that Ned, I say—and cast him into
the hold! You, Bob! take the helm till I go and see after
another of them. Hallo! where's Van Broom ? Is the
Dutchman really dead of the fright ?”
That, happily, was not the case; nor had the little man
been at all aware of the real amount of the danger in which
they had been so mercifully preserved. He had prudently
kept his place between the water-casks, whence even the con-
tact with the rock had not dislodged him. His whole attention
was now engrossed by a packet of tolerable size, and apparently
of great importance, which one of the natives, when they put
him on board the Cassowary, had thrust hurriedly under his
It was tied with several knots, and he had not yet
'been able to get at the contents; but it seemed to him as if
the skin were the same that Listowel had stolen from the
burial-place, and which appeared to have been the object of
the whole ill-advised expedition. As soon as he heard Thom-
son's call, he hastened to him and told him in few words
the story of the parcel, on which the captain at once put an
end to his difficulties by cutting the knots with his knife.
“ Captain,” cried one of the sailors, coming up at this
moment; “Ned has a whole lot of gold pieces tied in a piece
of Indian matting round his neck, and won't confess where
he got them. Will you take them into safe keeping ?"
“Gold !” rejoined Thomson, greatly astonished; "where
can the rascal have found gold ? and this parcel ?”
He had, as we have seen, cut the cords, and was now un-
folding the skin and feeling after the contents, when again
the lightning flashed across the deck, and a cry of horror
burst from the sailors ; for in the last fold of the dusky covering
the flash revealed a ghastly spectacle. It lighted with its

wa

152
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
lurid glare the pale and distorted features of Listowel. The
wind howled and moaned in the rigging, the waves rolled
roaring after them, and for the rest of the night the schooner
had to wage an unequal strife with the elements. But morn-
ing dawned at last ; the hurricane hushed his wild clamour
to welcome the return of light; and the white wings of the
little Cassowary were spread beneath a favouring breeze.
On the starboard-gangway the crew were assembled, and
while the murmured sounds of solemn prayer arose, and just
as the sun began its life-giving course above the eastern
horizon, the bloody head of the doomed man sank in the
depths of the Ocean.

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
153
THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
AN INCIDENT IN AMERICAN LIFE.
On board the “well-coppered and fast-sailing ship, Rose
Bertram,"'--so designated in the Hamburg Gazette—which
sailed from that port on the 15th April, 1839, for New
Orleans in the United States, there was a poor family, con-
sisting of father, mother, and two children, who had emigrated,
to find in the land of their hopes and dreams what their own
home was no longer able to afford them—a calm, independent
present, and an assured future.
Their voyage was a very successful one; for as soon as they
had left the British Channel behind, and entered upon a more
southern climate, the sky shone upon them with almost un-
clouded brightness, so that, with the help of favouring winds,
they reached the Gulf of Mexico and the seven mouths of the
Mississippi in eight weeks, and were then towed by the steam
tug Hercules, against the mighty current of the great stream
till they reached the “Queen of the South," as the Republi-
cans call their capital, New Orleans.
Our German, Hermann Schwabe, of Bavaria, was not a
little surprised to find in America, which he had pictured to
himself as a great desert dotted over with farms, a city such as
he had never seen before in the whole course of his life. End-
less blocks of buildings stretched down to the shore, which
was girdled and enclosed by vessels of every description, while

154
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
on land, omnibuses and countless vehicles were seen, with
perilous rapidity, to cut through, and for a moment part the
busy crowds that streamed along.
In the presence of this swarm of men, Schwabe felt himself
very lonely and forsaken. Amidst all that tide of human life
rolling by, there was not one face that he knew, not one hand
that reached out a friendly welcome-all passed him coldly
and unsympathizingly by. This made upon him a most mel-
ancholy impression-an impression which cannot be adequately
described, but which must be felt in order to be understood.
Therefore, although the activity and the bustle of this southern
city were very promising, and all that surrounded him was
fresh, foreign, and therefore interesting, he yet made as much
haste as possible to set forward on his journey, and to reach
the place where he hoped to find friends; nay more, to find the
relative whose letter had been the occasion of his selling the
little all he possessed in Europe, for a sum no more than suffi-
cient to pay his passage to the New World. .
This relative--a distant cousin—lived at Cincinnati, in
Ohio, and the first thing that Schwabe had now to do was to
find a steamboat to take him up the Mississippi and Ohio to
his unknown goal. But there was little difficulty in this, at
a season of the year when, owing to the setting in of the
yellow fever, five or six boats went daily up the river, and of
these, two or three were sure to be for Ohio. Therefore, in
spite of the no slight obstacle of his not speaking a word of
English, he soon secured a passage for himself and his family,
and on that very afternoon the emigrants were on the huge and
panting steamboat toiling up the stream, against the yellow,
unfamiliar, and rapid current of the “father of waters."
They shot between enchanting villas, whose gray shingle
roofs shone out cheerfully amid groves
of
orange
and
pome-
granate trees; past widely-extended sugar-cane and cotton

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
155
plantations, where the unhappy slaves, exposed to the sun's
burning rays, and watched over by the overseer, whip in hand,
accomplished their long day's labour.
As they proceeded farther up the river, the open plantations
grew fewer and fewer, the forest, which hitherto had been
driven back for many miles by the arable land, now came
nearer and nearer to the water's edge, and at last, after tracts
of wood interspersed here and there, chiefly on the left-hand
bank, it hemmed in the course of the Mississippi, and the gray
waving moss hung down in long gloomy stripes from the wide
spreading tree-tops, floating and swinging to and fro in the
keen breeze that blew from the river. But this too gradually
ceased; flat monotonous swamps, with giant trees springing
up amongst them, and, here and there, varied by a little vil-
lage or a single log-hut, now formed the scenery on both sides
of the stream, till at last, from the mouth of the Ohio on-
wards, the whole aspect of the country changed again, and
the clearer waters of the “ beautiful river" were enclosed by
hills which almost carried back the Germans on board to
their home, and to the Rhine of their fatherland.
They glided swiftly by the exquisite banks, and, in order to
avoid the river's rapid current, passed through the canal hewn
out between rocks, just as you come to Louisville. Finally,
they arrived one afternoon at four o'clock in Cincinnati, eight
days after their departure from New Orleans.
Here too they were again surrounded by bustling and
ever-varying life. Numbers of stately steamboats lay near
the pier, and swift ferry-boats, with small puffing engines,
crossed to and fro between Newport and Covington on the
Kentucky side, and Cincinnati in Ohio. Every kind of pro-
,
visions lay heaped up on the wharves, and the sailors of the
different boats were eagerly engaged in loading or unloading
their fruit cargo, so as to be ready for a fresh start.

a

156
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
"
666
:
But our German could not afford a long contemplation of
the surrounding scene, interesting as it would have been to
him at another time, for the evening was closing in, and he
had still to seek a shelter for the night. It behoved him, first
of all, to find out the abode of his relative, whose address was
plainly written upon the letter in his hand-
“Fritz Wagner, Coffeehouse zur Stadt München, north-
east corner of Seventh Sycamore Street, No. 41, Cincinnati,
Ohio.”
There was no mistake about that. This letter had been
his guiding-star the whole, long way through, and he now,
with silent satisfaction, re-perused its contents.
6. Only come to America,'” it said;
you cannot think
how quickly a fine fellow can get on here. You know that I
had hardly anything of my own when I left home: and now, in
Cincinnati, one of the greatest cities in the whole of America,
I have what they call a coffee-house; I eat meat three times
a day, and I am my own master.
6. And how long has it taken me to get all this ? why, only
about a year and a half, which I spent in working on the rail-
road at sixteen dollars a week; and now here I am at my
ease in Cincinnati, and toil no longer.''
“ A coffee-house already!” thought Schwabe ; “why, what
luck the man must have had! I wonder how long he might
have toiled and moiled in Germany before he could even get
a license. Thank God that I am in America; now I have
only got to work a year or so on the railroad, and to fare as
well.”
With this praiseworthy intention he left the boat, and looked
out for a car-driver who could take him and his effects to the
place in question ; for he purposed to alight at his cousin's,
who was sure to have room in a coffee-house for him and for
his boxes. A car-driver soon offered himself—a German, in-
a

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
157
deed, who had recognised his countryman by his appearance
and manner. He soon hoisted up the seven packages; and
while Schwabe, holding his little boy by the hand, and his
wife carrying his baby girl in her arms, walked by the “ drag,”
as it was called, they all wended their way slowly up the
hilly Sycamore Street, which opened out of the main street
that led from the pier where the steamboat landed. Schwabe,
who naturally could not very well make out the situation de-
scribed as north-east, had already, as they gradually left the
fourth, the fifth, and the sixth streets behind them, kept his
eyes fixed on a large stately-looking stone house, which, as
soon as ever he saw it, seemed to answer to the idea he had
formed of an American coffee-house. Indeed, none of the
other corner houses could be what he was in quest of, for two
of them were shops, and the third-Gracious Heaven! on the
small wooden shed there was a black sign, and on it in white
letters—was he walking or dreaming ?-stood the words :
“COFFEE-HOUSE ZUR STADT MÜNCHEN.”
The letters themselves left no room for doubt; the half
English half German characters plainly belonged to a coun-
tryman, and this wooden booth was the much looked-to
asylum.
“ Is this, then, the whole coffee-house ?” he stammered out,
reluctantly seizing the arm of the driver, as though he could,
by retarding the arrival of the drag, avert his destiny a
little,
“ So it seems,” drily observed the other, who appeared to
see nothing extraordinary in the exterior of the building.
“ This is the place; the gentleman is sure to be at home.”
And with this laconic remark, he made his long whip whistle
about the horse's ears, who, stimulated partly by it and partly
by the added “Tschee, gee hup, ah,” made his way to the
door in question, and suddenly stopped there.

158
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
“A stranger!” called out the dragman, and pushed the
little door open; "are the things to be taken down here?”
Schwabe was still standing in the street, scarcely capable
of any effort, and unable to remove his gaze from the black
sign, -Coffee-house! That, then, was an American coffee-
house! The mother clasped her child a little closer; and
perhaps a presentiment passed through her mind for the first
time as to the probable result of all their carefully-laid plans.
At that moment, who should appear at the door of the coffee-
house but the very writer of the letter which had had such
important consequences ! And instead of standing there
abashed, horrified, and ready to sink into the earth from very
shame, as Schwabe had expected from the moment that he
saw the actuality before him, scarcely had the man recognised
his guest, than he fell upon his neck, and offered the heartiest
welcome both to him and to his wife. Thus Schwabe had
no time left him to express his astonishment, or his dismay:
he saw himself and his effects hurried at once into the little
room; and then he was so beset with questions about home
and friends, that at last he was quite glad of a moment's
breathing-time. He took advantage of it to glance around
the insignificant room in which he was placed, and the very
natural question, which had filled his whole soul, now rose to
his lips : “ And this thou callest a coffee-house ?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said the already somewhat Americanized
citizen with the utmost composure.
66 'Tis the custom here,
wherever Bacchus has room to stretch out an arm, 'tis called
at once a coffee-house, even if there are only a couple of
glasses and bottles of brandy and whisky standing behind
the bar-just as with me, for I have nothing more than these.
But don't fret about that. And as for you having had great
notions in your head, it fares no better with others--they all
come from Germany with them. All that is wanted here is,

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
159
to stir and to strive and to use one's hands; the rest will come
of itself."
Wagner, the coffee-house keeper, was right. Many things
in America, contemplated from Germany, appear to the ima-
gination as the coffee-house did to Wagner's. But when we
draw near, we exclaim: Good heavens! it was all, then, a mere
lie and invention, all boasting and falsehood; there is here
no coffee-house, but a mere wooden shed! And for the mo-
ment, and according to our own previous ideas, we are quite
right; but as soon as we are a little better informed on the
subject, as soon as we have shaken the old German dust out
of our eyes, we learn to see things from a different point of
view, and suddenly discover that it is a coffee-house, or at
least that we are able to make it one, if only we have a firm
and strong will to do so. Then we find out that our hands
are not tied and bound from free exertion, as they are in the
Old World, and learn willingly and gladly to proceed with
what at the beginning—as the mere outer shell and husk
of the whole--had appeared to us so hard and indigestible.
This does not, be it understood, apply to coffee-houses alone,
but to almost all undertakings and circumstances in America.
Exaggerated accounts are sent over to us in the old country;
or if not exactly exaggerated, at least stated in such a way as
to leave, even if true as to the letter, a free scope to our ima-
gination to dilate upon the good and the advantageous, and
to ignore the darker side of the picture. The German in
whose head the plans of emigration are already fermenting,
is only too much inclined to dress out and embellish all that
he hears, in fancy's fairest colours; and when he arrives at the
place in question, and finds that what he had pictured to him-
self, has no existence—that what was currently reported never
happened, he loses heart, and bitterly reproaches those who
wrote the accounts that have misled him. Nay, the danger


160
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
is not averted even by mentioning the existing drawbacks,
unless much stress be laid upon them; for, in point of fact,
the reader skips lightly over them, and thinks only: “Pooh,
pooh! those are trifles that will soon be forgotten, and perhaps
they are not so bad as we think them here.”
On this account it is, that those who write reports relating
to emigration, should make it a point of duty not merely to
mention, but to dwell upon the least and most insignificant
drawbacks in the country that they recommend ; and rather
to over than to under state them, since the fancy of those who
wish to emigrate will always smooth down the rough edges.
If this were done, the European would not be so often fright-
ened back again on his very first landing, and deprived of all
spirit just when he most needs energy and decision. Many
disguise all the inconveniences, because they know that these
are mere inconveniences and not actual disadvantages; but
for this reason they ought, on the contrary, plainly to state
them all, for to the German emigrant, America offers such
immense advantages, that one may boldly venture to name
what the country or the customs of the New World have of
counterbalancing drawbacks, without any fear of frightening
away thereby the field-labourer—the proper sort of man for
America. Let the little spruce and dressed-up gentry remain
in Europe, since they cannot elsewhere have the thousand
conveniences—thousand enjoyments, or what they find such,
with which they are unwilling to dispense; and this will be
best for both parties, for America does not need men of this
stamp, with their perfumed handkerchiefs and well-curled
locks; let them, I say, tarry at home, till they perish with
the old worn-out systems to which they cling.
But I have entirely lost the thread of my narrative, and
will now hasten back as quickly as possible to the Coffee-
house - zur Stadt München."
THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
161
There the two Germans cheerfully sat together- not over a
cup of coffee, which was only to be had in the morning for
breakfast, but over a good glass of Cincinnati beer, chatting
over their mutual plans.
Wagner had been quite correct in his statement to his
cousin. He had earned a small capital by the labour of his
.
hands, and with it he had done what Germans too often do in
all the American towns, but in Cincinnati especially-he had
set up a drinking-booth, or, as it was named without any
fault of his, a coffee-house. Although no longer the profitable
concern that it once was, on account of the immense competi-
tion now existing, he yet made a livelihood thereby; and as
he spent little upon his own comforts, he was even able to
lay by a small sum yearly.
As his present dwelling was so confined, that for the first
night they all had to sleep in one room, he now thought of
taking a larger one, and of extending his business a little.
He invited Schwabe and his wife to remain for some time
with him, and to help him in all things connected with his
house and his occupations; and in return he offered them
board and lodging, and a salary besides-small and insignifi-
cant, it is true. Yet in this too, Wagner was right; for they
could not hope to make much at first, since they were begin-
ning an entirely new way of life, and must therefore, like all
others, be they who they may, pay for their apprenticeship.
Schwabe, who at the first sight of the house had thought
matters much worse than they really proved, was quite satis-
fied with the arrangement; and the very next day, when a
joiner came to extend the foundation a little—as Wagner meant
to take up his abode in the house next door—the labours con-
-
sequent upon such a move fairly began, in which both he and
his wife took a part with hearty good-will
, and remained ac-
cordingly upon the best terms with their relations.

a
І.

162
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
Thus six months passed away, and nothing occurred to
trouble the friendship and good understanding that existed
between the relatives ; indeed their life of constant toil left
them no time for thinking about anything else. But things
assumed a very different aspect when once the new public
house was completed and arranged. Then a more quiet and
uniform life set in, in which there was no longer any necessity
for all taking their share of toil alike. Now, for the first time,
and especially between the two women, unpleasant scenes be-
gan to take place, and bitter words to be exchanged. For
a season these passed over without serious consequences; a
reconciliation was either not thought to be worth effecting, or
was soon effected ; and the recollection that, after all, they
owed much to their kinsman, which they were bound to repay
as well as they could, kept the Schwabes for several weeks in
a position which would have been more tolerable to them but
for the reflection : “ They are our relatives, and yet they play
at being our master and mistress, and make us take the part
of servants.'
Schwabe, in fact, had to pour out the beer and spirits to
the customers, and to fill the post of bar-keeper, while Wag-
ner, who now took all possible care of himself, sat in the
corner and drank his own liquor. As for Schwabe's wife, who
had her little child of two years old to look after, she must
needs wash and iron, knit and sew, while Mrs. Wagner, as
she so well liked to be called, very seldom took any share in
these labours, and—which pained her cousin more than all
besides-instead of the former friendly demeanour, now began
actually to assume the bearing of a mistress.
The poor Schwabes would have left long ago, and sought
their fortune alone in the vast foreign land around them-
others succeeded so well, why should not they?—but there
was one thing that held them back from taking such a step,


THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
163
and chained them to the place they were beginning to find
thoroughly uncomfortable. This was their child—the little
two years old Louise-and the affection which Wagner's wife
appeared really to have for her. She treated her as if she
were her own; and the mother believed herself able to bear
anything herself so long as the poor little one profited by the
arrangement. Carl, their boy of ten years old, gave them
less anxiety. He was getting on famously; earned his bread
by a thousand little easy jobs that he did, or messages that
he carried, and would certainly not prove a burden to them,
even if they should determine to set up for themselves.
In this way a whole year was spent in the coffee-house,
which, now that the business of its owners was more flourish-
ing, had received a more distinguished title, and been advanced
from the simple “Stadt München” to “ City of Munich.”
But just at the same time with this advance of prosperity,
domestic
peace,
which had long been uncertain and tottering,
grew still more so. Wagner himself could not but perceive
it, nor could he conceal from himself the reason that detained
the Schwabes in their present painful position ; and at last
Mrs. Wagner so far dispensed with tact and kind feeling as to
meet her cousin more than half way. One morning she made
her the offer of bringing up her little daughter as her own,
since she herself was childless-this was a natural arrange-
ment, she said, if the Schwabes meant to go away altogether
--and further, she promised to keep the child till its parents
found themselves in better circumstances, and, having once
set up for themselves, might be able to reclaim and to main-
tain her.
It is true, that the mother could not easily make up her
mind to leave her child behind, with those who in a manner
were strangers, even though she was to be well cared for by
them; but at last, external circumstances, of by no means a


164
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
favourable nature, prevailed. Schwabe openly spoke of his
grievances to his cousin, who took very little trouble to remedy
them or to retain him; and so it came to pass, that in eight
days' time, after taking a sorrowful leave of the child, and
recommending her most earnestly to the affectionate care of
her new foster-parents, they set out in the steamboat “Gene-
ral Harrison,” down the Ohio, to the State of Louisiana,
whence favourable offers had been made to them by a Ger-
man, who had a short time before spent some months in Cin-
cinnati.
For many years things went on in this way. Schwabe found
in St. Francisville, a little town on the Mississippi, opposite
the settlement of Pointe-coupée, plenty of steady and profit-
able work at his disposal. His son grew up to be an athletic
young fellow, who could help him bravely; and by the eco-
nomical management of his wife, he saw his circumstances
gradually improve, till at last, he was in a condition to think
of setting up in some way or other, so as to get through life
without such constant toil.
The example of his cousin in Cincinnati may have tended
to inspire him with the thought, but at all events it was an
opportune one. In St. Francisville coffee-houses were still
scarce, and so he did not defer his purpose ; and soon, in walk-
ing along the opposite side of the street, he had the extreme
delight of looking across at his own little dwelling, which bore
a large blue sign, on which it was announced, in golden letters,
that Hermann Schwabe not only kept a coffee-house, but sold
beer, “cold and hot liqueurs, fresh oysters, gingerbread, and
meal pies,” and had moreover a depôt of genuine Boston-made
shoes and boots, and penitentiary felt hats.
What Schwabe had begun by hard manual labour, he car-
ried on with the help of a spirit of far-seeing and judicious
speculation, and before much time had elapsed, he came to

THE GERMAN AND IIIS CHILD.
165
rank, if not as a rich, at least as a decidedly well-to-do citizen
of the little town.
And now awoke in the hearts of both parents the wish they
had until now forcibly suppressed, to take back their little
Louise, of whom they had heard nothing for a fearfully long
while.
Letter-writing, in fact, was certainly one of Schwabe's
weak points: he would far rather have felled a tree four feet
in diameter than have written a single page. His intention
had therefore always been to go himself to Cincinnati and to
bring his daughter home; but opposing circumstances, the
sudden sickness of his wife, or an unusual press of business,
had from time to time compelled him to put off his journey,
and prevented his writing for his child. Another difficulty
now arose-how was she to be brought safely by utter strangers
all the way to St. Francisville ? Could they venture to make
her over to the care of a reckless steamboat captain ? Ameri-
can parents would have done so at once, but our Germans
were too anxious for this; and Schwabe began to fear that
their long-cherished wish must still remain ungratified, when
a most unexpected and excellent opportunity offered, which
he and his wife thankfully accepted.
A young German, from the neighbouring village of Bay-
Sarah, chanced to be going at this very time to Cincinnati,
to find out certain relatives newly arrived there from Ger-
many, and to bring them back with him to Louisiana. It
was impossible to imagine a more favourable plan for getting
Louise home to her parents. Schwabe therefore adopted it at
once, and with much labour and sorrow accomplished a toler-
ably legible letter to his cousin, in which he made known the
circumstances through which he had passed, and in which he
now stood, thanked him for his kindness to his child, and
begged of him to send her under the care of the bearer, a


166
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
worthy young neighbour of his, to her parents, who devoutly
longed to see her again.
Welbauer-such was the young man's name-set out in the
very next boat that called at Bay-Sarah on its way up the
river ; and Schwabe awaited in joyful impatience the arrival
of the daughter from whom he had been separated thirteen
years—for so much time had now elapsed since they had left
Cincinnati and settled in Louisiana. However, it was impos-
sible that Welbauer could be back in less than three weeks, for
the distance by water between their home and Cincinnati is
about thirteen hundred and fifty miles. The anxious parents
spent this necessarily intervening time in arranging a small
room comfortably for their expected child, so that from the
first she might feel cheerful and contented in her father's
house; and everything that they now did and planned was
with a hope of giving pleasure to this so long neglected
daughter.
At last the appointed time arrived, but Welbauer did not
return; and even a fourth week passed away without bringing
a letter or any intelligence of her so anxiously waited for.
Schwabe, who had kept on telling his wife to have patience,
as it was impossible to say what might have delayed the
young man's return, now began to be himself anxious, and
went two or three times daily to Bay-Sarah to hear what
boats had arrived, and what were still expected.
At last, in the fifth week, the long looked for traveller re-
turned in the Diana ; but poor Schwabe staggered and be-
came pale as death upon discovering that he was alone—that
his child was not with him; and then the trembling father
feared the worst.
But the dread that shot through his heart and filled it with
such infinite wo, proved after all to be unfounded. Welbauer
soon calmed his apprehensions by descriptions of the appear-

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD,
167
ance and welfare of his daughter. He had found the young
girl in good health and spirits ; she had shot up suddenly,
was tall for her age, and looked strong and blooming; but all
further particulars would be contained in a letter which he
had brought in reply, instead of Louise.
Schwabe already presaged what this letter contained. In
the latter part of his season of waiting, all manner of mourn-
ful and suspicious thoughts had crossed his mind, which he
had refrained from expressing to his wife, because he did not
wish to pain her by surmises which might, after all, turn out
to be quite unfounded. He tore the letter open, and saw
at once the realization of his darkest fears. The document
ran thus :-
“DEAR FRIEND AND COUSIN,—Right glad am I to hear
that you are prosperous, and have, through your industry and
frugality—the two qualities essential to success in America-
been able to realize a small property.
a
“We too are getting on very well ; far better than in the
days when you came to visit us in the little house at the
corner of Sycamore Street. I live now in the Middle Market
-you know it well—in Fifth Street. I have built a good
boarding-house, and have a very profitable connexion ; but
so much to do, I hardly know how to get through it.
“And now as to what relates to your daughter Louise; she
has grown up nicely, and is become a dear, good girl. My
wife is by this time so accustomed to her, that she cannot
possibly think of parting with her. Do not be angry
with
me for not fulfilling your wish, and sending her back. When
you come to reflect, you can hardly blame us. Only think-
we have had all the anxiety and trouble with the child when
young, and now that she is just grown up, and begins to repay
us for our care and expense, are we to be expected to give her
up? My wife loves her as though she were her own daugh-

168
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ter. We always send her to school, and give her an excellent
education ; what, then, can you require? But really my wife
cannot think of parting with the child, and we do most
earnestly entreat you to let her remain with us.
“ With every wish for your prosperity in St. Francisville,
and begging you to think often of us, as we of you,--I sub-
scribe myself, your truly affectionate friend and cousin,
" FRITZ WAGNER.
“Middle Market, north-west corner of Walnut Street.
66
"Postscript.--Louise sends you her best love, and wishes
you health and happiness. What is the price of butter with
you ? here it rose yesterday two cents; but pork is much
cheaper than it used to be when you were with us.
"YOUR COUSIN."
The letter was confused in style, but the purport of it was
plain and simple enough; and Schwabe walked for half an
hour up and down on the pier like one stunned. How could
he bear to impart its unkind contents to his wife ? But, on
the other hand, how could he suppress them, since to do so
were to make her believe that some misfortune had overtaken
the child ?
The distrust of Wagner, which Schwabe himself entertained,
was much increased by all that Welbauer had to tell. He
having promised to the parents to bring home their child, and
meeting with this unexpected resistance to the plan, made
strict inquiries as to the character and conduct of the people
with whom she lived. He found out that she was indeed
treated like a daughter, but by no means so regularly sent to
school as the letter gave out. On the contrary, when there
was any heavy work to be done, the poor girl was obliged to
remain at home from morning to evening; for Mrs. Wagner
had almost withdrawn from business, and only played the fine
lady.


THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
169
Louise, owing to her unceasing industry, was a very rare,
nay, a priceless treasure to them. If they gave her up, they
would have to engage a strange housekeeper, and not only to
pay her high wages, but also—and this is very dangerous in
America—to trust everything in the house to her mercy. But
with Louise they had neither to do the first, nor to fear the
second; for she, who scarcely remembered her own mother,
clung to her foster-parent with all a daughter's fondness; and
it
may therefore be easily conceived how, under these circum-
stances, the Wagners would do all in their power to keep their
adopted child with them during the whole period of her mi-
nority, that is, till her one-and-twentieth year.
Schwabe could not, as Wagner well knew, take any legal
steps with a chance of success, for no actual contract was
ever concluded between them; and if it came to be tried, the
defendant would either plead the legal space of time before
alluded to, or the plaintiff would have to pay a bill of costs
far exceeding his means. On the whole, it would never do
to keep the matter a secret from his wife ; sooner or later she
must needs know all about it, and together they could best
decide what were the most judicious steps to be taken.
So he went back to St. Francisville without further delay,
showed her the letter, and then let her question Welbauer as
to what further she wished to know. At first, the intelligence,
which fell upon her like a thunderbolt out of an unclouded
sky, rendered her positively frantic. She would, she declared,
appeal to a court of justice, firmly believing that no law in
the world could be iniquitous enough to keep back a child
from its own parents. But Schwabe had not been thirteen
years in America without learning something about the cus-
toms and the laws of the land ; and he feared, not without
reason, that an appeal of this kind would not only run away
with much of his money, but prove useless in the end.


170
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
"Self is the man,” he at length determined. “A mere
letter can be easily answered by another refusal ; but go there
as a father and claim thine own child, and even if the law
were to allow it, they could no longer have the heart to re-
fuse thee.”
As he had just completed all the different necessary arrange-
ments which had so long rendered a journey an impossi-
bility to him, he now came quickly to a decision, calmed the
agitation of his wife, solemnly promising to bring back her
child with him, and prepared himself cheerfully for the voyage
to Ohio.
“Be of good courage, mother,” he said with a smile, as he
was setting out on his journey, so suddenly determined on;
- what does it come to, after all? Why, if they will not give
me back
my
child willingly, I shall pretend to give in to what
I cannot help; but I shall come to a private understanding
with Louise-I shall take her off to a steamboat, and set out
with her at once. They may accuse and prosecute me if they
will, but no law will condemn a father for stealing his own
child, when he had failed to obtain her by fair means.”
Schwabe's few necessary preparations were soon made; the
question here was only of a short journey and a quick return.
But there was one thing that the mother gave him to take
charge of, which for many years past she had destined for her
child, but delayed to send her until now, and that was her
portrait. A young German artist, who had spent some months
with them a few years back, and fallen sick while under their
roof, had, out of gratitude for the kind attentions shown him
by these good people, painted miniatures of both, leaving
them behind him as keepsakes, and now the mother sent hers
to her child. Why she did so she herself did not know, for
before many days were over she expected the cherished one;
but however, she gave her husband an especial charge not to

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
171
forget to give it, as though the conviction that it would soon
be in the hands of her Louise somewhat calmed her anxieties,
and enabled her to contemplate the future with more com-
posure.
Schwabe went on board the very next steamboat going up
the river, and went with it as far as Kairo, at the mouth of
the Ohio, where he took another that was bound for Pitts-
burg; and nine days afterwards he arrived in the city where
he had landed fourteen years before as a poor, homeless emi-
grant, and in which he had first found shelter and hospi-
tality.
He was surprised at the way in which his heart now
beat, with sorrowful and anxious throbs, as though he were
undertaking or contemplating some evil action. And yet
he wanted nothing in all God's great world but to bear back
his own loved child to her mother's arms. This painful
feeling increased so much as he ascended the steep landing-
place, then passed through the main street, and at last, turn-
ing to the left, reached the Middle Market, that he was twice
obliged to stand still to take breath. But he felt very differ-
ently when, having at last overcome this strange tremor,
he entered the house described by Welbauer, and by Wagner
in bis letter-the house in which he might see his long-lost
child, and fold her in his arms once more. Then all his old
spirits returned, his blood circulated again freely, and he was
about to give expression to the feelings that filled his breast
to bursting, when he remarked that tears were standing in
his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, and there was no
necessity that these should be seen by the strangers who were
constantly coming in and out, and who surrounded him on
side. He made a violent effort, pressed the hat he had
not taken off, lower upon his brows, and dragged Wagner
away with him to another room; for he was ashamed that

every side.

172
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
people should see him weeping, and hoped by and bye to be
able to control himself better.
But a conversation with Wagner alone, which was what
he had desired in the first instance, was not accorded to him ;
for Mrs. Wagner, who maintained that this was a question
in which she was the party most interested, joined them, and
breaking through all the introductory remarks which Schwabe
had planned, she at once, and without any circumlocution,
forced to light the real motive of his visit.
This had one advantage, for in his embarrassment poor
Schwabe really did not know how he had best introduce the
subject; but, on the other hand, it inspired him with the
nowise cheering conviction, that a friendly agreement was im-
possible with such a woman as he had to deal with here ; for
Madame at once stated in round terms, that with her consent
the girl never should leave her house, and still less without
it. Besides, and without any scruple, she reminded the poor
father how hospitably he and his whole family had been re-
ceived by her husband and herself; with what kind considera-
tion they had afterwards consented to take charge of one of
the children, with whom, till quite lately, they had had no-
thing but trouble, anxiety, and expense. And now that this
child had reached an age at which they might hope to reap
what long ago they had sown,-now, forsooth, her father, who
for years and years had never even inquired for her, came to
carry her off without a word of warning! But that would
never take place while law and justice were to be found in the
land, or as long as she had a tongue to speak and a hand
to hinder.
“ However,” added she, in a biting tone, “ if Mr. Schwabe
should happen to have a trifle of three thousand five hundred
dollars by him to pay for his daughter's board and schooling
for the fourteen years past, he was welcome to take her away
a
THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
173
a
with him as far as she was concerned; but if the girl herself
consented to go, consented to leave one who had been more
than a mother to her more than her mother at all events-
why, then, she should only have to feel that she had nursed an
ungrateful viper in her bosom, and though her heart might
bleed she must learn to bear it."
But what, meanwhile, said the one whose future support,
whose happiness or unhappiness, henceforth were now at
stake—what said Louise to all this? Which side did her
heart lean to, and how did she receive the father whose ar-
rival had surprised, nay more, terrified her? What, indeed,
could the poor girl say ? From the time when her mother
left her behind, a small child, incapable of remembrance,
she had always been accustomed to consider the Wagners'
house that of her parents, or at least to look upon it as her
home. Here everything was familiar, while her real parents
grew into more and more perfect strangers, as the recollection
of a few early scenes gave place, in her young heart, to later
and livelier impressions. She had even forgotten the name of
.
mother; though when she heard it used by other children,
it sounded through her being like some soft and far-distant
chime of bells. That was the recollection of the time when
she bad lisped out the dear name, as she hung around her own
mother's neck, but it was only a very distant chime, and the
music was too faint, too indistinct, to produce a definite im-
pression.
Wagner of late, especially since Welbauer's visit, had not
scrupled to give the poor child to understand—less indeed by
actual statement than by casual and undefined expressions-
that there, where they wished to carry her, a nowise happy
existence awaited her—that she would have no one to love
her there, as she had here, in her real and only home. Mrs.
Wagner, too, since that time, had become much more cordial



174
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
and affectionate to Louise ; called her often child and daugh-
ter, improved her simple but yet respectable wardrobe, and
gave her more liberty than she had hitherto had: not the less
on this account did the poor girl's heart beat, when she heard
that her father wished to see her. Had she not been before
told that her parents wanted to reclaim her, and might he not
have come with this view to Cincinnati ? Her pulse flew, and
a faintness came over her, as if some great misfortune were
threatening her, which she saw approach, and yet felt power-
less to avoid.
Schwabe, meantime, after his conversation with the Wag-
ners, left their house sad and downcast, sauntered slowly up
the Middle Market to the Catholic church, revolving with a
heavy heart the last words of his infuriated cousin : “That
she should consider Louise as a viper that she had nourished
in her bosom.” Ungrateful!—the reproach sank deep down
into his wounded spirit; and he wandered sadly along the wide
sunny street, his eyes firmly fixed
upon
the pavement.
“Hallo! Schwabe, as sure as I live! and in deep thought,
eh?” suddenly cried a loud cheerful voice. “ Are you be-
come a bank director, that you make such a gloomy face-
and do not recognise an old friend?”
Schwabe looked up quickly, and recognised with joyful
surprise an old acquaintance and fellow-passenger, who had
emigrated with him from Germany, and afterwards came to
Cincinnati; but, unlike Schwabe, who left it for Louisiana, had
remained there all the time, set up a brewery, and now found
himself well off and comfortable. He was standing at the door
of an apothecary's shop, and stretched out his hand hastily to
his surprised countryman, who had stood still amazed.
“But now, just tell me, old fellow,” asked the stranger,
after the first greetings were over, and he had passed his arm
through that of his companion : "you look as if some hor-

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
175
2
rible misfortune had just overtaken you; what is the matter,
what ails you, and where are you going ?”
“Nowhere,” said Schwabe; “I was just sauntering on,
thinking. But, however".
" Then we will turn round at once," said the brewer, swing-
ing round without further delay. “Since you have got no-
thing to do out of doors, and that my brewery and beer-shop
are there within, why, there you must come and confess, my
boy; and unless the case is very desperate indeed, we shall
find out some plan or other to mend it.”
Schwabe, to whom it was a real comfort to be diverted for
a while from his gloomy thoughts, as well as to have some-
body to whom he might open out his heart, went willingly
with his new-found friend; and as soon as they had arrived
at his house, told him his whole story very circumstantially,
,
-stated his obligations to Wagner; the determination they
(the Wagners) had just expressed; and, finally, the despair
into which his wife would be thrown, if after all he were now
to return without the child.
The brewer listened to him attentively, with his head
buried between his arms, and his arms leaning upon the table.
He never once interrupted him, but often took long deep-
drawn draughts from a giant pewter measure that stood before
him, reminding one of the old German tankards; but when at
length Schwabe concluded with saying how the reproach of
ingratitude pained him, and made him hesitate as to what
course he should take, the brewer thumped the table with all
his might, so that the very window-panes rattled, and ex-
claimed that Wagner was a rogue, as he would tell him in
writing; but first he would now convince Schwabe, that if
any one had cause for gratitude it was no other than Wagner
himself, who had had a real treasure in the girl for many
and
many a year.

a

176
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
And now he imparted to the father—who listened, as may
be supposed, with the deepest attention--all that the child
had been in the habit of doing ever since she was eight years
old, and that was now a space of eight years; how, since her
eleventh
year, she had managed the business nearly alone,
and had hardly ever been sent to school, but kept at home all
the time, that the comfort of the “Missis," as she was called,
might not be in any way disturbed. And more than this,
when the said Missis was ill, three years ago, with a raging
nervous fever, Louise had watched by her bed-side night and
day for weeks-nay months, and even a year ago she had
had again to nurse her through an equally tedious though
less dangerous illness; and that, in short, whatever they might
have done for her when she was a little child, she had richly,
yea over and over again, repaid it them. Therefore, if there
was to be a question of gratitude, it ought all to be on Wag-
ner's part. And even their taking her when she was a little
child was a matter of selfishness rather than humanity; for,
since they were childless, it was a pleasure to them to have
the merry little creature, while it cost the parents sorrow
enough to leave her behind.
“But put all that on one side,” said the brewer, rapidly
continuing his comforting discourse in a rather lower tone, and
bending down nearer his friend. “ There is yet another rea-
son,
which we have often discussed in the town, though it
did not concern us, and which were alone sufficient to make
it your duty, Schwabe, to take away your child with you.”
Schwabe now listened more attentively than ever; while
his friend, sinking his voice to a whisper, went on :
“If I were a father, I should take my child—especially if
a girl-away with me this very day; for in that house she can
learn no good. How is it that Wagner is so suddenly be-
come a wealthy man? By his tap-room, perhaps. No, no;


THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
177
--
I know better than that: by the secret gambling that is
carried on in his house—artfully enough ; for the police, who
have three times paid him a visit of inspection by night, have
never yet been able to find him out. But since they would
not dare to trust the secret to any other bar-keeper, the poor
girl must needs sit up almost every night till one or two
o'clock with this rough company; and even if Wagner does
remain in the room, she still must hear-who can hinder that?
--all the low wicked language of a class of men who, in their
passion for gaming, degrade themselves below the brutes. It
is true that the poor child, accustomed to it for so many years,
knows no better; but, were I her father, she should not spend
another hour in that house.”
“But dear, kind friend,” said Schwabe—from whose heart
one heavy anxiety had been removed, it is true, but only to
load it with another more painful still—“how shall I get her
away? If I take legal measures to reclaim her, they will
bring me in a bill for her board and education, which, from
what the woman herself said about it, is far beyond my power
to pay.”
“No, we must not let it come to that,” replied the brewer
quickly. “At all events, you must try first to get one advan-
tage on your side, and that is the right of possession, which
is Wagner's now. It is confoundedly difficult here in Ame-
rica, if once a man has a thing, to tear it away from him,
even if he have a less claim to it than Wagner has in this
But if things were reversed, if your daughter were once
with
you,
and Wagner were to try to get her back, or to get
the sum of money in compensation, then he would have to
prosecute, and you on your part might set up a counter-claim
for service rendered since she has grown up.
" Then nothing remains to me,” cried Schwabe, “but to
steal my own child !”

case.
M

178
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“ That is just my notion," said the brewer, emptying the
remaining contents of the pewter measure at one draught.
" That is just my notion,” repeated he, as he finished it, and,
shutting down the lid, put it back on the table ; " and there is
nothing easier to do than that. I came this morning with
the mail-boat from Louisville, and I saw at the landing the
sternwheel-boat* Raritan, which, as the captain told us,
leaves Cincinnati to-morrow as the clock strikes eight. The
Raritan goes only down the Mississippi to the mouth of the
Arkansas; but that does not matter, for two or three down
steamboats call there daily, and you may both be in Louisiana
in five or six days' time.”
“But how shall I get Louise away without Wagner finding
it out?!
“ Louise ? Oh! that is simple enough, for Wagner never
appears till nine o'clock. He sleeps late because he is so late
at night, while the poor young girl must be looking after the
breakfast, and all besides, from six o'clock in the morning.
Then she goes to the market to buy the eggs, heats the oven,
and in short, Heaven only knows how many things she has to
do. You must see to it that you get an opportunity this very
evening of speaking to your daughter, and then—leave the
rest to me; I am well known yonder, and will manage it all
for you. But now, not to arouse unnecessary suspicions—I
,
should perhaps say not to increase the suspicion that exists
already-go you back to Wagner's house, and say that
you implore them, the Wagners, to consider your request
once more, and to remember the anguish of the poor mother,
and so forth. That will do no good, but it will make them
feel safe. Afterwards, tell them that you are determined to
* A sternwheel-boat is a steamboat that has only one large wheel or paddle at the
stern, by which it is propelled onwards. But these boats do not appear to be very effi-
cient, and there are but few of them on the American rivers.

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
179
remain three days in Cincinnati, and at their end must receive
a positive answer from them; but say that to them only when
they are alone—dost understand? We do not want any wit-
nesses brought to that. By the way, have they already in-
vited you to remain with them ?”
“No; but they do not even know how long I think of
remaining here."
“Very good, so much the better; if they do so now, you
must say that you have already promised to stay with me.
Early in the morning, you will have nothing to do when I
hear the signal given for the boat's departure but to go and
fetch your child; a carriage shall be all ready for you in Main
Street, and I will see to it that they shall not set off till you
are fairly on board.”
All the further difficulties made by the still half-irresolute
Schwabe were treated with scorn by the honest brewer, who
persuaded him that unless he was an unnatural father, he
really must take his child away with him; and he dwelt upon
this with such heartfelt earnestness, that Schwabe, whose
warmest wishes had from the beginning tended to this course,
was but too happy to allow himself to be led to it by his
newly-found friend, and therefore they had only now to advise
together as to the next measures to be taken.
This done, he returned to Wagner's house; but in spite of
all his attempts to speak to his daughter alone, were it but
for a few minutes, he was not able to manage it: for he feared
directly to ask for more conversation with her, lest be should
by so doing excite suspicion. On the contrary, he even took
the precaution of telling his cousin, by way of increasing his
sense of security, that since he found himself once more in
Cincinnati, he thought he would pay a visit to an acquaint-
ance of his who had crossed the sea with him, and now lived
about two miles from the town; and this being the case,
he

180
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
should not return on the morrow till about two o'clock in the
morning. He was scarcely able to exchange a word with his
constantly occupied child; but this he had foreseen, and pro-
vided for accordingly. The brewer was to spend the evening
at Wagner's, and to prepare Louise, whenever he had an oppor-
tunity, for the contemplated departure on the morrow. They
reposed much confidence in her quickness and cleverness, and
believed that they had now arranged the whole matter in the
best and most effectual way possible.
But honest and honourable as our good brewer was, and
excellent as were his intentions in this particular case, we
must, to speak truly, own that he was nothing of a diplo-
matist, and could never compass any end requiring art and
cunning. Consequently it came to pass in this instance that
for a whole hour he sought in vain even to make Schwabe's
daughter aware that he had anything to communicate to her.
It was in vain that he remained in the middle of the tap-room,
standing in the way of all the guests, in the hope of speaking
to her as she passed by. It was in vain that for more than a
quarter of an hour he filled up the court-door with his broad
angular form ; Louise did not once come out, and he was at last
pushed away by the united efforts of the bar-keeper and the
black cook, and given to understand that this was the Very
last place where he was wanted. He was already beginning
to excite the attention of the guests, when it occurred to him
to pursue some less dangerous and yet certain mode of opera-
tion. With this intention he seated himself in one of the least
conspicuous corners of the room, squeezing himself in be-
tween the sharp edge of the table and the great case of the
clock, with his pewter mug and a lighted candle-it was
already dark-placed close before him. Thus he had the
advantage of looking round the whole room without being
obliged to turn his head. And as soon as he found himself

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
181
unnoticed, he struck the measure before him with the snuffers,
knowing well that this would at once bring Louise to his side.
The young girl sprang towards him in a moment, and stretched
out her hand to the pewter mug in order to fill it again; but
the brewer held it fast with his left hand, and seizing her arm
with his right, bent towards her, and whispered in a low quiet
voice-
“Don't be frightened-he will be here early to-morrow!”
Louise was so much startled by the suddenness of the warn-
ing, and by the extraordinary grimace with which the brewer
accompanied it, that she could not suppress a slight scream.
The guests turned round in consequence of this, and naturally
directed their glances towards him who sat in the corner
from which the sound had come. But he snatched back his
hand, looked stiff and stolid, sucked in his cheeks, pressed his
lips together, and cut such an extraordinary figure of utter in-
difference, and of having nothing at all to say to it, that
Louise, who had watched the sudden transformation, burst
out laughing, and was joined by many of the bystanders.
The brewer, however, did not allow his composure to be
disturbed by such trifles; though he plainly saw that for the
;
present his chance was over, and that he must let at least half
an hour or so elapse before he made any further attempt.
When he struck his mug the second time, Louise looked
towards him, but remained standing where she was, and the
brewer's suddenly and strangely distorted countenance soon
called the dimples back to her cheek, for she could not sup-
pose that this ugly grimacing had any special meaning in it
for her; yet so it was, as soon as he could do so unobserved.
The brewer gave himself inconceivable pains to make an im-
pression upon her; and the half sly, half sad side-glances that
he threw around the room were so irresistibly comic, that the
young girl, for whose advantage this generally grave man dis-

182
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
played all these muscular contortions, at last, in much merri-
ment, and in the sincere persuasion that the brewer had drunk
more than enough to quench his thirst, called her foster
father's attention to him, and thereby at once destroyed all
our friend's deeply laid plans. Wagner soon went to sit down
by him, and the brewer left in about an hour after, in a tower-
ing passion with him and his “ City of Munich.”
Thus it had been impossible to the two allies to prepare the
daughter so as to save time on the following morning. But
not the less did they complete all the necessary arrangements;
even buying clothes for Louise, who was on no account to take
with her more than one dress given her by Wagner. As for
a bonnet and other necessary things that she would immedi-
ately require, they might easily be bought in the town of
Louisville, a hundred and fifty miles off, where they would
have plenty of time to make their purchases while the steam-
boat wound its way slowly through the sluices of the canal.
The morning so anxiously and impatiently longed for by
Schwabe broke at last. Below the pier head the firemen and
sailors belonging to the Raritan were already busily engaged
in heating the boiler and washing and cleaning the deck with
countless buckets of river water. Above, in the Fifth Street,
the bar-keeper opened the shutters of the German coffee-house,
brushed out the tap-room, and then went to his customary
morning's work of purifying and airing the gambling-room
that lay hidden in the back part of the house, and to prepare
it for the next occasion, which task he never got through
much before nine or ten o'clock. In the meantime, Louise
was busy in the bar dusting the bottles and tables, rinsing and
wiping the glasses, laying clean napkins on the different
coffee-boards, filling little flasks with stomachic bitters and
peppermint-water, cleaning the dull-looking windows, and do-
ing all sorts of things to make the room look fresh and neat.

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
183
She was thus so busily employed, that she did not remark
that a man was standing at the open door, and watching her
active movements most attentively.
The poor girl meanwhile, busy as she was, had been turn-
ing over in her little head sad and serious thoughts enough.
Had not her father arrived, as Mrs. Wagner told her, anxious
to tear her away from her present love-bought home, and to
carry her off to another—so her foster parents said-where
she would have to lead a joyless and dreary existence? Was
she obliged to follow him ? or might she remain if they re-
fused her to him ? Yes, in that case, was she at liberty to
remain ? or did filial duty constrain her to follow him who
had received from nature the first and holiest right to claim
her? Alas! who would help her out of these doubts? what
right-minded friend would advise her what to do—wbat to
avoid ?
“ Louise,” said a low tender voice,“ my child-my daugh-
ter!"
And Louise, when she heard the recognised voice, started
so that a glass which she was wiping fell out of her hand and
was shattered on the floor. Quick as lightning, she turned
round, and there stood before her, with arms lovingly out-
stretched-her father! The poor child grew pale as death,
trembled in every limb, and had no power
limb, and had no power to utter a single
word ; Schwabe, however, seized her hand, drew her scarcely
resisting form towards him, and whispered, while he caress-
ingly parted the hair on her brow-
“My child, my dear child, thou wilt not, wilt thou, let me
return to thy mother alone? She would break her heart if I
did---no, no; and thou wilt never leave us again; and we
will be always together; and thou wilt go
wilt thou
not, my good Louise--with me, to thy own mother in Loui-
siana ?”
with
me,

184
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
26
66
"But will Mrs. Wagner give me leave ?” murmured the
poor girl, in sorrow and irresolution ; " will she ?”
They are bad people who want to keep thee from thy
parents,” the father continued.
“Thou art not well cared
for here; the brewer has told me all about it. But more of
that later—now the time is short, in a few moments the
steamboat will be going, the chains are already off-she is
only fastened by a single rope, and waits for us.'
“ Now !" cried Louise terrified, and tried to get her arm
away ; “ am I to go now ?—to steal away in secret ?”
" Thou art to go to thy mother's arms, Louise; to thine
own people, who will love and regard and care for thee, as
they have wished to do for many years past.”
“ And am I to leave this house-to leave my parents, with-
out any farewell ?” said the poor girl, in extreme distress.
“No one is here in the shop; they have treated me as their
child; they love me--and I—and I”—
A sharp rapping at the window interrupted her, and at that
moment the woolly head of a little negro boy appeared at the
door, and called out in a shrill voice, “ Raritan is off, massa
-steam's up already-carriage stands at the corner.”
“You see, my child, all is ready," whispered the father,
drawing her to the door ; “in a few minutes we shall be on
the steamer, in five days thou wilt be in the arms, as in the
heart of thy mother; come, Louise, come !"
“Gracious Heaven! I cannot; and I will not thus steal
from a house that has for so many years afforded me shelter
and protection. I would willingly go with you, father, but
not so—not so"-
" Louise, my child !” implored her father once more, and
the strength of his emotion almost choked his voice ; "thou
wilt not, thou shalt not let me return alone to thy mother?
Thou must go with me; I command thee as a father.”
a
-

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
185
66
“For God's sake, father, you crush my arm; I really will
not go.”
" Hallo there! who would make you go ?” suddenly ex-
claimed a rough angry voice; and Wagner, still in his morn-
ing costume, with sleepy eyes and streaming hair, appeared
at the door, where he remained standing, as soon as he saw
that at his appearance Schwabe reluctantly relinquished his
hold
upon his daughter's arm, and turned towards him.
“So, sir," he said, in mocking voice, “ this ambush was
laid in order to steal from us the child that we have cherished
as our own for so many years, just as she is beginning to
recompense our care? The best thing, then, that I can do is
to go at once to a court of justice and make the case known.
I am a citizen of this town, and we shall soon see whether the
law will protect my property or not.”
" Wagner," murmured Schwabe, his mournful gaze fixed
meanwhile upon his child, who, incapable of further exertion
now that her fate was decided, leant upon the table and wept
as though her heart would break; “ Wagner, God forgive thee
for refusing thus to give back a child to her parents! As for
the sum thou requirest, thou knowest very well that I am not
in a condition to pay it; but thou knowest equally well that
thou hast no right to that sum—that my child has worked
for thee so as amply to repay for the little that she has
eaten, and that has been spent in clothing her. God alone
sees the heart, and He discerns what means thou hast employed
to turn this young creature against me. That I would have
taken my child away with me without thy knowledge I do not
deny, and if thou hadst hindered it I should have been both
pained and angry; but she herself refuses to go with me, she
,
denies her parents' claims, and that is hard indeed—this I had
not expected, and this hurts me much-hurts me, Wagner,
far more than any words of thine could ever do. So now

186
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
good bye to you all; I go back to Louisiana. But thou, my
child, my Louise”—and here the fast-flowing tears almost
choked his utterance—"never mayest thou feel, never mayest
thou guess, what sorrow thou hast caused thy poor parents,
who were—God is my witness !—forced by circumstances
alone, to leave thee so long in the hands of strangers. Fare-
well, and may God bless thee! I cannot be angry with thee.
But stay—thy mother gave me this for thee. I once thought
there would be no need that I should be the one to make it
over to thee; but so it was to be. Thy poor mother!"
He approached his daughter, put a small parcel on the
table by her, pressed her once more fervently to his heart,
kissed her forehead, and disappeared from the room almost
before Louise knew that he had left her. The little negro
boy followed, with a look of utter amazement in his dark face.
How Schwabe reached Main Street, and the carriage wait-
ing there, he never knew : he only felt the light gig, in a
corner of which he sat with his hands convulsively clasped
over his face, rattling along the steep street, and then stopping
before the puffing snorting steamboat. Then it was that he
first regained possession of his scattered senses, as the brewer,
who was waiting for him there, tore open the carriage door,
and stood aghast at seeing his friend return alone. But
there was no time for explanation; the impatient call of the
captain, who until now had waited with unusual good humour,
summoned him on board.
“She would not come with me!” cried the poor father
mournfully; and tearing himself away from his friend, who
tried to detain him, he sprang on board. And the steamer,
puffing and blowing, backed out into the river, and threw the
waves its progress raised, on the landing-place it had just left.
When it reached the middle of the stream the engine stopped
for a moment, and the boat was carried down a little way by

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
187
the current; then it bent to one side, turned its bow to the
west, and shot away almost with lightning speed, while the
,
one powerful stern-paddle flung the foaming and hissing
water far behind it.
And Louise ? -
Throughout the whole day the poor girl was scarcely in a
condition to attend to her customary avocations; her brow
burned feverishly, and she felt as if moving about in a dream,
from which she must wake the next moment. Her father!
That was her father who so wished to take her away with
him--to take her away to her mother! She had a mother,
then, but far away from her; a mother who perhaps loved
her, and longed and waited for her. And she—0 how the
poor child's pulse flew! how her eyes smarted and burned !
She could hardly stand upright; and Wagner, who remarked
her altered demeanour, angrily sent her off to her room.
When she got there she was about to throw herself at once
on the bed, but that the small packet her father had given
her at parting, caught her eye. She lit her little lamp, and
by its faint glimmer she untied the string that was about it.
Ha! what is this? A little picture looks up at her, and a
small, thick, closely-folded letter slips out and falls at her
feet. This picture—this must be her mother, the mother
whose truthful blue eyes smile on her so lovingly. And these
eyes! they must now be filled with tears, with burning pain-
ful tears, when her father returns without his child, and tells
the mother that her daughter does not wish to hear or know
anything about her—that she has refused to follow him!
Louise leant her head on her hand, and gazed long and
thoughtfully upon the beloved face, to which she had so often
looked up as a little child and lisped out, “Mother.” Her
eyes filled with tears. And then the folded letter caught her
attention; she picked it up and opened it.

188
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
46
“My darling child,”—so it ran-“it is true that I cannot
write myself; for in the first place, I never learnt, and besides
I am now very weak and ill with longing to see thee. But
our bar-keeper has been kind enough to pen these few lines
for me.
Had I been able, ah how often, thou dear child,
should I have written to thee! But that does not signify
any longer, now thou art coming to us, and nothing in the
wide world shall part us more. Ah, thou little knowest how
I
yearn
for thee! I think I should die if I were not soon to
hold thee in my arms.
It is true that I have left thee very
long without any tidings of me, but thou art not, art thou,
angry with thy poor mother on that account? Oh, hence-
forth how I will love and cherish thee! There is my picture
for thee; it is exactly like. I have given it a thousand kisses
for thee, and it may give them thee again, till I myself can
clasp thee to my heart. But now fare-thee-well, right well-
beloved daughter; and may God lead thee very soon and
very safely to my arms! Thou art greeted and kissed many
hundred thousand times by-Thy MOTHER.”
Louise sat long, long on her bed and gazed upon the
letter. Again and again she read it over, pressed her burn-
ing brow with her little cold hands, and then with bitter
self-reproach remained absorbed in its contents. At last her
irrepressible anguish made itself a way: she pressed the
picture to her lips with a flood of tears, and then sank
down on her bed, sobbing out the bitter wail,—“Too late,
too late! all is over now, and I have lost my mother for
ever!"
-
We will now pass over an interval of five months, and
again invite the reader to ascend with us the somewhat steep
but short hill which leads from the boundary of Bay-Sarah
to the first houses of the little town of St. Francisville.

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
189
There, on the left hand as we ascend, where the wide sub-
stantial stable invites the planters on their way to the town to
put up their horses, and to take a refreshing draught them-
selves meanwhile—there the comfortable white house, with
the blinds and the broad verandah with the low roof, and the
hospitable bench by the door, still stands ; but the sign-where
is the blue sign, with the large gold letters announcing the
name of the worthy host? where is the long narrow tablet
that enumerated in golden characters all the dainties and
delicacies that the place afforded ? Alas, dear reader ! every-
thing in the house looks desolate and untidy; the signs are
taken down from their iron books; the walls and rooms are
empty and forsaken. In the once pleasant and quiet parlour
up stairs, straw, and little bits of pack-thread, and odds and
ends of ribbon, are now lying; while the room below, and
the bar, are all cleaned out and made ready, as if, as soon as
the one family had left, another were coming in. And so it
was, for mournful changes had been taking place in the house
of our honest Germans.
When Schwabe returned without his child, and the poor
mother gradually heard—was obliged to hear—the whole
truth, grief and regret for their lost one threw her upon a bed
of sickness, and a violent nervous fever threatened her life.
It is true that the poor woman's good constitution triumphed
at last, but her spirits were gone ; and pale and thin she
,
wandered about the house, more like a corpse than a liv-
ing, sentient being. Schwabe too, grew more and more sad
and downcast; he neglected his business and his customers,
for he no longer took any pleasure in them, but on the con-
trary, would sit for hours together behind the table, staring
all the time into one corner, yet seeing nothing.
This went on for about two months. At first his wife's
illness occupied him so muab shat he had no time to think

190
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
about himself; but at last he came to a decision that he would
go on in this way no longer.
Here he had, it is true, a very pretty property, which main-
tained him: things prospered with him, and he wanted for
nothing so far as bodily comfort was concerned. But of what
avail was that, when an undying worm kept gnawing at his
heart, when he saw his wife pine to death for her absent
child, and felt after all, forced to inflict upon himself much
well-founded self-reproach? For, for how many long years
they had not troubled themselves about their daughter, and
could they now satisfy their consciences by saying that this
arose from their believing that she was better brought up by
others than she could have been by them? No; for the con-
viction now forced upon Schwabe by his own observation, but
especially by the brewer's disclosures, was, that if bis girl had
been physically well cared for, it was far otherwise with re-
spect to her moral training. She was only made a means
of doing without a housekeeper, and as useful as possible
to the people with whom she lived ; and he, her father, had
never in the course of so many years seen to this—nay, his
attention had been first called to the subject by strangers.
Yet all was not yet lost: there was still, thank God! a
means of repairing his fault, and that means—this was the
first cheerful thought that had shot through his heart for
many a long day—that means was the fruit of his own honest
industry. When he began his career in America, he had
little or nothing to call his own—not even experience, which,
by the way, is generally bought uncommonly dear in the
United States. But now, on the contrary, he had the expe-
rience of many years; he knew the ways and customs of the
people; and therefore, if he were really to begin life again,
would not that beginning be much easier than the first was?
Of course it would ; and his resolve was taken. The question

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
191
-
a
here was only one of money, which he possessed, and could do
very well without; and his wife's peace of mind, his child's
return, were to be bought by it. After all, what was it?
He only renounced advantages that he had acquired—a gra-
dually attained degree of comfort; and now that the self-con-
quest was won, the deed at once followed the firm will; and
as he took all the necessary steps, he only wondered that he
had ever for a moment hesitated, instead of at once sacrificing
all when first required to do so—if indeed that deserved to be
called a sacrifice which insured his happiness and that of all
his family.
In this he was not deceived, for his wife seemed to derive
new life from her husband's resolve. The prospect of again
winning back her child, whom she had mourned as dead, gave
her strength to shake off from that moment all that oppressed
her spirits and tortured her soul. Hope returned to the
mother's heart, and with it grew and blossomed the love of
life, the trust in God's goodness and protection, which, alas !
had almost vanished in the late time of trial.
And, moreover, if they had needed an incentive to carry
out their already formed plans, they received it in a letter,
which came in about four months' time from our old friend
the brewer, wbo earnestly entreated Schwabe to make a second
attempt to obtain his child, unless he wished to have her
ruined soul and body. The gambling establishment in Wag-
ner's house had, he declared, got so bad a character that he
knew from good authority that the magistrates were only
waiting for a favourable opportunity of looking seriously into
it. And as for Louise, she must, he was very sure, be worked
far beyond her strength, for she looked pale and wretched, and
had red eyes whenever he happened to see her.
There was, then, as Schwabe plainly saw from this letter,
no further time to lose ; and therefore he effected the sale of

192
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
his property as soon as possible, and sent at the same time his
son, who had shot up into a fine steady young man, to the
west of Arkansas, where he purposed to settle as a respectable
farmer at the foot of the Ozack mountains. Carl was to look
out a fitting place for them, and to build a little log-hut for
their first reception, so that while the necessary work was be-
ing done, they might at least have a roof to shelter them. All
the rest they would themselves do ; and there, in Arkansas, in
a country where society makes no claims, where unnecessary
comforts and conveniences are not known, but all are satisfied
with what nature affords, he could, he felt sure, more easily
and entirely forget that ever he had possessed aught, and more
thoroughly enjoy the little that remained, if only he had no
longer to say, “One is wanting—one of those an account of
whose welfare you will one day have to render to God.”
Very often, it is true, even while carrying on his arrange-
ments for departure, he was haunted by the old doubt, the old
sorrow: perhaps the child will have nothing to do with her
parents; she cannot love those who have so long forgotten
her and left her with strangers. She has once positively re-
fused to go home with her father, although by so doing she
would break her mother's heart. But the mother soon hushed
all such fears.
" That she should not at once feel at home with us is
natural enough,” said she, smiling through her tears ; “but
only let me see her, only let her rest once on her mother's
heart, and then she will leave her no more ; no, not even force
would make her leave her! Only get your money matters
settled with Wagner, satisfy his claims, and I will answer for
it, we shall leave Cincinnati as happy and joyous as though
we were overflowing with wealth."
One so soon believes what one wishes, that Schwabe grew
satisfied, and carried on his arrangements with all possible


THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
193
alacrity. His house was soon sold, it was new and in good
condition, the situation was excellent ; in short, there was no
lack of bidders. A letter from his son informed him, that in
Arkansas, in a lovely country, and on good rich land, all was
prepared and ready for the plough. All the effects that
Schwabe wished to take with him were ready, and he had
just heard, from a mail or post boat that had recently passed
by, that on this very day, the “Eagle of the West,” an ex-
,
cellent and swift steamer, would call, on its way to Cincin-
nati. He purposed, then, to go by her, to make a very short
stay in Ohio, and hoped ere long to have founded his home in
the sheltered valleys of the noble Ozack range.
As for Schwabe's wife, she appeared to have drunk in a
new and happy life from the hope of soon, very soon, seeing
her child again. She had renewed her youth, and worked
away with all her heart at the small arrangements that
still remained to be completed, and the preparations to be
accomplished for making their abode between the decks of
a steamboat as tolerable as possible. In the midst of these
they heard a bell sound from the Mississippi, and were not a
little startled by it. If this were indeed the “Eagle of the
West,” how would they ever reach it in time, with all the
effects they had to take with them ? for the captains of such
boats seldom wait long even for cabin passengers, still less for
people who mean to pay a few dollars only, and to occupy the
lower deck.
Schwabe now seized his hat, rapidly directed a young Ger-
man, a car-driver, who was standing hard by with his drag,
to bring his wife and his boxes after him as fast as he could,
and then hurried off to detain the boat if it still were possible,
and to set out with her. But he had scarcely reached the
summit of the steep hill upon which stands St. Francisville,
and from which he could look down upon Bay-Sarah on

N

194
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the Mississippi, as well as on the river itself, when he saw
the white steam of a boat that had been landing passengers,
puffing from the escape-pipe—saw the bow turn away from
the shore and go down the stream.
· God be praised !” muttered Schwabe to himself, and
turned slowly back. “I really believed we had lost the
steamer, and should have to wait here two days longer.”
He now sent his things without further delay to the pier
head, for, to save loss of time, he had determined not to return
to Louisiana, but to take his passage straight from Cincinnati
to Arkansas.
The drag had already disappeared down the hilly street.
But Schwabe once more re-entered the house, partly to see
whether he had not left something behind in his haste, and
partly that he might bid a calmer farewell to a place which
had hitherto been his home, and which he was now leaving
never more to return. Our poor friends felt a sudden emotion
shoot through their hearts—for it is only in parting from them
that we first discover how dear the rooms and the objects we
have till now looked upon with indifference really are. But
the thought of their child, whom they were buying back by
this sacrifice, took all bitterness from the feeling. They did
not speak a word, they only stood together in silence; and at
last, when Schwabe hinted at the time to depart having nearly
arrived, each lovingly pressed the other's hand.
“Come, then, dear wife," said the German, gently leading
her towards the door; “ come, and do not make thyself sad
with this leave-taking. Think only that we are giving up
all to live henceforth reunited to our child.”
“Sad, indeed !” said his wife, smiling through her tears;
“do not suppose, Schwabe, that it is sadness that fills my
eyes thus; no, I am thankful in my inmost soul to find that
I can so calmly and joyfully leave the place where I had ex-

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
195
9
66
66
pected to live out all my days ; nay, I am proud that I”—
here she stopped, having heard a sound in the room below.
“It is nothing,” replied Schwabe ; " probably the packer
“
bringing in the goods of our successors.'
“ They must be up stairs,” said the voice of a neighbour,
apparently in reply to the inquiry of some stranger. “I saw
them go up about a quarter of an hour ago, and they have
not come down since."
A low “Thank you” was returned to this announcement,
and immediately the wooden staircase creaked below an
ascending step. Schwabe turned to the door that opened in
the same moment.
A
young girl entered.
“Great God !” cried the German, starting back in amaze-
ment-“ Louise!”
“Louise ?” gasped out his wife, in a hardly audible voice ;
- our child ?"
“Mother ! mother!” exclaimed the daughter, and flew at
once into her outstretched arms.
“ Mother!-0 God, what is this?”
Grief and joy are equally powerful-over-wrought feeling
in both cases alike stops the current of the blood, and para-
lyses the nervous system. But joy does not so soon kill. In
itself it contains the cure for the too strong impression it has
made, and the first instant of returning consciousness is the
instant of recovery. The mother of Louise sank powerless on
the floor through the excess of her joy; but, thanks to the
united efforts of her husband and her child, who, laughing
and weeping at one and the same time, rubbed her temples,
chafed her hands, and employed all possible means to restore
her, she soon came to herself
, and, still hardly able to com-
prehend or even to believe in her own happiness, she clasped
her beloved and long-desired child in her arms, as though she


196
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
would never in her whole life part from her for a moment
again.
But what pen could describe the mother's feelings, or the
emotions of these three happy hearts ? For some time they
could find no words, and only embraced each other in still
and silent ecstasy. But after the first burst of kisses and
caresses was over, Schwabe asked how in the world she had
reached Louisiana, and how it happened that Wagner had
ever consented to her coming ? The astonishment of the
parents may be conceived when they heard that their child
had travelled all the long way alone-alone down the two
mighty rivers ! alone on the great steamboat! alone amongst
strangers, and the rough company to be met with between
decks! But we will let her speak, and relate the circum-
stances of her flight.
“ Alas! Father," said she, “how sad my heart was that
morning you left me !"
“Never mind that morning, child,” broke in her father
with a smile; “let the past be past—we have thee now,
and
there's an end to sorrow; but stay, thou must not use to us
;
the cold polite you—as may be the fashion for aught I know
with people of quality—but for us, I am thy father, that is
thy mother, and thou art our child ; nothing will suit us but
thee and thou—this has been our custom ever, and it shall so
remain. The daughter pressed her parent's hand with a tear-
ful affectionate glance, and continued-
“I must, however, revert once more to that morning, dear
father; for it was when I saw thee hurry away so overcome
with grief, and witnessed the unkind and ungenerous manner
in which Mr. Wagner treated thee, that I felt for the first
time how wrong I had done in not following thee-in not
going to my mother. And then, dear mother, when I saw
,
thy picture, and read thy loving letter, and thought to myself


THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
197
how much thou wouldst grieve when my father returned with-
out me, why then, I wept all night, and all the next night,
and every night indeed, and knew not what to do, and had
no one to speak to, no one to whom to open my heart. In
consequence of this, I often was late with
my work; for
my
heart was heavy, and I could think of nothing but you both.
Then Mrs. Wagner would scold me; and Mr. Wagner too
became unkind, for he thought that the guests in the back
room would no longer like to have their glasses filled by me,
if I had always eyes as red as fire and a mournful look. And
besides this, there were some very wicked men amongst those
guests, who used sometimes to take up knives to each other
- nay, once one was carried out dead, and Mr. Wagner threat-
ened me in the most awful manner if I ever dared to say a
word about it.
"I thought I should break my heart if I had to stay there
longer, and yet I did not know what to do if I were to leave.
At that very time, it chanced very fortunately that a lady,
who had come from Columbus about eight days before, spent
a night at our house, intending to set off the next day for
New Orleans. The steamboat left at ten o'clock, and I had
to carry a bandbox and carpet-bag down for her; she had put
off getting ready till the last moment, and so it was that we
arrived just as the planks were about to be removed. I took
the things down to the cabin for her, ran up again, and meant
to go on shore. But then, mother, it suddenly seemed to me
that thy voice called to me, imploring me to remain where I
was; and the thought of thee—the thought that in a few days
this steamboat would carry me to thy arms, passed through
my mind, so that I still stood irresolute, not knowing whether
to move backwards or forwards, when the bell rang for the
last time. At that moment the sailors pulled in the planks,
the paddles began to move, and without further room for

a

198
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
choice, I found myself surrounded by the rushing waters, and
borne away from my former home, on the wide bosom of the
mighty river.
“Spare me the description of all that I suffered and endured
from strangers during the first few days. The people belong-
ing to the boat were angry with me because I could not im-
mediately pay my fare ; but fortunately I had on the little
gold cross which Mrs. Wagner gave me after I had so long
nursed her through the nervous fever. This the steward sold
for me in Louisville, and he gave me back a dollar, with
which I bought myself bread on my way. I had indeed a
wretched time, and nearly died of anxiety and vexation. But
all is well now : I have you once more--thee, beloved mother,
and my father too ! And now you are not, are you, angry
any longer with your child because she loved strangers more
than you for so many years, and would not consent to leave
them?”
What need is there to depict any further the happiness of
this family? An hour flew away like a minute, while they
were exchanging narrations of all they had felt and done;
and Schwabe was only recalled to the recollection of his in-
tended voyage, by the announcement that the “ Eagle of the
West” was already within sight of Waterloo. But now Cin-
cinnati was no longer their goal: no, it was Arkansas, the
fruitful valleys in that still wild district; and they only pur-
posed now to take the boat as far as the mouth of the Arkan-
sas river. And now the good man urged their departure
without further delay; their goods lay already on the landing-
place. They hurriedly bought a few articles of necessary
apparel for Louise from a German Jew who had a shop there,
and then they went on board ; and, in the joy of his heart,
Schwabe took cabin places for himself and his family instead
of the comfortless quarters between-decks.

THE GERMAN AND HIS CHILD.
199
Eleven days later they landed at the little town of Ozack,
from which in less than twenty-four hours they could reach
their new home.

After all that had happened, Schwabe knew well that Wag-
ner could no longer make any just claim upon him for com-
pensation ; but he determined, notwithstanding, that he should
not have it in his power to call him ungrateful for what had
in early days appeared a kindness. Therefore, as soon as he
reached his new farm, he wrote a letter to Wagner announ-
cing the arrival of his daughter, and begging him to state
fairly and openly what he believed himself entitled to claim
for the child's board in her early years; for of late he could
not expect to receive anything for it, since it was he himself
who had refused to part with her. He promised to satisfy
this claim as soon as possible, and prayed Wagner not to be
angry with Louise, who had only left them to hasten to her
mother's arms.
To this letter he received no answer, nor to a second,
nor yet to a third that he wrote. And it was only in the
course of the following year that he heard the solution of
this mysterious silence from a newly-arrived settler, who
had been living in Cincinnati, and knew Wagner very
well.
The story of the murder committed in his house, and men-
tioned in the course of Louise's narrative, had got abroad, and
other charges were preferred besides. The keeping of a secret
gambling establishment in itself subjected Wagner to severe
punishment according to American law, and it was only
through the friendly warning of a deputy sheriff-himself a
member of a gambling-club—that Wagner escaped arrest,
and probably the House of Correction. That very night he
disappeared from Cincinnati, and no one had ever heard
a

200
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
again of him or of his wife: they both vanished, leaving no
trace behind.
Meanwhile, at the foot of the Ozack range, a small but
prosperous German colony lived and flourished. Schwabe
had settled in this yet little-known portion of the far west ;
and luxuriant fields of Indian corn waved at the foot, rich
vineyards decked the side of the hills, while numerous flocks
found pasturage on the not distant prairies.
But more than all, an entirely new spirit now possessed the
happy father, who with unwearied activity laboured-no longer
for himself alone, but to found for his child, his once lost
and now recovered child, a pleasant and happy home. This
hope afforded a full scope for his ceaseless exertions, for his
plans and undertakings; and German industry, German fru-
gality, soon transformed into a paradise what a few years
before had been a barren and desolate wilderness.


THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
201

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
SKETCHES FROM AMERICAN LIFE.
In the western part of the squatters' land of Missouri, and
not far from the river of the same name—the roaring river-
within about twenty English miles from the territory assigned
by the Government of the United States to the Kiccapoos and
Delawares respectively, lay a little, unpretending forest-town,
which had risen in the first instance to meet the wants of the
miners in the productive lead districts adjacent, but which
had since, perhaps from the discovery of richer or more acces-
sible veins elsewhere, been abandoned by most of the original
settlers.
The town itself consisted of but one street, and that of some
twelve or fourteen houses, irregularly built. The largest of
these was the meeting-house or chapel; the most commodious
the abode of the merchant, or general dealer; and the smallest
and plainest that of Mrs. Rowland, a poor widow, who, with
her foster-daughter, Rose, lived there in great retirement, but
with the esteem and affection of all her neighbours.
For the better understanding of the following narrative,
which relates chiefly to these persons, it may be as well to
make my readers acquainted with a few preliminary particu-
lars of their history.
Mrs. Rowland, then, was the oldest inhabitant of the place,

202
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
for her husband it was who, having discovered the lead mines
when on a hunting expedition, had led the van of the civilisation
by beginning, like a bold pioneer, to work them in the midst
of inimical Indians. He was not to be warned by the fate of
thousands of his fellows, who, like him, urged by cupidity,
had sought out the home of the red man and proudly defied
his wrath. Strong in his daring, and in the power of bis
rifle, he defied every danger, and—fell! He had offended a
leader of the Delawares. One morning shortly after, he heard
the call of a turkey fowl under his window, and, taking down
his gun, went forth to secure an easy prey; but he never re-
turned. The call must have been a decoy of the crafty wild
man, for in a few minutes the house, now wholly unprotected,
was beset by a troop of Indians; and when the wretched
widow recovered from the swoon into which she had fallen in
her terror, she found herself lying beneath a tree, in the midst
of the smoking ruins of her home; and her son, her only and
darling child, had disappeared.
In vain, with scorched and lacerated hands, did she dig all
day among the embers,—she found not even a bone, nor a relic
of
any kind that she could identify. Half crazed, alone, and
desolate, she fled through the forest to the nearest, but far
distant hut, and, after a while, repaired to St. Louis, to the
house of a sister, with whom she lived fourteen years in the
most profound retirement. But though time healed over the
deep wounds of her sorrow, the son of her heart, torn from her
by murderous hands, was still remembered; and she felt she
could never rest in peace as long as she was haunted by the
idea that the boy might be yet alive. And what evidence
had she of his death? That her husband had fallen a victim
to the vengeance of the red man she could have no doubt ;
that the child had either been taken away alive by them, or
else, in the confusion, had escaped to the forest and there been

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
203
met and carried off by travellers, or adopted by some kindly
farmer, she was as fully persuaded.
The death of her sister, who, in her last moments, com-
mitted to Mrs. Rowland's care an only daughter, a lovely and
loving child of twelve years old, left the poor widow once more
to seek a home. She had heard that almost within sight of
her former dwelling, other lead-seekers had laid the founda-
tions of a town, to which they had given the sounding name
of Boonville, and thitherward she resolved to bend her steps.
The place was endeared to her as the scene of happy days for
ever passed away, and it was also cherished as the spot where,
if at all, her vision of hope was to be realized. But six full
years had come and gone, and had brought no trace of her
The earnest and persevering efforts of the sympa-
thizing neighbours to obtain at least some clue that might
lead to more systematic researches, were all in vain. The
lost was still lost, and the disconsolate mother seemed to be
drawing nearer and nearer to that long home which, of late
especially, she had learned to look to, as the only place where
she could hope to find the objects of her affection.

lost son.
It was a bright, pleasant evening in the sunny month of
August ; a cool, refreshing air was blowing gently from the
north-east, and before the doors of their houses, beneath the
shadow of the chestnut and hickory trees, the inhabitants of
Boonville were seated, many of them with a pan of smoking
embers beside them, to keep off the troublesome mosquitoes.
The women were for the most part engaged in needle-work,
varied by an occasional turn into the chimney-corner to see
how the goodman's supper was progressing ; the men were
either idly cutting notches in the wood, or lay stretched at
their length on buffalo-skins extended in the shade.
The only empty bench in the settlement was that at the

204
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
door of the general merchant, whose better half was labouring
and slaving with ruddy countenance in the spacious kitchen,
while Zachary Smith was attent on serving two red Indians,
who had just arrived with a stock of venison and skins which
they were desirous to exchange for a supply of necessaries,
such as knives, powder, leaden cups, and—whisky! They
—
were warriors of the Kiccapoo tribe, if the term warrior might
be applied to two of the most miserable objects that ever bore
the Indian name. The dirty and tattered blankets that they
wore around them scarcely sufficed for a covering ; and their
hair, no longer carefully woven into the proud, solitary scalp-
lock, hung over their brown shoulders like a tangled mane.
One of them, indeed, wore a shirt, but whether this had been
originally brown or white it was no longer possible to deter-
mine, for it was dyed with the blood of slaughtered animals,
which had become incrusted on it, except upon the shoulder,
just where the heavy unwieldy gun had rested. Their leggings
were patched with pieces of untanned hide, and their moccasins
were falling to pieces; a belt made of hickory bark held the
straps of their leggings, the small scalping-knife, and a short
reed-pipe; and their heavy, inanimate features were first lighted
by a flash of pleasure when they perceived the red-striped
whisky bottles in the dealer's window. The negotiation was
short and simple. The indispensable supply of powder was
obtained, and at once stowed away in their flasks; the rest
of the exchange they would have in whisky there and then ;
so squatting in a corner of the store, between salt and meal
barrels, they, without further parley, began their feast.
They had but one cup with them, and as the one saw the
golden “fire-water" poured sparkling into it, his eyes rolled
almost out of their hollow sockets, his wide mouth was dis-
tended to a broad grin, displaying a set of the whitest teeth,
and at the same time, and as it appeared, unconsciously, he


THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
205
66
stretched out his hand for the nectar, and then broke into a
low, gurgling laugh, as his companion lifted the cup to his
own lips. But although the lips remained apart, the expres-
sion of pleasure passed away, and the eye was turned with a
fierce and anxious look at the cup, which seemed to grow to
the lips of his friend.
Ugh!” gurgled the latter, setting it down, after a long,
long smack, and looking over it at his companion, whose
features were again lighted up, as he watched the cup and saw
it filled afresh; and then, as if to revenge himself for the trial
to which his patience had been subjected, drained it slowly,
and held it in his turn for a while to his mouth. In this
manner they continued to drink by turns, each eyeing the
other with breathless anxiety as he was swallowing the
treacherous draught; each, when it was his turn, forgetting all
beside, in the absorbing consciousness of his supreme enjoy-
ment.
At the counter, in front of them, with his hands clasped
round his right knee, which was crossed over the other, as
though to preserve the equilibrium of his person, which was
somewhat inclined backward, with his little twinkling eyes
fixed pleasantly upon the boozing pair, sat the "merchant,”
Zachary Smith, evidently chuckling over their besotted folly.
Reserved and silent as the red men had been at first, they
now, as the fiery draught began to circulate in their veins and
mount to the head, became frank and communicative. They
sang snatches of their war songs, vaunted their bravery and
cunning; their mad mirth rising with the raging flood that
was ebbing and flowing between them.
“Ugh!” said he whose turn it was to drain the cup, as,
after lifting the flask to the light, he found, to his astonish-
ment, on pouring out the contents, that there were but a few
drops. “Ugh! what is this ? whisky in and not come out ?”

a

206
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66 Look ye
And while his alarmed companion leaned towards him, he
turned the bottle round and round, till at last, and certainly
not at all to his satisfaction, he discovered the hollow.
“Wah!” he exclaimed, in indignant surprise; “great hole
here! White man have great hole in bottle, ugh !-bad!
Indian buy bottle full-in hole nothing-ugh!”
“Ugh! bad !” echoed the other, with the same shake of
the head and signs of disapprobation.
The dealer here felt bound to defend himself.
here, Indians; look at all the other bottles—there is the
hole in all; they all contain just the measure that they
are made for, and if there were no hole the bottle would be
smaller."
“It need not,” muttered the first speaker.
66 White man
gets the whole skin ; bullet-hole nothing, can make good
again; white man must make good this hole too,” and as he
spoke he held the flasks reversed towards the dealer, thus
giving him plainly to understand his meaning.
“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Smith; "a very funny story that,
;
indeed. And I am to pour it in at both ends? You've both
got already as much as you can carry.”
“Be too bad," continued the Indian, still holding out the
empty bottles ; "you make hole full.”
“But if you will have it so," said the merchant laughing,
and putting out his hand for the flasks, “a few drops more or
less are no object to me. Here, Kiccapoo, hold them yourself,
then, but hold fast. Why, the deuce is in you, rascals! the
drink is in
your
head
now,
and
you want more !”
“Won't hurt,” returned the red man grinning ; “right,
more better word than little-little bad word.”
Yes, little heat bad—little hunger, little thirst bad,” re-
joined Smith, laughing, as he leaned over the whisky cask.
“No! no !” cried the Indian, swallowing with his eyes
۶

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
207
every drop that was measured out to him ; “always more
"
thirst; thirst much good—very much good !”
The hole, in fact, had not been found to contain so much
as the Indians had expected, and for a while they held the
contents which they had poured into the cup between them,
and conversed long and eagerly together in their own lan-
guage. At length, however, they drank the whisky; and
when the merchant positively refused to draw them any more,
one of them took a small tightly-rolled parcel from beneath
his blanket, and unfolding it, displayed a fine tanned otter
skin. In all probability this had been originally set apart
to be exchanged for necessaries for the squaw, who usually
prepares the skins; but the terrible thirst for the deadly “fire-
water,” once excited, leaves its wretched victim but little
liberty of choice or action. The struggle waged by their
better feelings was of short duration ; and the Indian, throw-
ing the skin on the counter, asked at first “half bottle
whisky,” “afterwards something else,” in exchange for it:
they would spend only a part of the price in drink, leaving
the Yankee in the meanwhile to examine the skin. But with
its indulgence the craving increased ; and, regardless of the
admonitory signals of the dealer, who was not altogether
pleased with their proceedings, cup after cup was drained, till
the last cent was drunk.
Yet still the craving was unappeased ; and one of the In-
dians, extending one hand with the empty flask towards the
Yankee, while he tried to support himself on the counter with
the other, staring stupidly with stolid look, cried : “More
whisky; skin worth one bottle more.”
“You have no more whisky from me,” replied the mer-
chant in a tone of the most absolute decision; for indeed he
began to fear some mischief from the wild unbridled passion
of his guests, who, however .friendly and peaceable in their

66
9

208
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
sober moods, were capable of the most outrageous excesses
when excited by the demon of drink. " You two have drunk
more than enough for six, and the best thing you can do is to
lie down for a couple of hours, and sleep off the fumes of what
you've had.”
“Fumes-sleep off?” stammered the elder of the two, seiz-
ing the bottle, and dashing it into the opposite corner, shivered
into a thousand fragments. “Ha, ha, ha, ha! White man,
.
MORE! Po-co-mo-con good Indian-sober like young racoon;
white man drunk—wags backwards and forwards like young
birch-tree—ha, ha, ha! More whisky, pale-face !--more
whisky, by the bones of my fathers ! I say, MORE !”
“Not a drop more,” persisted the dealer, pointing to the
shattered flask, “you good Indians ? Do good Indians do
that? do sober racoons do that? Pack up your traps and
come with me to my warehouse; you may stretch your-
selves, and snore away there till morning, and then I'll give
you each a parting-cup for the journey. Will that satisfy
ye?"
“Yea,” replied the elder, “yea, cup full; very good, only
now-now! hate to-morrow-no to-morrow !"
“Off with you,” continued the American, “ and sleep upon
it first.”
“ Off with you, pale-face !” shouted the younger, exasper-
ated to the highest pitch. “Leaden-faces cheats-all cheats
--
to red man! leaden-face do nought for nought!”
“Will you give the whisky?” stammered his companion,
hiccupping. “If
you
knew—what I know”—Chiccup).
“ Possible,” said Smith laconically.
“No possible !” again shouted the other, still further irri-
tated by his composure. “No possible--CERTAIN! Red man
know great secret, great for white man-great secret from
the Konzas. But more whisky, more whisky !"
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
209
66
-
“No, you don't,” said Smith laughing, and believing this
to be a mere trick of the Indians to get another dram. “You
keep your secret, and I keep my whisky; that will be the
wisest way for us both.”
“Off with you!” roared the Indian again ;
you give
whole cask for our secret. White man-ugh! two whole
cask—white man among Indians, ugh! he handsome fellow,
very handsome ; great war-chief, ha, ha, ha, ha! Well worth
cask full—hey ?”
The younger Indian, whose senses were not so entirely
overpowered as those of his older companion, and who perhaps
entertained some dim consciousness of danger resulting from
their gossip, seized him by the arm, and endeavoured to drag
him out of the shop; but Pocomocon, with muttered curses,
shook him off, exclaiming: “More whisky, more whisky,
bah!” and then yelled forth his war-whoop, which, ringing
through the settlement, for a moment caused the children to
leave their play, and aroused in the hearts of their parents sad
memories of the sleeping past.
Smith's attention had, however, been excited. A white
man living among the Indians as an Indian ! so much, at
least, might be gathered from the hints of his customers. He
scarcely knew how, but, almost unconsciously, the thought of
Mrs. Rowland rushed into his mind, and he at once resolved
to follow
up
the track thus opened to him.
“Hallo, Indian! Is that true that you've been saying ?”
inquired the merchant, coming round the counter towards
them.
“ Aha!” grinned the red-skin. “Did Po-co-mo-con say
true? Pale-face give whole caskful for the story; here-
here's the cup.”
Smith shook his head, but once more filled it from a pitcher
that was standing on the shelf, and looked eagerly in the face


O

210
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
of the Indian. But he had outstepped the mark: with an
unsteady hand, and an idiot laugh, Pocomocon lifted it to his
lips, but he could swallow no more.
He hiccupped, and the whisky streamed over his brown
breast and bloody shirt; the cup fell from his hand, he ad-
vanced a step, slipped, and would have measured his length
on the ground, if Smith had not caught him and saved the
fall. But question and answer were at an end for the present,
for the younger Indian seemed now too much overcome with
what he had taken, or perhaps assumed the appearance of in-
toxication in order to escape further inquiries. Smith did all
that was possible under the circumstances : he deposited the
unconscious Pocomocon in a small empty out-house, which he
used for a store when he was over-stocked, laying him in a
corner on a heap of deer and bear skins, and locking the door
upon him, firmly resolved that from hence his prisoner should
not depart till he had confessed the whole truth about the
white man among the Indians.
With the first dawn of morning Smith repaired to the out-
house to arouse his prisoners, but to his astonishment the nest
was empty: the birds had flown, and left no trace behind.
On a closer investigation, he found indeed that they must
have escaped by letting themselves down from a projecting
corner of the roof, to which the rough beams afforded easy
access. They had also provided comfortably for their jour-
ney; for on looking round, the merchant saw that two fine
haunches of smoked venison, which had cost him half a dollar
the day before, were also missing. This, however, he scarcely
felt, when measured against the far greater loss of the infor-
mation he had made sure of for the desolate mother. They
had drunk, and he would willingly have given them moreover
to eat by the way, if only he could first have got at the mys-
tery of their “secret.” For a moment he thought of pursuing
a

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
211
them; but soon relinquished the idea as impracticable, since
it was pretty certain that the Indians would take especial
care to obliterate all traces of their passage.
What, then, was to be done? Smith chopped two large
faggots in pieces while he was brooding and musing over all
possible means of recovering the lost clue, but without any
result. To communicate the matter to Mrs. Rowland was
out of the question ; it might serve but to awakent hopes that
would vanish, and leave her doubly desolate: for was it not
probable that this was after all a mere idle tale, devised by
the red men to get a glass of whisky? But then the embar-
rassment of the younger Indian, as his companion pursued the
theme.-Ha! there goes the very man who of all others might
!
help to solve the difficulty: “Here, Tom! Tom !” he shouted,
as he hastened to the door.
“Hallo, Smith! where so early ?” replied the man thus
accosted. “Good morning to you; you are up betimes.”
And with this he crossed over and joined Smith in the door-
way, where he stood leaning on the but-end of his gun.
Tom Fairfield was a tall, powerful fellow--a genuine back-
woodsman, a thorough hunter; and never better pleased than
when he was tracking a quarry, or following up a snare. He
appeared to be just setting out now, for across his shoulder
he carried a light Spanish pack-saddle and bridle, and a thick
woollen rug strapped at his back, ready to encamp for the
night wherever it might chance to overtake him.
“Hark ye, Tom,” said Smith, drawing him into the shop,
and looking earnestly in his face, as though the affair con-
cerned him especially ; “ you are well acquainted at Rowland's
yonder-nay, you need not be ashamed of it. Here, take a
drop of cordial: it's logwood and cherry bitters, and will do
you no harm in the morning dew. The whole settlement
knows what desperate love you are making to Rose.”

a
a

212
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“Nonsense, Smith!” replied Tom, emptying the glass at
once to hide his confusion.
“Bah, man! and why should you deny it? Is it out of
pure friendship that you keep the house supplied with fire-
wood, venison, and meal ? That I'll never believe."
66 And who is there to care for the desolate women of”—
Ah, Chrononhoton! these are flourishes, and not at all to
the purpose. Rose is a good girl, and good-looking withal;
and you're a handsome enough fellow, and a clever hunter,
and, when needs must, can do a good day's work too-why
shouldn't you begin house-keeping together? But this is
what I wanted to ask you : Would you undertake to do the
Rowlands a favour-a very great favour?”
“ The Rowlands ! what is it, man?” exclaimed Tom, over-
powered for the moment by the earnestness of the merchant.
“ Is it within my power?”
“That is for you to judge,” replied Smith, who then went
on to explain to him in few words what he had yesterday
heard from the Indians, and then to give his own opinion of
the matter. Tom listened with eager attention; he hung
upon every word, and only nodded assent when Smith gave
utterance to any ideas that were in keeping with his own.
“You believe, then, that Mrs. Rowland's son is living
among the Konzas ?” he said, when the merchant had finished
his story
“Faith! one hardly knows what to believe. It's clear
that some white man is living there as an Indian-the speech
of that drunken rascal leaves no doubt over that; and why
should it not as well be the young Rowland as anybody else ?
It is but the journey; it's not after a trifle; and it's just the
adventure for a fine, bold fellow like yourself. How far do
you take it to be to the hunting-grounds of the Konzas ?”
" It isn't the distance that I think so much of," said the
a

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
213
hailed you.
young hunter thoughtfully; but the Konzas are a widely-scat-
tered tribe, and if the matter had concerned any of the nearer-
lying branches, the Indians would hardly have ventured to
gossip about a business that might have brought them into
awkward collision with their neighbours.”
“How old would the young Rowland be ?" asked Smith.
“ Five-and-twenty. Mrs. Rowland was speaking of his
age yesterday; it was his birthday.
it was his birthday. But,” added Fairfield,
in a low tone, “she must know nothing of this; the anxiety
;
and expectation would kill her.”
“So I said to myself," echoed Smith; "and that's why I
But think of the joy when you bring him
back !”
It seemed as if some pleasant vision was also passing be-
fore Tom himself, for he smiled complacently, and stroked his
forehead with the back of his hand. “Smith,” said he, lean-
ing towards him," you seem interested for them, poor things !
“
and I'm pleased to see it; but you don't know, you can't
know what a happy man the realization of the poor old lady's
longing hopes would make me, and already I am bound to you
for giving me this chance of bringing it about. I'm off for
the Konzas-off now !”
What! now ! this very hour ?” cried the merchant in
amazement. “Why, it's barely possible; you need more pre-
paration for a journey of a hundred and twenty miles, which
I take this to be at the least, than if you were just going to
the next water-course to shoot a bear, or a deer.”
• Wherefore ?” rejoined Tom, laughing.
66
" Whether I
spend a week here close at hand, or whether I camp
farther
off, I'm still in the wood, and what should I need to take
with me?"
“Some small matter of provisions at least."
“ The forest supplies them. I take my coverlet with me,


214
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
and my pillow," he said, striking his saddle, “and what
should I want more?"
In short, the representations of the merchant were of no
avail to induce Tom to add anything more to his outfit than
a few cakes of maize bread, a rasher of bacon, and a little
ground coffee, to take with the dry venison and turkey, which
would be his forest fare. In about half an hour, he took a
friendly leave of Zachary Smith, exhorted him not to breathe
a syllable of the matter even to his wife, and ten minutes later
might be seen slowly pursuing the little woodland path at the
back of the settlement, till a thicket of logwood and sassafras
hid him from the eyes of his curious neighbours.
For a while Zachary Smith stood gazing after him, and it
was not till long after he had disappeared in the thicket that
the morning sun, rising above the wood and casting his own
shadow long and spectre-like across the court and zig-zag
upon the lattice-fence, recalled him to himself and the business
of the day; and returning into the shop, he opened the back
door into the kitchen, and called to his wife: “If any one
should ask after me, I am just going over to Cowley's.” And
crossing his hands behind him, the dealer walked leisurely
in that direction.
“ Humph!" ejaculated Mrs. Smith, as her nose, somewhat
excited by the glow of the kitchen fire, became visible, and
imparted a keener look to her little, sharp, gray eyes;
humph! gone to Cowley's—that's always the way; and the
wife may sit at home and look after the house, and be called
off every minute to attend to the shop. I'm tired of such a life.
And what's this in the wind ? my husband up before day-
break !—that's not for nothing. And all these secrets about
Mrs. Rowland; ah! my good Mr. Smith, I've heard all about
them,”—and she turned with a laugh of triumph, and nodded
at her retreating consort, whose portly form was still visible
a
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
215
along the path, ---" Mrs. Smith doesn't wear cotton wool in her
ears: Mrs. Rowland spoke of him, and said—and the young
Rowland among the Indians—and Mr. Tom sent to fetch him.
Oho! Mr. Smith, we are not so very insignificant, neverthe-
less, but what we can play a part as well as other people.
And so they've found the young one at last; and my
hus-
band has had something to do with it—a fine trick, I take it.
And he will demean himself so with those nasty Indians !
what a scandal last night's doings might have brought
upon us ! a smashing of bottles, and no one knows what,
and I not to be told a word about it! My honourable gen-
tleman never opens his lips to his faithful and honourable
wife, but goes over to Cowley's! Mr. and Mrs. Cowley must
pass their opinion upon every bit of news, and have a finger
in every pie. But wait a while, Mr. Smith, wait a while, my
good sir ! I get to the bottom of this business if I should go
to Mrs. Rowland herself to explain it. I've put up with
things a thousand times, but my patience is come to an end ;
and now I'll see whether my hands can't work a way through
a stone wall as well as Mr. Smith's."
And with this laudable resolve, she disappeared again in
her kitchen, where the burnished pots and pans and coffee-
cans were hanging round the wall in mute astonishment at
the eloquence of their mistress.
But although, in the first paroxysm of outraged curiosity,
Mrs. Smith had taken the desperate resolution of flying at
once to Mrs. Rowland and requesting, nay, demanding an ex-
planation of the secrets between that lady and her own wed-
lock-bound spouse ; yet, on calmer consideration, it appeared
better first to try the effect of her eloquence upon the culprit
himself. Mr. Smith, however, remained for twelve days deaf
and dumb, not only to the light play of hints and inuendoes,
but to the heavier fire of direct questionings. In all this time



210
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
some-
a
Tom Fairfield had never once been seen in Boonville, and an
occasional inquiry was made as to the probability of "
thing having happened to him ;” but no one could give any
explanation of his unwonted absence. The pressure of Mrs.
Smith's curiosity had now become intolerable, at least to her-
self, and she determined on paying a visit to Mrs. Rowland ;
she owed her a visit. She felt convinced that in the full tide
of conversation, it would be quite natural and easy to launch
these most deeply interesting and yet mysterious topics.
It was the fourteenth day since the departure of the Indians
from Boonville, and the first of the month of September, which
had announced itself by sultry and threatening thunder clouds.
Heavy masses were rolling up from the east, whence they
parted, either in streaks of mingled gray and black, or hung
in dense portentous columns over the waving wood.
Mrs Rowland was sitting in her little parlour, in a rough
but comfortable easy-chair, warmly wrapped in shawls and
blankets in spite of the sultriness of the atmosphere—for she
had been feeling worse than usual during the last few days.
Rose was seated at her feet, with her left hand upon her
mother's knee, while in her right she held a small, richly
bound Testament; and the aged woman was listening, with
closed eyes and folded hands, as she read the Saviour's living
words of blessed promise and sweet consolation.
Rose finished the chapter, and a tear glistened in her eye
as she laid down the book, and looked sadly on the pale, wan,
sorrowful features of one who had been more than a mother
to her. Gently pressing her hand, she whispered, “ Shall I
dear mother?”
“Not now, dear child,” said the mother, stroking her
braided hair. “ You have tired yourself already, and there
are other things that must be done. Had you not better go
across to Cowley's, and ask them to let their negro come over
read on,
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
217
>
for half an hour, and get us some firewood ?-just a little, till
Tom returns, as he surely will to-morrow.”
“There's plenty of firewood,” replied Rose quickly. “I
"
went into the wood to gather a few sticks myself this morn-
ing, just to make your broth-for we had used the last yester-
day; and when I came back, there was a whole waggon-load
that Mr. Cowley had sent, and Tim with it, to cut it into
kitchen lengths. He brought me in that fine log at the back
of the hearth while you were asleep, dearest mother."
“ Cowleys are kind people," said the mother in a feeble
voice; “may God reward them!
God reward them! But it's ill for women to be
alone in the world, without friends."
" Mother!” cried Rose reproachfully.
“You are right, darling; I was unjust to Tom Fairfield,
and—but suppose he should never come back-suppose he-
-
don't be
angry
with me, my child; you know how the season
of this anniversary always saddens me—the return of that
dreadful morning! I see everything in the worst light, and
wonder how it was possible that I, a poor weak woman, should
so long have survived the strong ones. Oh! it is hard that one
cannot die, because one knows not whether the dearest and
nearest is not left behind and alone in the world! Oh! it is
hard that one cannot live, because the fond yearning after
one, who is perhaps long since removed from earth, drinks up
the life-blood !"
“ Mother! mother!” cried the daughter, rising and hiding
her face in the shoulder of the murmurer, while her voice was
half choked with sobs, “if I may not be to you instead of a
you
have been to me as a mother.”
Mrs. Rowland spoke not, but she put her arm round the
beautiful girl, and pressed her closely to her heart. At that
moment there was a smart rap at the door, and, half frightened,
and wiping her eyes, Rose hastened to open it, and even Mrs.


son, at least

218
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
bolt;
Rowland looked eagerly forward, for she had fancied it like
Tom Fairfield's knock.
Poor Rose! for many and many a day she had waited
anxiously and sadly on the knocker, and now her hand
trembled so with joy that she could scarcely draw back the
and as the door opened a faint exclamation of disappoint-
ment escaped her, and the saddened invalid fell back on her
cushions with a sigh, as the friendly but not then particularly
welcome face of Mrs. Smith was seen on the threshold. Re-
treat, however, was impracticable—the breach was open, and
the lady stormed in, appropriated a chair close to Mrs. Row-
land, offered a hundred apologies for intruding thus uncere-
moniously, “but she had been over the way at Cowley's, the
weather had overtaken her, it was just beginning to rain, and
she could not think of losing the opportunity of dropping in
to see and inquire after the dear, dear invalid” (she lived
within two hundred yards of her cottage).
To all this Mrs. Rowland replied in a faint voice, and with
scantiest courtesy; perhaps in the hope that she might thus
induce Mrs. Smith to shorten her visit. If such however were
her purpose, she must have been very little acquainted with
Mrs. Smith, or must have supposed her to be endowed with
the social feelings to a far less extent than was really the case.
After a slight inquiry about the health of her hostess, and a
hope that it was improving, to which an answer was somewhat
coldly given in the negative, the good lady proceeded at once
to settle herself for a chat. She took off her hood, laid aside
her woollen wrap, took off her mitts, drew a short reed-pipe
from her pocket which she had previously filled-or loaded, as
her goodman was wont to say-lighted it at the hearth, and
then, as she leaned back in the chair, pronounced herself, in
a tone of approving congratulation, “ quite at home.”
The invalid, although she took little part in the gossip, or
-

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
219
rather soliloquy that succeeded, became at length so wearied,
that she sank back on her pillows pale and exhausted, with
her
eyes
closed. Even Mrs. Smith felt that some small in-
stant of repose must be allowed to the sick woman, and she
therefore thought of opening her battery on the girl, pretty
sure that this would be the readiest way to the attainment of
her purpose—for direct questionings were impossible.
“You'll be more cheerful here soon,” she said, as Rose, after
smoothing her mother's pillows, seated herself between her
and their guest, in the hope of deadening the din a little if
possible; "a man in the house makes such a difference !"
”
Rose, poor child, coloured up to her eyes; but yet cast one
look of astonishment at the speaker.
“Ay; but now, Miss,” she continued, somewhat surprised
at the readiness with which Rose had seized her meaning,
you needn't look so frightened nor so innocent. I know
the whole story, but it's as safe with me as with the dead;
nobody will hear a syllable of it from me.”
“But good Mrs. Smith”—
“But good Miss Baywood, if you won't speak about it to
me, why, I sha'n't say nothing to you. How long may it be
since he was lost?"
“Lost! You believe, then, that he is lost ? ” exclaimed
Rose in sudden anguish, and naturally enough applying Mrs.
Smith's words to her lover.
“ Is ?-HAS BEEN lost, my good young lady," rejoined Mrs.
Smith. “ And that is the happiest thing you could have
thought of; but to think of finding a man after he has been
living for such a time among those awful red men, seems
to me nothing less than a miracle. But what I wanted
to say was: How long may it be since Mrs. Rowland lost
him?"
“Mrs. Rowland !” echoed Rose, now completely puzzled ;

-

220
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
while the mother, roused from her half sleep by the sound of
her own name, turned her head slowly towards the questioner,
and looked inquiringly at her.. “Mrs. Rowland ? I don't
66
understand”
"-
“ It must be full twenty years,” continued the diligent
Mrs. Smith, bent on giving both to know that she was aware
of, and perfectly acquainted with, the whole circumstances;
" for I remember quite well what good Mr. John Rosbeard of
Connecticut said about it. He had just discovered, or begun
to work a lead-mine: Well, I hope they'll wash him, before
they bring him here; it's dreadful to look at one of those
painted fellows. Suppose he should have blue cheeks, a
yellow nose, scarlet ears, and green lips! and the scalp too!'
Only fancy, Miss Baywood, the description that that dear
man once gave me of a scalping, and showed me his own
scalp, which was all safe and fast to his head. I fell down
just like a log—fainting-like. / Suppose he should take to
scalping! Other things might be accommodated, but that
scalping is dreadful !”
“Mrs. Smith!” cried the poor invalid, starting up in her
chair, and now thoroughly aroused by words that struck but
too exactly the chord on which her own mind had been dwell-
ing for the last sad days, and sent the blood through her feeble
frame with an impetus that made her heart beat almost
audibly. “Mrs. Smith!”
“ Mother, dear mother! it is only a misunderstanding,”
cried Rose, springing up in alarm at her excitement, and en-
deavouring to soothe and tranquillize her.
“ Heaven help us !” continued Mrs. Smith ; “I did not
think that you could hear us. No, he'll not think any
more about scalping; don't be afraid. He may have done it
before, and those red men find it hard to leave off those ways;
they call them their trophies—that's the word. But Mr.
66
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
221
-
Meanwell will soon teach him the faith and duty of a Chris-
tian. He's a dear man that !"
“Mrs Smith,” said the sick woman faintly, while the hand
that Rose gently put back trembled like an aspen leaf,“ who
will think no more of scalping? who wears the paint of the
red man? who—merciful Heaven! the room goes round with
me—who was lost twenty years since—and is now- FOUND
again ?”
“Oh! my good Mrs. Rowland,” replied her visitor with a
knowing smile, "you need not be so secret with me; I know
the whole story. Is not Tom Fairfield gone off to fetch him ?
Only, I don't exactly know what tribe of Indians it is, for I
couldn't quite catch the word. But if you want it kept secret,
I won't whisper a syllable of it to any breathing soul."
“ Tom Fairfield gone to fetch him! what tribe it is !” re-
peated the almost frantic mother half unconsciously, and
pressing her fevered hands tightly against her forehead.
“Am I dreaming? or have my senses forsaken me through
sorrow and anguish of heart ?”
“No; I've seen just such another case of a lady," re-
แ
joined Mrs. Smith, shaking her head, though at the same time
in some slight degree excited by the strong emotion of the
invalid.
Rose, beside herself with terror, and guessing at what might
possibly be going on, glanced first at her mother, and then
cast one imploring look at Mrs. Smith, entreating her by signs
to be silent. But it was too late; before that personage could
be made to understand what was required of her, Mrs. Row-
land again raised her head, and her eyes met the earnest gaze
of her step-daughter fixed upon the countenance of the heart-
less gossip. The suspicion to which she still dared not to
give utterance was now confirmed ; and yet she feared by any
spoken word to break the delicions spell that had taken pos-


222
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
-
session of her senses. But as the madman knows how to
beguile the watchfulness of his keeper, so now, with eager
convulsive effort, she seized the moment to draw from the
chattering woman the secret that to her was life or death.
“You are right, Mrs. Smith,” she said, striving to veil the
agony at her heart with a hollow smile; "we need no longer
conceal anything from you.”
“Just so, my good Ma'am,” cried Mrs. Smith, in all the
ecstacy of complete triumph. “I always said so from the
very first; but my husband ” —
" And Tom Fairfield is--gone to fetch-him-him to
Boonville-home"
“Dear, best mother!” cried Rose, terrified at the probable
results of this fearful excitement.
“Leave me, Rose ; you see I'm quite well—so well. And
Tom Fairfield is "-
“Yes; he can't be gone much longer. And isn't it so ?--
he's to bring him back with him ?”
“Yes, O yes, certainly-is it not? You mean "-
“Your son, Ma'am.”
“ Ha!” shrieked the mother, with a scream that rang in
the
very hearts of both her companions. Rose in an instant
recovered her presence of mind, and turned indignantly on
the torturer: “Mrs. Smith, what have you done? You have
KILLED her!”
That lady was indeed almost frightened to death herself,
for she did not yet understand the real state of the case; and
she began to apprehend that she had unconsciously done
something that was not unlikely to bring her into trouble.
A brief explanation with Rose confirmed her in this idea,
when she found that neither the cause of young Fairfield's
absence, nor his mission, had been previously known to Mrs.
Rowland. Wilfully to have injured any one—especially the
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
223
poor, invalid, bereaved mother-was not in Mrs. Smith's na-
ture; and when she saw the consequence of her idle curiosity,
she would have given much to have repaired the mischief she
had done. She now devoted herself to helping Rose in every
possible way, and never rested till the fainting woman was
restored to consciousness, and immediately afterwards sank
back in what appeared to be a deep and refreshing sleep.
When she again awoke, a wonderful change had taken
place in her. Rose, dreading the effect of the tidings she had
heard, had been watching her awakening with a beating
heart; but all her anticipations were pleasantly dispelled,
when she saw her perfectly calm and composed, though not
from having forgotten what had so recently passed, as she
immediately inquired whether Tom Fairfield had returned
with HIM.
Rose would fain have persuaded her mother that
the whole was a mere fancy of their gossipping neighbour's
weaving, out of detached sentences that she had caught up
by eaves-dropping, and that very probably had borne a totally
different meaning. Mrs. Rowland gently desired her to for-
bear, assuring her that if this cherished hope, which was the
only tie that held her to earth, were taken from her, she felt
that this her last prop having broken under her, she must
sink with it. She was so perfectly collected, and spoke so
sensibly of the mingled pain and pleasure of the first meeting,
that Rose was startled, and could but regard it as a natural
effort, by which for a season the spirit had overcome the
weakness of the body.
However this might be, Mrs. Rowland retained her calm
self-possession during the whole of the day, occasionally in-
quiring if “ they were come ;” and exacting a promise from
Rose that she would not conceal their arrival. Only, she
never used any name, and the word Son never passed her
lips.


224
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
It might have been about five o'clock in the afternoon, and
Mrs. Smith had inquired after the invalid, and apologized for
her indiscretion at least twenty times, when again a knocking
was heard at the door, and Mrs. Rowland raised herself in her
chair, with a scarcely audible cry, when it opened, and Tom
Fairfield appeared--alone.
Rose was also alarmed; but before either he or she had
time to utter a word, the mother stretched her hand towards
him, and with glazed eye and hollow voice exclaimed: “Where
is he?"
“For the love of Heaven, how came your mother to know ?”
rejoined the young man in extreme astonishment.
“Where is he? Tom, if you would not see me die before
your eyes, speak instantly!”
“She knows all,” cried Rose, weeping bitterly; and Fair-
field, finding that all his precautions were thus frustrated,
although utterly at a loss to conceive by what means, quieted
the poor lady at once by the assurance that her son was found,
and in Boonville; that, moreover, he was in good health ; and
that if she would compose and prepare herself for the meeting,
she should see him early to-morrow.
But this the mother would not brook: "To-morrow ! and
why not to-day--now?” Was she less composed now than
she was likely to be after a night of restless expectation,
which could only exhaust her remaining strength ? She
would see him now--now.
She would listen to no compromise ; and Tom Fairfield,
thinking in his heart that she was right, promised to bring
her son in half an hour from that time, and departed, after
entreating her to be calm, and to restrain her maternal feel-
ings as much as possible.
In the meanwhile Mr. Smith, fully convinced by the evi-
dence of certain marks described by Mrs. Rowland that it was
THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
225
indeed her missing son whom Tom had brought back from
the forest, was occupied in converting the young savage into
a respectable white man. The first thing to be done, was to
wash off the many-coloured paint with which, in order to con-
ceal the whiteness of his skin, he had daubed his face in even
more than Indian fashion. This operation over, the next-
evidently a mortifying one to the patient, was to divest him
of all the ornaments hung about his person, and of every
instrument associated with scalping, and other atrocities.
Finally, he was persuaded to encase himself in the " proper
garments” of a man, as Smith called them, and to lay aside
" those cut-away things which end just where all sensible
nether raiment begins.” In shirt and waistcoat, coat and
shoes, he was now arrayed, and seemed tolerably at his ease
in his strange habiliments; but after enduring for a moment
the pressure of the shoes, he suddenly cast them away, de-
claring he could not lift his feet from the ground in them.
A smart silk hat that Smith placed jauntily on the top of his
shaggy hair was also rejected with lofty disdain ; and every
overture to induce him to resume these articles was peremp-
torily rejected, and there was nothing for it but to take him
bareheaded and barefooted to his mother.
That loved mother had been the spell, the only spell,
that had availed to draw him from his freedom in the forest
to the “dwellings of the pale-faces.” Mother !—it was the
echo of a remembered but long-silent harmony, and it had
thrilled through every nerve and fibre, drawing out his soul
to follow the heavenly music whithersoever it might lead
him.
And now he was standing at the door which the white man
had pointed out, and looking as though he rather wished to
avoid than to encounter the object of so many a longing day
dream. He grasped the arm of his companion convulsively,


P

226
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
and seemed ashamed that a pale-face should see him mastered
by his feelings.
“Ugh! how cold it is here,” said he in a low voice to Tom,
drawing the coat closely over his breast, as he had been wont
to do his former covering.
Within the house sat the mother, her cheek flushed and her
eyes sparkling with anxiety, her hand locked fast in that of
her foster-daughter. And now she heard footsteps, voices,
and in breathless tension she listened for his voice. Would
nothing stop the beating of her heart? no; she was unable to
distinguish the voice of her son.
The door was thrown open, and Mr. Smith entered first
with a courteous, friendly bow to the widow; behind him Mrs.
Rowland saw the open, manly countenance of young Fairfield,
and at his side a brown uncovered head. She rose from her
chair-all weakness and infirmity had vanished-she stood
upright, unsupported and alone.
My good Mrs. Rowland,” cried Mr. Smith; but the
mother heard him not.
“My son! my son!” she cried, stretching out her arms.
The young savage could no longer refrain; but shaking him-
self loose from Tom, who would have held him back, and
pushing aside the friendly merchant, he sprang
arms. The word “ mother,” uttered in a low, joyous, gurgling
sound, burst from his lips; and in one long embrace, as though
in life she would grow to him for ever, the mother once more
clasped her child. But the ecstasy was too much for her
strength, and she would have fallen, if the strong arm of her
recovered son had not sustained her.
“My son ! my child !” she exclaimed, while a smile of rap-
”
ture lighted up her countenance. After a while, she suffered
herself to be gently replaced in her seat, and then, as he sank
on his knees beside her, her arms again encircled him : “My
into the open

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
227
own, my beloved child, my lost one found ! my life-long cares
and sorrows all compensated before my eyes are closed in
death; my dear, dear son!”
Frank lay long and silent in her embrace, and when he did
lift his head he looked shyly round, as though ashamed that
his womanish weakness should have been thus a spectacle to
the white men. But he was alone with his mother: all had
left the room—even Mrs. Smith, who, seeing that her precipi-
tation had not been attended with any bad results, had shown
some inclination to remain; Mr. Smith, however, had, with
more than his usual conjugal attention, taken her under his
arm and accompanied her to the door. The mother and son
remained alone for some time. The latter had now overcome
.
every feeling of shyness, and, seated at his mother's side,
stroked her hand and called her by all the sweetest, softest
names that his broken English would supply. They had
both regained their composure when they were joined by the
rest of the party, and young Fairfield had now to relate how
he had found the lost one, and by what means he had induced
him to accompany him. This he did in few words, and only
in outline.
He had reached the dwellings of the Konzas late on the
fourth day after his departure from Boonville, and had at
once begun his researches; but to all his inquiries he could
get no answer, either from chief or warrior. Some made as
though they did not understand him, and the rest denied any
knowledge of a white man living with their nation.
But their protestations only seemed to confirm the Ameri-
can in his belief, for there were shades of difference in their
mode of denial. Some could not conceive how he had heard
it; others told him it was a tale of bygone times, when indeed
a white man had lived among them; till he at length met
with a half-breed, a French Canadian, who put him in the


228
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
97
right track. On the evening of the same day, he brought
Tom to the village of the “White Deer," as Frank was called;
and though at first the “White Deer” refused to have any
dealings with the pale-face, and refused even to speak a word
of English to him, he yet listened eagerly to Tom's account
of the white men's village, and inclined his head attentively
as he told of his mother's long years of sorrow and disappoint-
ment, and of the yearning hope that still possessed her, of
seeing and embracing her child before her death. And when
young Fairfield, finding him still unmoved, exclaimed : “ Then
the White Deer will allow his poor old mother to go down
to the grave alone, with no son to abide in her wigwam, and
hunt her venison, and prepare it for her when it is taken ?
Must the stranger dig her grave, and guard her bones
from the ravening wolf and the carrion vulture ?" “ Ugh!”
be had exclaimed, “white man right-White Deer bad son,
and, springing to his feet, ran swiftly into the wood.
But young Fairfield was not a little dismayed when, next
morning, the “White Deer” was nowhere to be seen. In
vain he searched cabin after cabin, and heard many a threat-
ening word from such of the warriors as were ill disposed to-
wards the pale-faces. Just as he had made up his mind to
relinquish all further search and to return to the village of
his Canadian guide, the lost man suddenly appeared, arrayed
in his war-dress, and mounted on a shaggy pony, and en-
treated Fairfield to accompany him. Some of the Indians
now opposed his departure, and declared that he who had be-
come as one of themselves should on no account be suffered to
depart so lightly. But the “ White Deer” was not to be
moved by menaces, and, proudly daring them to obstruct his
passage, he dashed through the midst of them with his war
club in his right hand, his rifle in his left, while he managed
his
pony with his legs. The throng made way for him and

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
229
his guide without venturing on any hostile demonstration, and
thus they had journeyed together to Boonville. And there
now sat Frank Rowland lovingly caressing his mother's hand,
as she urged and he gave the promise that he would not again
leave her during the few days she had yet to spend on earth.

a
A month had passed away, and nothing of importance had
occurred in Boonville. But although the excitement of her
new-found happiness had for a while dispelled all traces of
Mrs. Rowland's illness, the exhaustion consequent on such
violent emotion came at last, and she grew daily weaker and
weaker.
As to Frank-for he had entirely laid aside his Indian
name—he seemed to find the ways and customs of civilized
life easier and pleasanter than might have been expected; at
least he wore the clothes that were got ready for him, even
the shoes and the hat after a while; sat down to table with
the rest, made use of fork and spoon as they did, and appeared
quite happy when by the side of his mother, where he would
sit for hours together, especially when she slept, with his eyes
bent earnestly on her pale, wasted features. He had, it is
true, fits of wild, indomitable temper, when there was no deal-
ing with him—for this was the warrior mood which had been
cherished from his boyhood, and how should it be laid aside in
a day?
On these occasions Rose was the lion-tamer. The influence
of the gentle girl was as dew upon the thorny ground, soften-
ing the young man's rugged nature, and with a word or a
look-and often when bis mother's had failed, and he was
threatening to resume the dress and habits of the red men-
reducing him to order and obedience.
There were three persons in Boonville whom Frank at first
avoided, and for whom, by degrees, he seemed to have con-


230
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ceived a kind of hatred. The first of these was our good
gossip, Mrs. Smith, who from the beginning had so teazed
and tortured him with questions and inquiries, that he was
positively afraid of her, and had once, to the utter dismay of
his mother, leaped out of the window just as that lady had
come in at the door.
The second was the minister of the congregation—an Inde-
pendent—who, in his zeal for the conversion of the 6
· poor,
blinded young heathen,” was wont to talk long and unintelli-
gibly to Frank. At first, and when he saw that it pleased
his mother, Frank listened with tolerable steadiness, and even
when he had begun to tire of the preachings, and could only
be induced by Rose's entreaties to remain in the house when
Mr. Meanwell was expected, even then, no sooner had the
preacher laid his hand upon his, and directed his speech to
him, than Frank, true to bis Indian courtesy, sat perfectly
still, never once offering any interruption, and giving at least
the semblance of attention. But if Mr. Meanwell took this
courtesy for interest, he was grievously mistaken. Frank
hated the old man intensely, though certainly without reason ;
and through him the religion he was so anxious to impart.
But as there was no outbreak, and the friendly footing was
maintained, the preacher seemed perfectly contented as long
as his expected convert sat patiently, and listened without
opposition to the customary lecture.
The third was, wonderful to relate, the very cause and in-
,
strument of Frank's coming to Boonville at all—no other than
Tom Fairfield himself. At first the young men had been in-
separable. Tom was indefatigable in his efforts to initiate
the young semi-savage in all the mysteries of civilized life;
and Frank, though with evident reluctance, adopted every
novelty that the backwoodsman, whom he respected as a bold
and skilful huntsman, thought fit to suggest. But gradually

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
231
the intimacy declined; and in his mother's house, where Tom
was a daily guest, Frank repelled his kindly advances, an-
swered him in monosyllables, avoided him whenever he
could, and, when he could not, evinced his displeasure, as
he had never done to the preacher, in marked rudeness of
manner.
This became more and more evident as the autumn ad-
vanced ; and it had latterly had a fearful influence on Mrs.
Rowland's health. The revival consequent on her son's resto-
ration had been succeeded by a state of exhaustion that now
confined her entirely to her bed, and kept Rose always by her
side. Frank, too, seldom left the house, except to shoot a
roebuck, or a turkey for the larder. He would sit at the foot
of the bed for hours watching Rose as she tended his mother,
or gently turned the murmuring spinning-wheel, or, when the .
invalid slept, plied her knitting-needles, her eyes bent on her
mother's face the while.
They were now in the month of November, and although
the few bright, warm days common at this season have gained
for it the title of the Indian summer,” still it was a keen
north-wester that swayed the branches and rustled in the
many-tinted leaves of the forest. And with the falling leaf,
the strength and life of the poor mother was decaying too.
She had borne up for many a long year against her sorrow,
and had even met it with a smiling face, but the incoming
happiness had been too much for the poor heart, had broken
down its walls, and left it powerless to stem the rushing tide.
And as the sap was receding from the trees and plants, so the
life-stream was slowly ebbing in her veins; and day by day
Mrs. Rowland felt her end drawing nearer. And yet she
would so gladly have lived on for a while ; for it had become
evident to her maternal perception that her son was neither
at ease nor happy in his new sphere. True, he clung to her,

a

232
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
strong in the filial affection which had been of power to draw
him from all the attractions of his wild free life, and to keep
him spell-bound by the side of her sick-bed. But when that
tie should be broken, what was then to bind him to the habits
of civilized life? One only possibility presented itself to her
mind, and that was contingent on the marriage of Rose with
young Fairfield, who, after an absence from Boonville, had
lately returned, and made proposals in due form and order for
her hand. With them Frank would find a home; they would
be as brother and sister to him, and they would surely be able
to keep him from returning to his former savage and heathen
life. For Rose's sake, also, it was desirable that she should
have a recognised protector before death had removed her
mother, and thus on every account Mrs. Rowland was anxious
that the marriage should take place as early as matters could
be arranged.
Very remarkable was the impression which the information
of this event made upon Frank. When it was communicated
to him by his mother, he received it in profound silence, and
without once raising his eyes from the upper leathers of the
heavy shoes that he had been prevailed on to exchange for
his light moccasons; and she was obliged twice to repeat her
question when she asked if he were not rejoiced to hear that
his foster-sister was likely to have so kind and brave a protec-
tor against the storms and trials of life.
" And Rose likes white hunter ?” he rejoined, but in a tone
that showed he was sure of the answer.
+6 She has loved him for many years; and she is happy in
the prospect of being united to him.”
"Good !--Frank is glad," said the young man, rising and
leaving the room immediately. He returned no more that
day; but late in the evening he was seen emerging from the
forest on his pony, which was heavily laden with venison ;

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
233
having deposited this, and without speaking to any one, he
clambered up to his room by the wall.
From that day Frank was an altered man; hitherto he had
been quiet and obliging, now he was fierce and quarrelsome
and obstinate, except to his mother and Rose—with all besides
he was utterly intractable; giving free course to his wild
;
moodiness, and manifesting his hatred in the most outrageous
manner to all those who had in any way excited it. To the
worthy Mrs. Smith it was exhibited under a somewbat comic
aspect. If at any time she had spoken to him interrogatively,
she might be quite sure of having a stone or a huge block of
wood thrown into the pot as she was cooking her supper; or a
gun fired off close to her by some unknown hand as she was
sitting in her parlour in the twilight, sending her screaming
up stairs; or the hens were fluttering about uneasily all night,
and not unfrequently some of the finest of them were missing
from the roost, whence certainly neither hawk nor opossum
could have removed them.
Mr. Meanwell did not escape so easily, although he still
declared that the conversion of the young heathen was quite
an affair of honour with him. If he had chanced to succeed
in catching the “stubborn savage,” so that he could in no
way escape the exhortation and rebuke that had been long in
store for him, Frank would begin by pulling the most hideous
faces, gnashing his teeth, and sliding all the while nearer and
nearer to the terrified preacher, and then, as the finishing
touch, would yell the war-whoop of the Konzas in his ear,
and thus send the good man flying, as if shot out of a cannon,
from the room, the wild laugh of the young savage still echo-
,
ing in his ears. Then, after one of these encounters, a pig
was sure to be missing, or a fence was broken down and cattle
driven into his fields, or, as it once happened, a rifle-ball bit
his best cow and killed her.



234
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
If any one ventured to expostulate with the supposed cul-
prit, this only made matters worse ; and the “converted wild
man," as he had at first been termed, came to be regarded as
such a perfect pest by the inhabitants of Boonville, that they
would have been heartily glad to have been rid of him
again.
But it was remarked, that however ill-disposed Frank might
have appeared to be towards young Fairfield, he never prac-
tised
any
of these mischievous tricks upon him ; on the con-
trary, he had one day saved Tom's life at the peril of his own,
when he was nearly overmastered by a bear that he had
caught as it was coming after the ripe fruit near the village.
Tom had miscalculated his distance and overshot the mark,
and the enraged beast had turned furiously upon him. His
dog was not strong enough to afford him any effectual help-
his knife, with the first thrust, had broken against a bone,
and he was in the most imminent danger, when at that mo-
ment Frank, who feared to shoot lest he might injure the
young man, jumped from the thicket, and rushing on the
bear plunged his knife in its heart and left it weltering in its
blood, and then, without waiting for thanks, without even ac-
cepting Tom's offered hand, disappeared in the tangled brush-
wood, as though caring no further for man or bear. When
they met in the house, Frank never once alluded to the cir-
cumstance; but when
but when young Fairfield, in the glowing terms
of generous gratitude, related it, and his mother stroked his
cheek, and looked at him with glistening eyes, and Rose with
the tears in hers, took his hand and called him her dear, dear
brother, he was softened as he had seldom been of late, and
quite harmless.
Matters were in this state when one day, the invalid hav-
ing declared that she felt worse and weaker, her children
would not leave the room; and Frank, seated by her side,

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
235
a
held her hand fast clasped in his. But the sand was fast run-
ing down, the vital flame was flickering in the socket.
" Rose !” whispered the dying woman, as the evening sun
cast a ruddy glow athwart the bed and lighted her pale fea-
tures with a deceitful gleam ; “Rose-Tom, I feel so wonder-
—
fully light-so well! I scarcely feel my limbs at all, that have
been like lead for a long time past. I believe it is the hand
of death that has unfettered them. I die happy ; but yet I
leave you unwedded ; and my Frank, I leave him to your
care ; promise me-- promise me, that you will continue to love
him as your brother.”
“Mother!” sobbed Rose, hiding her face in her mother's
bosom.
“He shall be to me as a most dearly beloved brother,"
cried Tom, deeply moved ; " but no words can proclaim him
dearer to my heart than he already is; and never, while one
drop of blood yet flows in these veins, shall Frank Rowland
want a friend.”
“ And Frank,” said the mother, with faint and feeble voice,
“ will the grave of the departed be as dear to thee as the bed-
side of the living mother has been ?"
Frank had evidently been struggling with conflicting feel-
ing's. He was ashamed to weep, or to betray any weakness
in the presence of a man, and sat stiff and motionless, staring
into one corner of the room ; now that he was directly ad-
dressed, and saw, on turning his eyes to the bed, that that
cherished life was ebbing fast, that in a few seconds all would
be over, he could no longer contain himself; he fell on his
knees by the bed, and, hiding his head in the covering, shook
in every limb in the extremity of his anguish.
“ Dearest Frank,” murmured his mother, laying her hand
upon his head, and looking upward, “ dear, good Frank!”
“Mother!” cried Fairfield suddenly-for a peculiar con-



236
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
traction of the features, a slight convulsive movement, had
alarmed him. Frank raised his eyes once more to the be-
loved countenance.
“My mother!” he cried, while the scalding tears coursed
adown his sunburnt cheeks; “my beloved mother, and you
are departing!”
She spoke not again ; a slight pressure of his hand was her
only answer; her glazing eyes were fixed on the setting sun,
and, as it sank behind the leafy network of the forest, they
closed for ever upon the things of time.
man.
On the day following that of her death, Frank dug his
mother's grave within the enclosure where his father's house
had formerly stood ; there, beneath the rustling shade of the
pale aspens, she had desired to be laid. The funeral proces-
sion included all the inhabitants of the settlement, and when
they left her in her long home, Frank had again disappeared.
For three days and nights he was missing; at the end of that
time he returned, sad and thoughtful, and once more an altered
He was gentle as a child to all, even to the minister;
so gentle, that poor Mr. Meanwell, who could not understand
the transformation, regarded it with almost as much alarm as
the previous furious mood, suspecting it as a mask under
which new tricks were to be played off. But he was mis-
taken; Frank changed no more, and those whom he now
avoided were the persons whom he had formerly loved the
best.
Although he still made use of the sleeping-room in the roof
of his mother's cottage, he now scarcely ever saw Rose at all.
He rose early, fetched in wood, kindled the fire and prepared
his own breakfast; during the day he was absent, and at
;
night she only heard him mounting the outer stair to his bed-
He kept the house supplied with venison, prepared
room.

THE FOREST AND THE CLEARING.
237
skins for her after the Indian fashion, cut moccasons and
painted coverings for her ; but all this was done beneath the
shadow of the wood, never in the house. And the only way
in which Rose could minister to his happiness, was by accept-
ing gratefully the gifts he almost every morning brought.
The day that Tom Fairfield had so long and so anxiously
waited for, was now approaching, and the happy bridegroom
had invited all his friends and acquaintance to the wedding;
and now even Frank was found in the festive throng that ac-
companied the young people to church. He walked at Tom's
side, and witnessed the whole ceremony; and when the “I
will” had been faintly pronounced by the pale and lovely
bride, and when her blushing face was hidden in her hus-
band's shoulder, he had stolen unperceived and noiselessly
away, and retired to the solitude of his chamber.
It was night, and from the dwelling of the bridegroom
issued sounds of revelry and merry-making; in the hornpipe
and the contra-dance, the reel and the jig, and the other Ame-
rican, or rather English dances, the young people of Boon-
ville displayed their agility; the cup went round, and the
tones of the fiddle were accompanied by the light laughter of
the joyous group.
Without, in the blast that was scattering the last leaves of
autumn, stood a hunter, shrouded in his mantle of skins, his
rifle on his shoulder, and the tomahawk at his girdle ; he was
arrested by the sound of a silver-toned laugh, and stood for
some minutes gazing earnestly through the opened windows
into the brilliantly-lighted room-joy and gladness sat upon
every face on which his sorrowful eye could rest. He sought
but one.
Ha ! she advanced into the centre of the
young
bride leaning on her husband's arm, and the light shone full
upon her. Frank gazed long and wistfully upon the lovely

group—the

238
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
form, but neither sound nor movement escaped him; only a
slight convulsive contraction passed over his features, and be-
trayed the anguish of his spirit.
At last he bowed his head, as if taking leave of all he held
dear
upon earth--all that might have linked him to civilized
life, and then, lifting the rifle again to his shoulder, he moved
slowly away. Did he carry back the peace he had brought
with him from the wilderness?
He drew his mantle closely around him; and taking the
path that led by his mother's grave, his tall form was soon
lost in the dark shadows of the primeval forest that skirted
the narrow clearing.
And whither did he bend his steps ?
It was never known, but not certainly to the Konzas ; for
not long after, the French half-caste, through whom young
Fairfield had formerly traced him, came to Boonville, and
had seen nothing of him. In the following spring, Tom
himself paid a visit of inquiry to the tribe, but found no
one who could give him any tidings of the “White Deer.”
He had disappeared, and left no trace behind !
2

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
239

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
A PICTURE FROM LIFE IN LOUISIANA.
A GLOWING September sun was darting its almost perpen-
dicular
rays
down
upon the broad plantations of cotton and
sugar-cane, and the far-spreading swamps and prairies of
Louisiana. All nature was reposing, or we might rather say
lying weary and powerless, languishing and exhausted, thirst-
ing in every feverish pore for the heavy night-dews which
e
were to refresh earth's parched lips, and to give back to the
flowers their fragrance and to the trees their colouring. A
glowing September sun had driven the effeminate planter to
the interior of his cool dwelling, where, with blinds shut close,
and the claret bottle at his side, he lay dreaming in his wicker
rocking-chair, killing time by stirring up and down with a
long silver spoon the lumps of ice that sparkled like rubies in
the wine.
But in the plantations without, exposed to the broiling heat
which burned down into their naked shoulders, the negro
slaves, men women and children, stood in long rows, with
large light chip-baskets by their sides, into which they ga-
thered the cotton flakes from the hard pods; while, under the
shadow of a not distant tree, leant the overseer, with his
heavy leathern lash in hand, yawning as he overlooked the
toiling and scorched labourers, and at times casting a furtive


240
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
glance at the piazza of the dwelling which stood not far off,
and in which a much more lovely and attractive picture was
presented to his gaze.
Ten steps led to the gallery of the proprietor's house, which
gallery was overshadowed by lofty China trees and two fra-
grant magnolias; climbing white roses wound themselves
around the richly-carved pillars till they met the wild vine,
which, growing up beneath the shade of the verandah, hung
down its full purple branches amidst the rose-buds, as though
it would imbibe all their sweetness, and fill its cool clusters
with it. Rare tropical and northern plants were placed here
and there in this leafy bower, mingling their perfume with
that of the luxuriant creepers around.
But flowers and trees were not all that adorned the entrance
of the luxuriant dwelling of Mr. Beaufort, who was known
and esteemed as one of the wealthiest planters on the whole
Fausse Rivière. Not flowers and shrubs alone waved to and
fro in the scarcely perceptible west wind, which blew from
the broad expanse of waters called the “False River.” Be-
tween the flower and fruit encircled pillars, and kept in mo-
tion by the hand of a little negro child, was suspended a beau-
tifully-woven hammock of various colours, and in it—her
small head, bound round with raven hair, leaning upon her
round white arm, and her pretty little feet peeping out from
under the wide folds of her dress—lay the planter's lovely
child, the most charming creole in Louisiana, looking up
half thoughtfully, half absently, at the gorgeous display of
flowers which were fluttered round and robbed of their honey
by many-coloured butterflies and gem-like humming-birds.
Around her lay newly-gathered flowers, great velvet mag-
nolia blossoms, on whose snowy smoothness she had worked
names and figures with her needle; and in addition to these,
a few French volumes and some journals were scattered on
a
a

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
241
the hammock and the little table standing near it, showing
that Mademoiselle had tried everything, even newspapers, to
divert her ennui.
And was it to this fair flower that the sun-burnt and sinis-
ter-looking overseer directed his passionate glances ? Did he
dare to raise his eyes to the loveliest and richest heiress in the
land ? No; he knew full well how she hated and shunned
him; he knew full well the gulf that yawned between her and
one like himself. No, no; he did not wish to languish and
aspire—he wished to attain ; and his eager gaze had fixed
itself on another than Gabrielle Beaufort.
Near to her young mistress, holding a broad fan of peacock's
feathers in her hands, which she waved not only for the sake
of coolness but to keep away the buzzing swarm of insects
around, there leaned upon an easy-chair a young girl almost as
lovely, though very unlike her. She was an Indian. The
dark bronze hue of the skin, the sparkling eyes, the dazzlingly
white teeth-in short, the whole aspect and bearing of the
maiden, proclaimed her a daughter of the forests; only the
intensely black hair—slightly curled but very long and tightly
braided—seemed to approach that bluish hue which lends
such a peculiar charm to the appearance of the young qua-
droon—the child of mixed white and mulatto descent.
Her slender form was attired in a white airy robe, made.
after the manner of her race; a girdle worked in pearls con-
fined it above her hips, and formed, together with two strings
of coral, one of which clasped her satin throat, the other her
brow, the only ornament worn by this beautiful creature.
The moccasons too, of soft leather, in which her small and
finely-shaped feet were cased, bore the marks of the skilful
hand of Nedaunis-Ais (the little daughter) or Saise, to which
Gabrielle had contracted her name.
Exquisitely lovely and bewitching as was the picture made

Q

242
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
by these two girls, surrounded by a very world of flowers, it
was evident that Saise's bosom was agitated by sad and dis-
tressing thoughts; and once, alas! turning her small head
away that the young lady might not remark it, she wiped off
with her slender finger a tear from her long silken eyelashes,
and a low sigh escaped her.
But what could it be that thus weighed upon her heart,
surrounded as she was by luxury and abundance? Was she
thinking of the fate of her race?—of her whole nation driven
from the land of their inheritance, almost exterminated by the
sword and the fire-water of the white man, doomed to remain
in the far west, far from the graves of their ancestors, while
one of their daughters was forced to wait upon a descendant
of the proud and insolent invaders, although by birth and
right, herself the mistress of the territory in which she served ?
Ah! she would indeed have had good cause to sorrow over
this; and the two lovely beings of whom we speak afforded a
true, and therefore melancholy picture of the respective con-
ditions of both nations—the conquerors and the conquered.
But this was not the reason of her present sadness, nor was it
the consciousness of servitude ; for Gabrielle treated her rather
as a friend than as a dependant. No; it was her separation
from her beloved relatives, from whom she had been stolen by
a fiendish stratagem. It was the thought of those who were
mourning for her at home that filled her eyes once more; and
this time the tear fell, round and heavy, down upon her lap.
Gabrielle noticed it.
- Saise, my darling Saise ! what is the matter with you?
Why are you always so sad, and why will you not let me
know and share your grief?” asked the young creole in a
sympathizing voice. “Am I not your friend? and have I
not told
my little plans and cares, and asked for your
advice and your help?”
you
all

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
243
Saise pressed the hand of her mistress, and looked for a
few seconds into her clear, true eyes, with a melancholy smile ;
then her glance fell upon the little negro girl who was rocking
the hammock, and Gabrielle, understanding the look, said :
“Go down, Piccanniny,* and count the little chickens that are
running about in the court below, but do not come up again
till thou canst tell me exactly how many of them there are.”
The little round thing opened her mouth wide in a grin of
delight, and rapidly ran through the narrow entrance, and
down the steps, to fulfil the command of her “missus.” Ga-
brielle looked after her for a moment with a laugh, then
turning kindly to her companion, she said :
“You see, the child is gone; now then, tell me all that
grieves you, without reserve. No doubt I shall be able to
help you.”
“You shall know all,” whispered Saise. 66 And indeed
it is well that you should, for if”—she stopped suddenly, and
shudderingly hid her face in her hand.
But, in the name of all that is holy, what is the matter?”
said Gabrielle anxiously. “I have never before seen you
thus."
“Listen, then,” said the Indian girl ; “in a few words I
will unfold all. Young though I am, I have undergone hor-
rible sufferings. I am the only daughter of a Riccaree chief;
a
and a small portion of our race (your nation has almost blotted
ours from the earth) had settled just below the Osages, be-
tween them and the Cherokees. My father was a friend to
white men. He saw that game became more and more scarce,
and felt that we were surpassed in knowledge and skill by the
pale-faces. He believed that the only security for the small
remnant of his people consisted in adopting the manners and
customs of their conquerors, in cultivating the fields as they
* Piccanniny is an African expression applied to anything both small and pretty.

46
a

244
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
did, and becoming amalgamated with them. Consequently,
all white men were welcome in our lodge, and he behaved
kindly to all. Only upon one occasion there woke up in him
the old, almost extinct warrior's spirit, and that was when a
white—a rough bad-hearted man, who had been well received
by us, became insolent and forward in his manner to me, and
at last dared to assert that I had no right to be so prudish,
for that, after all, as my hair proved plainly enough, I was
nothing but a little nigger.
“If an arrow had pierced my father, he could not have
leapt more suddenly from his seat. He was one of the first
warriors of his race; and my mother had been the daughter
of a Sioux chieftain, whom he had carried off during an
incursion made by the Riccarees, and subsequently fallen in
love with, and taken to wife. The word ' nigger' so wounded
his pride, that, carried away by rage, he tore down the toma-
hawk from the wall, and hurled it at the head of his guest.
“The white man fell down insensible; but at that very
moment my father was penetrated by the painful thought that
he had offended against the sacred laws of hospitality. He
sprang to the side of the wounded man, examined his wound,
and nursed and tended him as a son till he got well again,
and was able to leave our settlement.
“But that man was a fiend ! the blow he had received
filled his heart with hatred and revenge. While he was still
with us recovering from his injury, he explored the house and
the neighbourhood with a view to carrying out his purpose;
and only three nights after he went away, he secretly and
treacherously returned with his accomplices.
“ They noiselessly surrounded our lodge; felled my old
father, who tried to resist them, to the earth ; bound and
gagged me; lifted me on horseback; and bore me in wild
haste to the banks of the great river.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
245
“When I woke out of a long swoon, the darkness of night
was around me; I only felt that we were galloping at full
;
speed upon a hard and narrow way, and amidst low bushes,
for the horse's hoofs echoed far through the silent desert, and
every now and then I felt slender branches brush my face.
Whatever might be their purpose towards me, it was evident
that my captors either feared pursnit, or were actually pur-
sued, for they hurried on without a check, and never stopped
till they had reached a place before agreed upon, where they
were met by their infamous accomplices.
“God only knows what became of my old father-I saw
him no more ; but in his stead appeared a strange sinister
looking man, who, in my presence, while I still lay bound
upon the earth, pretended to conclude the purchase of me-
obtained from the villain who had stolen me a written paper
-a bill of sale, as the other called it, and then carried off your
poor Saise to a canoe, and rowed away with her.
“Helpless, forsaken, lost ! I lay at the bottom of the rock-
ing canoe; but all the dangers that threatened me rose in
fearful
array
before
my
inmost soul.
"I felt that I was entirely in the power of this man, who
kept his greedy gaze steadily fixed upon me. I knew that,
sold a slave, I had nothing to hope from the mercy of white
men, and for the first time the thought of self-destruction
shot through my fevered frame.”
“ Poor Saise !” said Gabrielle.
“ The canoe was one of the ordinary kind, roughly cut
out of the trunk of a tree; narrow, and with a round bottom.
If I even stirred, I felt it rock, and saw the anxious counter
movement of the rower, who tried to keep it evenly balanced ;
one sudden move—one plunge on my part—it would over-
turn, and I should be free!
,
“Scarcely had I taken this resolution when a cold shudder

246
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
a
passed like ice through my veins, and in agony and terror I
looked up at the white man ; but he, who could not but mark
the expression of dread in my face, said with a mocking
smile : “Don't fret, my puppet ;
if
you
behave prettily, you
shall be my little squaw;' and then he laughed out so loud
and fiendishly that he really seemed to me at that moment
some evil creature risen out of the abyss. This confirmed my
resolve more and more—I would die. I could only see the
banks every now and then, when the canoe swept a little to
the right or left; and I now discerned that a long island lay,
as it appeared to me, just before us.
"I can swim like a fish, but the manacles with which I was
bound denied me all power of motion, and I had therefore no
other deliverance to hope for than that which death afforded.”
6 Poor Saise !"
“I once more addressed my prayer to the Manitu of my
people. I looked once more up at the genial sunshine that
for me for the last time smiled down, clear and bright, upon
the spreading woods. I once more drew in one very long
breath of this beautiful world's balmy air; then I closed my
eyes and by a sudden impulse threw myself, with all the
strength I possessed, against the side of the narrow boat.
“ Stop! we are, sinking !' screamed out my tormentor, in
deadly terror, and tried to balance the boat by leaning to-
wards the other side ; but I rapidly did the same, and, in the
next moment, I felt the cool water close over me—the canoe
6
had upset.
"I did not know whether the white man could swim or
not; if he could, he would have been able to draw me, whose
hands were still bound, to the shore, which was not far off;
but never should he touch me again living, and I dived with
the firm resolve of not returning to the surface.
“God willed otherwise. Lifted up by the strong flood, I

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
247
once more rose to the light, and in rising, felt my head
strike against some obstacle. At first I thought it was the
canoe; but I soon discovered that I had got amongst drift-
wood, and was so placed as not only to have something to
stand upon; but the trunks, in the wild confusion in which they
lay, actually left a small opening through which I could raise
my head and breathe! For the moment I was saved ; but
would not the force of the current, which was roaring and
foaming over the branches a short way from where I was,
soon force this weak shelter from me, and sink me inch by
inch into the river's depths? I had looked a sudden death in
the face with unshaken courage, but to die slowly, slowly
here-oh! it was fearful !”
Saise, overpowered by, and shuddering at, the very recol- .
lection, once more hid her face between her hands.
“ Thou unfortunate child !” whispered Gabrielle, pressing
the lovely girl's brow to her bosom; “ thou dear, unfortunate,
naughty child ! and why then hast thou kept all this a secret
from me so long—was it right of thee? But go on, how
didst thou escape from such awful peril ?”
“For an hour, an hour at least,” continued Saise, “I
remained where I was—for far more terrible than death was
the thought of seeing again the light of day, and with it the
face of that bad man-before I could make another attempt to
save myself. And besides, to get away from where I was,
was both difficult and dangerous ; for, in the water, I had
naturally lost all idea of the right direction to take, and
feared that if I dived again I might get carried down deeper
under the drift-wood. But God above had protected me
hitherto, and I resolved to trust Him further. When, therefore,
I found that I could no longer bear it, and that the cold of the
water was beginning to benumb my limbs, I listened carefully
in which direction the current struck against the branches, and
a

248
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
quickly calculated on which side of the island I should find
myself. I then tried to get rid of the bonds by which my
hands were held, and I actually succeeded. They were
leathern straps, and the water had stretched them ; my hands
slipped through, and—I felt myself free.
“Now, I had nothing more to fear--the man must have
believed me drowned long ago, and have left the place. I
dived again, then struck out with all my strength; and, after
a few seconds of suspense, which stopped my heart's beating,
I again beheld the precious, beloved light of day. But I did
not dare to raise myself long at a time—I did not know how
near the man might be. I only crept very quickly and care-
fully to the flat, sun-lighted bank, and relieved my sorely op-
pressed heart by a fervent prayer and a soothing burst of tears.
“All the rest you know. Five days later, your father found
66
me in the wood : I was homeless--I did not dare to appear
at home again. They had slain my father before my very eyes,
and how could the poor remnant of my race guard me from
the persecutions of the white men ? You, Gabrielle, received
me, and in your heart I have found help and protection !”
“But wherefore, then, this constant gloom, dear child ?”
said the young girl caressingly; “ do be cheerful, as I am.
You are with friends who will let no evil befal you ; or is
there some other sorrow still unspoken ?”
“ Did
you not see this very day?” said Saise, with anxious
glances cast all round—"did you not see how they gave up that
poor creature to the master from whom—so he said—she had
made her escape ?”
“But she was a slave, and he her master, dear girl.”
" And how do you know that he was her master; did she
not swear that she had never seen him in her life?"
" He had the bill of sale, in which her person was accu-
rately described,” replied Gabrielle cheerfully ; "you silly


THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
249
66
child, why do you distress yourself with such melancholy
ideas? how shall I ever be able to quiet your fears ?”
"He had the bill of sale in which her person was accu-
rately described ; and the people here-great God !-they gave
her up to him," shrieked the Indian girl, springing from her
seat.
“ Heaven help me, Saise !” cried Gabrielle anxiously—for
she feared for the reason of her unhappy friend ; " what is
the matter with you? what do you want ?”
They carried her away bound," continued the girl, in the
most extreme excitement; “bound ! and about me, about
me too, there has been drawn out just such a bill as this :
my person, too, my height, my eyes, my hair, even the mole
on my shoulder, are all described-oh! merciful God !” Her
voice was choked with subs, and she hid her face in the
cushions of the chair near her.
Gabrielle had sprung in terror from her hammock, and now,
stooping over the unfortunate girl, tried to still her anguish
by words of comfort ; but alas ! she herself knew too well
the danger that, under the circumstances, threatened her, if
she were discovered by the villain in question.
“ Come,” she suddenly said to the Indian, whose sorrow
had been in some degree relieved by tears; "come, take
courage, I still know a way to help you. You know our
friend,” continued she, as the poor girl looked up at her with
her large, dark, tearful eyes; "you know the young creole, St.
Clyde; he feels kindly towards us—towards both of us—you
as well as me : and he has even lived a long time on the
south-west border of Missouri, between the Cherokees and
Osages. He will surely be able to help us; he will either
hurry there and bring back witnesses with him, or he will
send a messenger who will do so. In that case you must
yourself come forward and prosecute the ruffian—that is the

(G

250
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
-
only way to escape his claims.-Celeste! Celeste !” she then
called to her little negro girl who was still busily employed in
trying to count the wild little chickens, which kept incessantly
changing their places; “Celeste, come up quickly, and send
me Endymion."
The little girl obeyed the command, and immediately ap-
peared on the steps ; her great dark eyes, however, were full
of tears, and her face distorted to an expression of most comic
grief.
“What is the matter with you, Celeste ?” asked Gabrielle
kindly.
"O Missus!” sobbed out the child, whose grief fairly broke
out at the good-natured tone in which the question was
asked; “O Missus-I-I can-cannot count-count—the
chick-chickens, they run-hu-hu-hu—they run so fast !”
“ Droll child,” said Gabrielle laughing ; "go, call Endy-
mion at once, and let the chickens alone.”
But Endymion did not need to be called, he passed up from
behind his play-fellow, and said quickly — “Missus wants
'Dymion ; here he is.”
“Endymion,” said Gabrielle quickly; "you know where
Mr. St. Clyde lives, don't you ?”
"
“Massa Clyde, yes,” nodded the little blacky; “but
Missus, a strange gentleman is below.”
“Very well, take him to my father,” continued the young
creole ; “but do
" but do you ride off to Mr. St. Clyde, and beg him
to come here as soon as he can—if possible, this very even-
ing. Do you understand, Endymion ? this very evening.
I-we-we have something important to speak to him
about.”
“But the stranger, Missus ?” broke in Endymion, in a tone
of anxiety, “the stranger ? Massa is asleep, and poor
’Dymion will have many a blow if he is waked.”
-
66
-

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
251

“Well then, let him go into the hall and wait; there are
;
plenty of books there, and he may while away the time as well
as he can. But do you, Endymion, be quick and get ready
my horse at the same time, it may be that we shall soon want
him for a long hurried ride; and now go, Endymion, and
make haste back."
The full-moon face of the boy now vanished at once down
the steep steps, and in a few minutes afterwards, horses' hoofs
were heard clattering rapidly along the banks of Fausse
Rivière towards the Mississippi.
Meanwhile Saise comforted herself with the hope just in-
spired, of being soon beyond the reach of danger. She knew
-she might at least confess so much to herself with a gentle
blush-she knew that St. Clyde would do all that lay in his
power to free her from every care and danger; and if she
were enabled to come forth herself as prosecutor, that would
free him from any suspicion that he might possibly entertain,
and enable her to prove beyond doubt the purity of her de-
scent. She took the hand of her friend, raised it gently to
her lips, and whispered—“Thou art good and kind-kind
as an angel, and hast poured peace and comfort into my
heart by thy friendly words."
The two girls had wound their arms around each other,
and Gabrielle, as she held the face of the lovely daughter
of the woods between her soft hands, looked most lovingly
into her large dark eyes, and then pressed a fervent kiss upon
her brow.
The overseer, from under his tree, remarked the arrival of
the stranger, and sauntered slowly to the house.
" What have those two girls got to chatter about so
earnestly to-day ?” he muttered to himself. " Deuce take
me if I don't wish that little red thing were my own; it's a
crying shame that one can't buy red skins as easily as black

66

252
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ones.
way!
I wonder who the stranger can be ? Very probably a
cotton speculator from New Orleans. Well, it is high time
that he should come; but for the storm, our cotton would be
already shipped off; now he must take the gleaning too."
With these remarks, muttered in a low voice, he walked
slowly past the straight rows of negro huts to his master's
house, ascended the wooden steps that led to it, and, in the
next moment, found himself face to face with the stranger.
“ The devil!” cried he in astonishment; “Ritwell! where
in the world do you come from ?”
“Durm? by all that is wonderful, you here in Louisiana ?”
· replied the one thus addressed, shaking hands with the over-
seer. “Only think of old friends meeting again in this
Where was it that we saw each other last?"
“ The less we say of that the better,” said Durm laugh-
"
ing; "at least, I for my part have never babbled about the
matter."
“Ah! true—I remember,” replied Ritwell; "yes, yes, I
“
had almost forgotten the joke, but however, it is years ago,
and the man has long”—he stopped suddenly, and cast a
rapid suspicious side-glance at his companion. “But what
"
are you about now ?” said he, changing the subject. “Do you
find yourself comfortable here, as the loafers in the kalaboose
*
“I am overseer on the plantation."
“A good business that ?”
Pretty well—it keeps one alive."
“Who is the proprietor ?”
" Mr. Beaufort."
“How many bales ?" +
-
say?"
66
;
* A loafer is a vagrant, and the kalaboose the Lock-up, in New Orleans.
† A customary inquiry in Louisiana, where the property is so exciusively cotton that
the wealth of the proprietor is estimated in this way.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
253

" A hundred and eighty.”
“The deuce !” cried Ritwell in astonishment; “is there
no dealing with the man? Why, he must gather gold like
moss."
" If
you have got any negroes, we want a couple of clever
workmen, and a girl in the house, but she must be pretty-the
governor cannot stand ugly faces.”
Negroes, hum! well, they are easily procured ; how soon
must
you
have them ?"
“As soon as possible.”
“Does he give good prices ?”
" That depends—have you any
?”
“Hum! yes—but, apropos, who were the two ladies in the
gallery above ? the wife and daughter probably, eh ?”
“ Two ladies? there is only one lady in the house," replied
the overseer with scorn; "the other is an Indian girl who
has crept in here, Heaven knows how, and yet she is remark-
ably proud and prudish, the stupid thing."
Really? but is there no possibility of seeing this Mr.
Beaufort ? I should like to know what sort of a man he is
before I deal with him; one can then get on better.”
“You will not be able to cheat the Yankee,” said Durm
laughing ; “but I hear him coming down the stairs. Be-
tween ourselves, tickle him up a little about his charming
plantations, his noble estates, and so on ; you understand me?”
?
“Thank you, thank you,” said the stranger in a well
pleased voice; “I shall not fail.”
Mr. Beaufort now entered the room, greeted his guest, and
bid him a hearty welcome. Ritwell soon engaged him in
very interesting conversation, and received an invitation to
stay the night, which he was not slow in accepting.
Mr. Beaufort, a man of about forty, and, as we have al-
ready mentioned, one of the richest planters on the False


254
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
River, was one of those southern aristocrats who are wont to
divide humankind into three classes only, namely, those who
are planters, those who are not planters, and niggers. The
first he subdivided into two sets—those who possessed more,
and those who possessed less than fifty bales. He chose his
acquaintance from amongst the first set. As for those who
were not planters, he looked upon them as created only to
supply the wants of those who were; and as for the third, the
nigger class, he loathed it like a genuine creole. Even the
remotest taint in quadroon or mestizo was an abomination to
him, and he only tolerated such, in so far as they were useful
servants to him. Such, in short, was his horror of the Ethio-
.
pian race, that once in New Orleans, he flung his knife at a
poor wretch of a mestizo whom he had mistaken in the dark
for a creole friend of his, and with whom he had actually
walked arm-in-arm through several streets. Fortunately the
sharp blade only grazed the man's leg, doing him little fur-
ther injury than that of terrifying him almost to death.
So much for Beaufort's character. His guest, however, as
well in outward appearance as in his whole demeanour, con-
trasted unfavourably enough with the planter. The latter
was corpulent, healthy in complexion, and had a fine, open,
though somewhat haughty face ; the stranger was pale, with
gray, piercing, fiery eyes, a high forehead, and a hooked
nose ; but his expression was bad, his glance restless, and he
could not for a moment meet another person's eyes. His
conversation, however, was animated ; he had seen and ex-
perienced much, understood the cotton trade thoroughly, and
had bimself, according to his own account of it, a not incon-
siderable plantation in Alabama.
The
supper
hour now drew near. The sun was already
set, and the table was laid on the piazza up stairs, for the sake
of the cool breeze and the pleasant view over the fields and

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
255
66
the neighbouring plantations. The hammock now hung down
from one of the pillars ; Gabrielle stood near it in a thoughtful
attitude, and looked towards the road that led to the Missis-
sippi, and along which she expected to see her messenger re-
turn. Saise sat at her feet, lovingly held her hand, which
she pressed to her burning cheeks, and her eyes followed the
same direction as those of her young mistress and friend.
Men's footsteps were now heard coming up the stairs.
“He is very merry," whispered Gabrielle.
“Laughing,” said Saise, and she suddenly felt that her
friend was looking at her fixedly; she did not, however, meet
her glance, but caressed her more fondly than before.
Saise, are you not yet satisfied ?" inquired Gabrielle; “is
something the matter with you? You have become as red
as fire.”
“Good evening, ladies !” said the stranger.
“For Heaven's sake, child, what is the matter with you?
your face is as pale as death now !” cried the creole, shocked
at the change in her friend's appearance.
“Good evening, children,” repeated Mr. Beaufort. “Mr.
Ritwell-my daughter and her friend, a young Indian. But
Gabrielle, is Saise sick? what ails the girl ?"
“ Indeed, I do not know, father ; she has got pale so sud-
denly, and she trembles so in every limb. Saise !”
“Yes,” gasped the beautiful girl, rising and turning to-
wards the stranger. For one moment she looked fixedly at
him, and then, with a harrowing scream, she fell insensible
on the floor. Gabrielle, on whom now the truth flashed quick
as lightning, threw her handkerchief over her friend's face-
but it was too late ; Ritwell, whose attention had been arrested
by such strange conduct, sprang forward, scarce knowing
what he did, tore the handkerchief away, and called out, in
,
the wildest amazement—“By Jove, my drowned slave !"
"

256
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“ Your what?" cried Beaufort, starting forward in equal
astonishment; "your slave! Why, sir, what do you mean?
She is an Indian, and they are not bought and sold.”
" It is false !” groaned out Gabrielle in her great distress,
while she supported her friend's lifeless form. " It is a
fiendish lie; this girl was stolen from her people. An infa-
mous cheat has been practised ; Saise is as free as myself;
you shall not dare to touch her.”
“I reclaim my property,” said the stranger morosely, put-
ing his hand at once into his pocket and taking out a bundle
of papers tied up together. “There,” continued he, turning
to the planter, “is the bill of sale. Her father was an Indian,
it is true, but her mother was a mulatto-only look at her
hair. Besides which, to prove I am right, you have not only
the fact of her present alarm, but you will find
will find upon
her left
shoulder the mole here described.”
Beaufort rapidly perused the paper, and then stepped to-
wards Saise.
“Back, father, back, for God's sake !" cried Gabrielle in
utter anguish ; you
must not believe what this man says;
it is false. I swear, by all that is sacred, that”-
“Gabrielle," said the father, kindly but firmly, “this is a
matter in which you have no further voice. If the mole be
not found, as I am willing to hope—for the creature would
deserve the gallows if, having nigger blood in her veins, she
had dared to eat and associate with whites--why, then, this
claim is unfounded. If, however, the mole be there, as I live,
she shall not remain five minutes longer in my house; you
know that I keep my word.”
“Father, I implore you by all that is holy! this bill of
sale is forged ; Saise has told me all about it. She has been
stolen away from her home-her father killed-she taken off
by force.”
(6
THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
257
66
“ All fables," said Ritwell, smiling and shaking his head;
“have you ever, young lady, seen a runaway slave who did
not invent an equally credible story ?”
“ Father, father,” prayed Gabrielle, trying to keep him
off; but he pushed her away, and said--
“Come, come, I am getting tired of this. I am not going
to harm the creature: if she is an Indian, she is as free as
myself; but if we find-ha! there it is, Mr. Ritwell.”
“Stop!” screamed Gabrielle, whose eyes had often and
anxiously been turning towards the not distant road; “stop !
there comes Mr. St. Clyde, only wait for his arrival; he will
not, he cannot allow this !”
“Mr. St. Clyde may go to the deuce !” said the planter
angrily; "what has he to do with the right of a stranger ?
Mr. Ritwell, the girl yours;
and she may thank my daugh-
ter that she has not a round number of stripes given her into
the bargain. Zounds! a nigger audacious enough to deny
her origin indeed!”
66 We can place her till morning in one of the negro huts,"
said Ritwell, going up to the still unconscious Saise and
laying his hand upon her; “ early in the morning"-
Quick steps were now heard ascending the stairs.
“Mr. St. Clyde, help us !” cried Gabrielle in despair.
At the very moment that she uttered this name, and that
the young man appeared at the door, Saise opened her eyes.
One glance told her all. For a few seconds she hid her face
in her friend's bosom; and then, supported by Gabrielle, rose,
and opening wide her large dark eyes, looked wild and shud-
dering at the circle around ber.
“Tell me, for God's sake, what has happened here ?” cried
St. Clyde, springing forward at once to support the trembling
girl. “What has happened, Miss Beaufort ?”
“Save Saise!” was the reply. “Save Saise from that villain!"


R

258
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
The stranger looked round wildly, and became pale as a
corpse.
“ Gabrielle," exclaimed her father, “I am sick of all this!
Mr. St. Clyde, let the nigger alone; it does not become a
white man
" Mr. Beaufort !"
“ So it is, however; the girl is a runaway slave belonging
to this gentleman.”
“It is a lie!” suddenly broke in Saise, drawing herself up
proudly. The word “nigger” had given her back all her
strength and energy. She felt that the moment had now
come which she had so long dreaded; but once come, it had
lost all its horrors. All her strength of mind had returned,
and the Indian spirit of the free daughter of the woods woke
within her once more.
But it was in vain that in clear and convincing words she
related the whole villanous transaction of the miscreant, who
stood before her laughing and shrugging his shoulders; in
vain that she called God to witness. She was in Louisiana;
a white man had claimed her as a runaway slave; her curly
hair spoke against her; and moreover, there was the bill of
sale, and her person minutely described therein.
Was it not only a short time ago that a white girl, with
light hair and blue eyes, had been openly put up to auction
as the daughter of a mestizo? How much more then an
Indian, whose brown skin the American considers as a sign
of inferiority to himself, and esteems little higher than the
Ethiopian race!
Poor Gabrielle, finding all her entreaties vain, now wished
to purchase her friend from the stranger; but St. Clyde pro-
tested against that, and certainly with a warmth that, if it
sprang only from humanity, did him great honour.
“No,” cried he, “no; that were to confess that she belongs

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
259
to that despised race.
Pure and free from all such stain shall
she be seen to be, if I beg the proofs of it with my life! Mr.
Ritwell, you shall not leave this parish till
you
have cleared
yourself from the accusation brought against you."
“Who accuses him?" asked Beaufort impetuously; "who
accuses him, sir? A nigger! his own slave! Are you
weak
enough to imagine that the Court would attend to such an accu-
sation? You should know the law of the land better than this."
“I myself accuse this man,” said St. Clyde; “I myself,
and not this unhappy girl, who must not in the meantime be
given up to his power.”
“ You will find it rather difficult to carry your point," re-
torted Ritwell; “ fortunately I am well acquainted with the
course of law. You may indeed accuse me,
indeed accuse me, but you cannot
keep back from me my own property meanwhile."
“Sir, you must first prove that she is your own property.”
“That is proved, Mr. St. Clyde,” replied Beaufort coldly.
16 And
now,
I shall be much obliged to you
if
you
sion no further disturbance."
“Mr. Durm," said he, turning to his overseer, who at that
moment made his appearance, “ be kind enough to take this
runaway slave ”—and he pointed to Saise—“ to the negro
hut below; you will answer to me for her safety."
“ Saise !” exclaimed Durm in amazement, scarcely knowing
whether to trust his eyes and ears. “ Saise a nigger! Well
then, the de—”...
“ Sir!” cried St. Clyde, enraged.
“For Heaven's sake,” implored Saise, “ do not contend
"
against these overpowering present circumstances! Go to the
Court of Justice—they must help me. I claim the protection
of the United States; my father gave up his land to them,
and they promised to defend him. They may only keep me
prisoner till I can send a message to my people : they will

66
will occa-

260
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
all come and witness for me that I am a daughter of their
chief. Oh, if my brother only knew !”
“We do not want any Indians for that,” said Ritwell in a
mocking tone; "that I can myself certify. But who, pray,
was your mother? A mestizo. What else, think you, is
stated here? That mestizo belonged to my friend, from
whom I bought you; and if he left you for so many years
with your father, it was only that you might be brought up
there for him : you are not the less his slave."
"My mother was the daughter of a Sioux chief,” said Saise,
drawing herself up proudly, “and whoever says otherwise
lies!”
Beaufort's fist now felled the unhappy girl to the ground.
“What!” he cried, “will the nigger beast venture again to
call a white man a liar in my presence? is it not enough to
have deceived and made a fool of me?"
With a cry of revenge on his lips, St. Clyde was spring-
ing towards him, and would have prevented him saying thus
much, but that Gabrielle threw herself before him, and im-
plored him for the sake of all that he held dear-all that he
held holy, to spare her father. But the overseer now inter-
fered, and insolently said to the young man:
"Mr. St. Clyde, I have now to warn you against speaking
any more unneccessary words on this subject. Ma'amselle
from this moment is under my care; and whoever interferes
with my niggers, I just run a foot of cold iron through.” And
so speaking, he drew his beavy bowie-knife from out his
waistcoat.
St. Clyde was unarmed; and moreover, he knew how the
law protects overseers if interfered with in the discharge of
their office. A short time ago, an Abolitionist had been shot
in Ohio for this very thing, without any more unpleasant con-
sequence to the assassin than a quarter of an hour's examina-
THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
261
tion. Therefore, for the present he must needs yield to force;
but he swore that he would yet save Saise, even if it were
to cost him his own life.
“ Mr. Beaufort," cried he, turning once more to the planter,
“you will at least guarantee me against the maltreatment of
this unhappy girl. I am powerless now to resist their vio-
lence : they are responsible for what they do. But the Eternal
who hears us is my witness, that from henceforth I constitute
myself Saise's champion, and the laws of the land must and
will support me. Fare you well, Miss Beaufort; and oh! do
not forsake the unfortunate; give her at least the comfort of
feeling that she is not quite alone in the world.”
Meanwhile, the overseer had beckoned to two negroes who
were working near the house to come up, and he now said to
them: “Take this girl to Mother Betty's hut, and do you, Ben,
keep watch over her. Remember, your black hide is surety
for her; and you will pay for it with your life if she makes
her escape."
“No fear, Massa,” said the negro, grinning; “but what
girl is it? Lor' bless you! I see no girl, only Missus Saise !”
St. Clyde rushed down the steps, leaped on his horse, and
galloped as hard as he could to the Mississippi. Gabrielle
bent down sobbing to the poor girl, and bound her own hand-
kerchief around her bleeding forehead.
Both the negroes stood staring, open-mouthed, first at one,
then at the other, and dared not touch the fainting girl till
their overseer's repeated command, and the threat of his whip,
recalled them to their duty. They then lifted up the poor
Indian, and soon disappeared with her in one of the low,
uniform negro huts, that, in long regular lines, looking not
unlike a little town, surrounded the villa of the proprietor.
Gabrielle retired to her own room.
But the men--the
overseer was invited on this occasion to dine with his princi-

9

262
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
ܕ ܕ
pal-sat down to table, and Beaufort seemed resolved to wash
away all anger and annoyance in the well-iced claret; and
before he retired to rest, he again thanked the stranger for
having freed him and his house from the disgrace of harbour-
ing any “cursed nigger blood.”
Mr. Ritwell was duly conducted to his sleeping apartment ;
but the evening air being cool and tempting, as he said, he
spent half an hour or so upon the river in the overseer's com-
pany, and then walked with him through an alley of China
and tulip trees to the entrance of the plantation, which was
shaded by a thick orange and fig-tree hedge.
“I say, Ritwell, just tell me,” said Durm, suddenly stopping
,
short, and standing still, "have you been at one of your
old
tricks, eh? Is the girl really a nigger, or is she not?”
“What's that to you?” muttered Ritwell, looking anxiously
around. “Can any one overhear us where we are ?”
“Not a soul. But come now, you really must tell me the
whole story; I'll be hanged if it has been brought about by
fair means.
What the plague, man, don't be so mum about
it; surely there is no fear of one of us betraying the other ?”
“ Very well, then, you shall know all; but come first of all
into some open place,” whispered Ritwell. “I am so uncom-
fortable under these trees, and cannot divest myself of the
idea that somebody is listening to me.”
Accordingly, both worthies proceeded to the bank of the
Fausse Rivière, and walked arm-in-arm up and down before
the plantation. Ritwell now stated the whole case to his
friend and accomplice; and also revealed to him that, despite
the confident tone he had assumed, he would not stay till that
young fop St. Clyde could fulfil his threats, but purposed
setting out very early the following morning.
" That will suit admirably,” said the overseer; "I have
just been settled with by Beaufort, and shall probably be able
a

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
263
2
to accompany you if you will remain a day or two longer. A
most uncommon bargain may be had of the present gleaning.
I am tired of being here on the river; I mean to go to Texas,
and to buy my own plantation.”
“What I already made your fortune ? That's quick work,”
said the stranger laughing.
“One must be a fool indeed,” replied the overseer with a
smile, “if in three years' time he did not lay by a small
capital on such a plantation as this."
“I would willingly wait for you, if I could,” said Ritwell,
“but it is impossible; I must set about selling the girl in
question. In the first place, I do not feel safe or comfortable
here; and then-I have work to do elsewhere. I could not
have recovered her at a more opportune time; but the devil
only knows how the little creature saved herself from drown-
ing: I saw her sink with my own eyes, and with hands bound
I
into the bargain."
“ The Indians can dive and swim like fishes,” said Durm.
“But do you know, Ritwell, I will buy the little one from
.
“What! you? But that creole”—
May go to destruction if he likes; I will undertake all risk.”'
“ And if you buy her in the way that I am able to sell her,"
66
providently inquired the Yankee, “will you bear the loss if
the Indians should happen to come and reclaim her as the
daughter of their chief?”
“Yes, certainly I will,” said the overseer in a mocking
tone; “but for that very reason I must have her cheap. I
will give you two hundred dollars for her.”
“Hallo! that's too little; why, remember that she is worth
eight hundred.”
“ Not worth fifty cents if I leave you in the lurch,” said
Durm tauntingly

you.”

264
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“Nay, nay man, two hundred is positively too little ;
I would rather take my chance, say three, and she is
yours.”
“Done; but come home with me-write me out a bill of
sale, and receive the purchase-money."
“ And you really think, that without incurring any danger,
I may linger on here for a day or so ?”
“ For a year or so, if you like ; let me once have the girl, not
all Louisiana shall tear her away from me. In every slave
State the laws must needs be upon my side, and there is
nothing more dangerous than to oppose them on such a ques-
tion. Come, Ritwell, in ten minutes the lovely Indian shall
belong to me; and to-morrow I shall not fail to assert my
claims. Afterwards her whole race may come and swear to
her; it's all one to me.
Both the men then hastened to the overseer's house, which
stood in the midst of the negro huts, and was only distin-
guished from them by a higher roof and by a gallery. There
they concluded the business they had agreed upon; Ritwell
received the money, and Saise was made over to Durm as
his own rightful property. On the following day Beaufort
was to add his signature as witness to the transaction.
Meanwhile, St. Clyde had so urged on his horse with spur
and whip, that when he stopped before the door of the magis-
trate, in Pointe-Coupée, the poor animal staggered from side
to side for a minute or two, and then fell down exhausted.
But without deigning to cast a glance at it, the young man
flew
up
the steps, rushed into the magistrate's room, and, in
a few words, relating the outrage he had been witness to,
called upon
him for assistance. The magistrate was a worthy
man, rigidly just as well as humane in the exercise of his
functions; but he shook his head thoughtfully as he heard of
THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
265
a
a
the regularly executed bill of sale. He well knew the power
that such a document possessed.
“ Young man,” he said, after a long pause, during which
he had rested his head upon his hand, and thoughtfully looked
at the creole ; “this is a bad case. In the first place, it seems
to me that you consider it in rather too romantic a point of
view; but even if it really be as you represent, I do not see
in what way it can be remedied, for we cannot act in defiance
of the laws, even if firmly persuaded that the poor girl has
been wronged.”
“But you would not surely concede that it is legal to
capture and sell a free Indian ?” exclaimed St. Clyde angrily;
“ why, the same thing might happen to a white, if two
rogues were to conspire in writing out a bill of sale about
him, and in swearing that his mother was a mestizo."
" That could hardly happen," said the judge with a smile;
“ before a white man could be sold, very strong proofs of his
being really of negro descent would have to be adduced; but
you should not believe all the stories that a runaway slave
tells. Good Heavens! they often lie to a most tremendous
extent."
“But would it not be possible to get the Indian girl out
of that man's power, till one could bring forward witnesses
from the tribe?”
“My good friend, her tribe lives seven or eight hundred
miles away; Mr. Beaufort himself has driven them four
hundred miles back from the river. Nay more, might not
all people of that kind, Indians and Indian-like, mulattoes
and mestizoes, for example, maintain that they have pure
Indian blood in their veins, and then try to send off to the
Esquimaux for witnesses to the fact? This would never
do. Had she witnesses to produce, they would, after all,
only be—Indians ; the best plan were your buying the girl,



266
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
if you really attach the value to her that you seem to
do.
Buying !” exclaimed St. Clyde, in a voice that shook
with anguish ; "buying! and is she then really a slave ? Is
there no possible way of saving the unhappy girl from such
degradation ?"
“I am afraid that there is not; but at all events, this
would be the surest way of protecting her for the present.
Perhaps that stranger might be prevailed upon to take a part
of the purchase-money, and we could then see what further
could be done in the matter : what say you to this?”
"Alas! my good magistrate," said the young creole with
a sorrowful sigh, “ you know very well that I am poor. My
only horse has just dropped down, and I have scarcely money
enough to buy another. How then could I ever raise the
sum that rascal would ask for Saise ?"
“ Hear me, St. Clyde, I will make another proposal to you.
I myself will buy the girl, and keep her with me here; when
you have got the money-very good-I make her over to
you.”
“ To buy, and always to buy, and that only!” groaned out
the creole.
Accept my offer,” said the magistrate cordially ; “in my
house she shall be treated like a daughter.”
“Well then,” said St. Clyde; “ so it must be—it will at
least save her for the present—but I will procure witnesses
to her free birth, even if I have to fetch them from the icy
regions of the north.”
“ This will not help you much ; but if you absolutely must
have a messenger to her tribe, I am able, as it happens, to
direct you to one. This very morning there have been, in
Pointe-Coupée here, seven or eight Indians from the parish
of West Feliciana, on the other side of the Mississippi. They

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
267
were selling venison, and have carried off powder, lead, and
whisky in lieu of it.”
“Of what tribe were they?”
“Probably they were Chocktaws, of whom there are always
a few in this neighbourhood, but first of all let the pur-
chase be properly concluded; for if things really are as you
suppose, and the worthy in question have not a very quiet
conscience, he will certainly not remain long in these parts,
but carry off his booty to some safer place. So, here, just
give this paper to Mr. Beaufort—he can make the purchase
for me; and, as it happens, my wife is now quite alone and
already knows the young Indian—they are sure to get on
very well together."
“But, my good friend, I must have another horse, can you
sell me one?”
" What price do you mean to give ?” asked the magis-
trate; for an American never lets pass an opportunity of a
little horse-dealing.
“I have forty dollars left, after deducting what I require
for immediate expenses.”
“ Very good; I will sell you a horse, but it is impossible
that
you
should set out this evening.”
" This very moment !”
”
“Nonsense ! you will spoil your own game by your over
fervour. At eight o'clock, old Beaufort has had his quantum
of claret, and goes to bed. Now you know that, first of all,
it is an impossibility to keep him awake after that; and even
if you could, I should like to see the temper in which he
would be! There is no speaking to him before nine o'clock
in the morning; and if you set out to-morrow at eight, you
will just find him at his breakfast; that is the best time.
Moreover, I have requested Beaufort to put off the payment
for three days, and to keep Saise meanwhile in his house.



268
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
Perhaps I may yet succeed in saving her. To-morrow I will
speak to Bealty, our best advocate ; if there be any way or
means of proving the identity of the chieftain's daughter, he
is the man to find it out.”
Filled with fresh hope, St. Clyde now allowed himself at
length to be persuaded by the reasoning of the magistrate to
agree to his plan, and to pass the night at his house. On
the following morning, as he galloped off with the letter that
was to save Saise from the gripe of that rascal, he felt for
the first time the full and clear consciousness of how much
he loved the young girl, and that for him there was no happi-
ness on earth unless he found it at her side. True, he was
poor, and had nothing to depend upon but his own strength
and energy; but this daughter of the woods, accustomed to
hardships from her infancy, would hardly long to return to
the civilized life of the settlements, if he really, as he had
some reason to hope and believe, were not indifferent to her.
But first she must be free, once more free, as the bird of the
air and the deer of the prairie, and her present cause of
anxiety must be wholly removed.
As he thought of the poor girl, he spurred his good horse
to a quicker pace, and flew on cheerfully beneath the tall,
shadowing magnolias. At last he reached the settlement of
the Fausse Rivière ; traversed the little village without once
slackening speed ; passed plantation after plantation, passed
“ Pozdras College," and then he saw the lofty shining roof
glistening from out the green shrubbery around it. He
reached the orange hedge, sprang from his horse, hung its
bridle over an old half-withered fig-tree, and rushed up to
the room where he knew that Mr. Beaufort always breakfasted.
“ Hallo! St. Clyde," exclaimed he in a friendly voice.
“It is really good of you to come again, for yesterday I was
a little bit cross, I believe—that vile nigger had vexed me so

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
269
much. Now sit you down, there is a chair behind you.—Scipio,
canaille that you are, can't you see when a gentleman wants
a chair ?” he said in a parenthesis to a little negro who was
waiting at table.
St. Clyde looked anxiously around the room, in which
hitherto he had never failed to find Gabrielle and Saise at
this hour.
“You are looking for my daughter ?” said Beaufort, re-
marking the young man's glance. “She is not very well this
morning-pray excuse her.”
Andand Saise ?!
“Listen, St. Clyde," said old Beaufort, laying his knife
down, “ if we are to continue friends, do not spoil my break-
fast, and let that old story rest. There's an end of Saise."
" An end of her ? For God's sake, what? Is Saise

66
gone?”
ܙ?
“Not yet ; but now do me the pleasure to sit down. The
claret is famous, and the beef-steak capital.”
“Mr. Beaufort, I have got a letter to give you from the
magistrate—be earnestly implores you to comply with his
request.”
“By and bye,” said Beaufort, pushing the document under
his plate without even looking at it; “ we will consider it
by and bye.”
“ The business is pressing, Mr. Beaufort-the happiness of
a life depends upon it,” said St. Clyde earnestly.
“Well, I shall soon have done,” replied Beaufort, half
amused and half offended ; “but do you suppose that I should
let my beef-steak get cold, and my claret warm, to oblige
the whole world?
What cannot wait till after breakfast, let
alone altogether--that's my maxim ; and
you down,
or I shall be really annoyed.”
St. Clyde saw plainly that no further representations of his
now, sit

270
TALES OF THE DESERT AND TIIE BUSH.
-
would now avail; he therefore took a seat near the planter's,
but found it impossible to touch a morsel. He drank a
couple of glasses of wine to cool his boiling blood, and then
walked restlessly up and down the gallery, which was fragrant
with trees and flowers. Meanwhile Mr. Beaufort finished his
breakfast in comfort, and at his leisure slowly sipped his last
drop of wine, wiped his mouth, leant back in his chair, and
said, after a long-drawn breath: “Well then, we will now
go down stairs a little, and see how”—
" But the letter?"
" Ah ! just so.
I had nearly forgotten it; well, what says
the magistrate?
—DEAR FRIEND, -I am much interested-ear-
nestly request-my wife is alone-she heartily wishes to buy
Saise--(by Jove ! here is that accursed nigger again; non-
sense, it's too late)-weighty reasons—to delay giving her up-
(nonsense, I say, it's too late)—exceedingly obliged-perfect
esteem and friendship,' and so on-well, I am sorry it's too
late.”
“But you said a short time ago that Saise was not yet
gone ?-how then can it be too late ?"
“My overseer has bought her,” replied Beaufort, picking
his teeth, “so pray apply to him, and do not harass me with
the matter. I am sick of being plagued about the creature.”
“ But, Mr. Beaufort, tell me, for mercy's sake, what has
made you so harsh towards this unhappy girl ; you used to
behave to her more like a father than a stranger ?”
“ That's the very reason, sir !” cried the old planter, en-
raged; "that's the very reason. I have to bear this dis-
grace before all my niggers. Do not you suppose that the
rogues have laughed themselves nearly to death, at the idea
of their master sitting down to table so long with one of their
own race ?"
" But what if Saise be really descended from a pure Indian


THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
271
race, and
66
you,
without knowing it, have aided and abetted a
fraud ?” asked St. Clyde, fixing his eyes firmly on the older
man ; "what if that stranger and his vile companions had,
with the help of a magistrate, forged that bill of sale, and,
through your agency, an unhappy girl, who hitherto has looked
upon you as her second father, were consigned to nameless
misery !”
Beaufort for a moment looked aghast, but he soon shook
his head angrily, and exclaimed :-
Nonsense—folly—to come thus with a whole packet full
--but when, and—why, thunder and lightning! sir, let me
alone with your lamentations; the girl is sold; I my-
self have signed the bill of sale ; and therefore, basta !' go
to the overseer, if you are so anxious about it—he will let
you have her for an extra fifty dollars. Or, stay, rather go
to him in the field, and send him up hither-I have something
to say to him.”
Beaufort then walked into the next room, and angrily
closed the door. But it was no longer with the creole that
he was angry, but with himself. For the first time he began
to fear that he might have been too precipitate, too much
carried away by his late unexpected provocations. It was
true that he could not undo what was already done, but he
would, at least, try whether he could not mend the matter a
little. He thought he would buy Saise, and then inquire
whether she really had black blood in her veins or not. Till
that point was ascertained, he could build her a little hut, so
that she need not come into contact with him or his daughter.
An hour later, Durm and Ritwell again stood together on
the river's bank.
“Ritwell,” said the first, “I do believe that it would be
better if we were to set out to-morrow; old Beaufort seems to
smoke the matter-he looks grave."



* 272
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
“Has he discovered anything ?” asked Ritwell anxiously.
"It would be no marvel if he had,” replied Durm, speaking
through his closed teeth ; “that young fop was here again
just now, and has probably been trying to get round him.
Only think, he wanted to buy back the girl from me!"
66 Who? Mr. Beaufort ?"
“Yes; both of them; first the callow bird, and then, when
I went to him, the governor himself. While I was speaking
to him, he was holding a letter in his hand, and I would lay
my life that it was from the magistrate. And since I have
got several trifles on the cards here, I do not see exactly why
we should linger on any longer. When I refused to sell him
the Indian, he got into a rage as usual, and said that I might
come to him and finally settle accounts in an hour's time; so I
shall avail myself of this opportunity—such a sudden departure
may save many an unpleasantness. As for my other affairs, I
can arrange them all between this and morning ; so keep
yourself in readiness, in four days we must be in Texas.”
“Good !” said Ritwell thoughtfully ; “but, Durm, we go
together, it seems, and I-I have a few friends besides who
are waiting for me behind Fisher's Landing; and you—could
you make it convenient to get over the ground rather
quickly ?"
Durm looked askance at him, and asked, after a short
pause, “ And pray, may I be informed the reason of this re-
quest ?"
“If you give me your word of honour that
you
will
say
nothing about it,” whispered Ritwell, looking cautiously
around.
“Do you require my word of honour for that?" asked the
overseer with a laugh.
“ Well, well, I see you understand me, Durm,” continued
the Yankee in a low voice. "I have again a little matter on
a

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
273
hand of the same kind that you and I often used to transact.
A rich planter on the other side of the Mississippi is glad to
send his slaves to Texas, as in Louisiana they are too valuable
to other people, and he pays me a hundred dollars a head.
Yesterday morning we crossed, below water too, and with the
help of two comrades I have brought a hundred and fifty
negroes to the swamp that lies between Fisher's Landing and
Cutoff. Did you see the three that passed yesterday? They
were the last. All alike have false papers. Now, you know
all; and, if you are wise, you will not join us alone, but you
will take with you two or three companions. Has Beaufort
no negroes who find that life in Louisiana no longer suits
them? You may say that you would take them to a better
climate."
" That's all very good," muttered Durm, looking fixedly
before him in deep cogitation ; " but, Ritwell, there are two
sides to the picture, and one of them is very dark. That we
succeed in our undertaking I have not a moment's doubt, for
of course you have provided arms; but supposing Texas
should annex itself to the United States, as is everywhere
talked about, how would it be then? The Government would
give us up.”
“Good heavens !” said Ritwell laughing, “if the Govern-
ment were to make a point of giving up all who had gone
beyond the law in one way or other, who would then be left
to till the ground, to tend the flocks, or to fight against the
Mexicans and Cumauches ? No, no, Durm, do not trouble
your head about that, we are safe for that matter; and the
good fellows themselves know that pretty well, or they would
never have declared in favour of the annexation."
“I believe you are right,” said Durm, “and at all events
we should have no difficulty in going further west, where
neither Texas nor Uncle Sam would be able to catch us;
S

274
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
and if it did come to that, we should have many to support
us."
a
“ Seven-eighths of Texas at least,” said Ritwell laughing.
“Very well, so it shall be ; but in this case we must set
out before daybreak, so as to be all together about ten or
eleven o'clock. We need not fear pursuit from this quarter
at all events, for Beaufort does not get up so early; and I
will arrange matters so as to have it supposed the missing
negroes are working elsewhere. But will Saise go with us
quietly ?"
“What a question for an overseer to ask! Have you not
got a whip ?”
Durm smiled, and said, with a sneer, “ You do not seem to
understand how to manage ladies. I have another and a better
plan. I will take our little gig and drive; as an apology, I
can tell those whom I leave behind to say to the governor-
not of course before he asks—that I have taken my things in
it to Fisher's Landing, where the boats always stop. But,
deuce take it! I had wanted to spend to-day with my little
wife, and now I shall have to run about hither and thither
till I hardly know whether I am standing upon my
my heels. Never mind, I can make up for lost time in Texas.
Ha! ha! ha! she won't be angry with me for that.”
Hardly,” said Ritwell drily; “ but now to work--have
you got any arms ?"
“ Two rifles, a bowie-knife, and six pistols; you know that
an overseer must always turn his house into a fortress."
“Very well, if you take a carriage you can easily bring all
those with you—such things are always useful; but here
comes the young fop who makes such a fuss about the Indian,
walking down the avenue. The young lady of the house is
with him ; what is her name ?”
“Gabrielle ; she is a beautiful creature. It is a pity that
head or
66

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
275
you cannot concoct a bill of sale about her; I would gladly
take her too."
The Yankee cast a warning glance at him, and then, that
he might not be seen with the overseer, went up the river,
while Durm saddled his horse and rode out to the fields,
where he picked out a certain number of negroes and told
them to take their axes to fell wood in a distant part of the
forest which he would show them. He soon after disappeared
with them in the swamp that surrounded the plantation.
St. Clyde and Gabrielle walked near each other towards
the river.
" For God's sake, sir !" said the girl, as they approached
the onter fence, “what is the matter with you, you are in
such a state of excitement ? I have never seen you so be-
fore."
“I must set out,” whispered the young man, pressing his
burning brow with his pale hand; “I must go away ; I must
get help. It is only since this wretched catastrophe that I
know how I"---he stopped suddenly, and turned away.
" How
you love Saise !” whispered Gabrielle in a low, hollow
voice, and she looked fixedly at the creole ; " is it not so, St.
Clyde? you--you love the Indian ?”
“Yes, Miss Beaufort, yes, why should I conceal it from
you ?” said St. Clyde hurriedly, as he stood still and looked
full into the eyes of the poor girl, whose colour had all fled ;
why should I shrink from confessing it to you? You were
the unhappy one's friend as long as she remained under your
protection ; you have always been kind and cordial to me, a
poor homeless wanderer. I will trust you now, and you will,
I am sure, assist me as far as you can.”
"Certainly, certainly,” said Gabrielle, in a scarcely audible
voice; “but—but if Saise were really—were ama--negro.
If—but do, do not be angry with me, I do not know what I
66
66
-

276
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
am saying ; Saise is free-must be free and—happy." She
hid her face in her hands, and the clear, pearly drops trickled
down through her slender fingers.
“Oh! Miss Beaufort,” cried St. Clyde, much moved, “ you
are so kind about the poor girl, how shall I ever be able to
thank you ?”
Gabrielle controlled herself with all her might. “What
would you do? what is your plan ?" she rapidly asked. “How
do you expect to save Saise, when you yourself tell me that
wretch has sold her to Durm, and that the latter has quarrelled
with my father? What can you do against these villains,
since they have the law on their side ?”
“Nothing more through the law,” said St. Clyde, in a sup-
pressed tone,“ everything without it. The magistrate told me
yesterday that a body of Chocktaw hunters were encamping
upon the Mississippi ; they must be my supporters. If I am
unable to win them by the hope of saving a daughter of their
own race from slavery, if they are so debased that that thought
even makes no impression upon them, then I have still another
and more powerful means of persuasion left, and that is-
whisky! A border Indian can be got to commit any villany
for the sake of whisky; why not, then, a good action? It is
the last resource I have."
“But the danger to which you expose yourself!”.
Danger! what danger can there be when I have only to
die? No, Miss Beaufort, I might perhaps have lived without
Saise if I had known that she was happy, but with the feeling
that she, sold into the most horrible ruin, was languishing in
shameful bonds—that she, the free daughter of the forests, was
a slave! no, no, life would be madness thus. But I must set
out, precious time is flying ; Durm has quarrelled with your
father--the whole settlement is speaking of the way in which
he has cheated him and made a fortune during the short time
66

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
277
that he has been here. He will not, we may be sure, be slow
in getting it all safely off, and if once he take ship, say to
New Orleans, it would be impossible ever to find him again
in that vast city. But this is
my request—Will
you
receive
Saise ?!
“How can I?” replied Gabrielle with hands clasped in
her anguish ; "is she not Durm's property ?”
“I know that; but you have much influence with your
father, and even over that ruffian you exercise the power that
virtue gives over vice ; you inspire that fear which the bad
cannot conquer when in the presence of the good. Do insist
that Saise be not given up to him to-day; or, if you cannot
prevent that, that she pass the night under your protection, or
at least under that of the old negress with whom she now is.”
“You mean to carry her off?” asked Gabrielle, bewildered.
No,” said St. Clyde gloomily ; “her bill of sale is in
that villain's hands—that thought would always be enough
to make Saise wretched; no—I must have that document in
my power-if the laws will not support me, God will. Only
promise that you will protect Saise till then.”
“Yes," whispered Gabrielle, and with her face averted she
gave him her hand; "and you will, then”-
_
“Save Saise or die!” replied the young creole in a firm voice.
" And then when she-when Saise is yours ”-
"I will seek out a distant land where men are not sold and
maltreated like beasts. I am of French origin; my family
belongs to the noblest in the country. I will go to France."
" With Saise ?"
“With my wife.”
“Farewell then, St. Clyde, farewell! May God protect
and defend you,” cried Gabrielle, and then hurried back to
the house.
A white rose that she wore in her bosom had fallen where
-
a

278
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
she stood; St. Clyde picked it up, kissed it, hid it on his
heart, and then hastened away, mounted his horse and gal-
loped off, taking the road that led up the river. Having
reached the landing-place, he only remained there while they
prepared the flat boat to ferry him and his horse across
to the other bank ; and, impelled by four stout arms, it was
not long in bearing him over the smooth surface of the
mighty river to its eastern bank.
“Have any Indians crossed this ferry ?” asked he after
a while, addressing himself to the eldest of the two rowers,
who appeared to be the owner of the boat.
The man looked at him and laughed.
“No," said he; “when did you ever hear of an Indian
crossing a ferry ? I never did—they can spend their money
more to their liking--they can get whisky for it; and if the
red fellows can save a cent for that purpose, they will willingly
put themselves to any inconvenience that suits their fancy,
except, indeed, that of working."
" Then they have not crossed over?” asked St. Clyde in
dismay.
Yes, they have,” rejoined the younger rower; “but not
by the ferry : they all sat in two little canoes that they
brought over with them, and let their horses swim behind
them.”
“ And do you think that I shall find them ?”
“I should think you would have no difficulty. As Ben
here tells me, who came across just now, they have got a
quantity of whisky bottles with them, and so they are not
likely to hunt any more to-day. They landed a little further
up, and if you will give yourself the trouble to go to that
house which you see shining there between the willows and
cotton trees, I think that you will be put upon the right track.”
At that very moment the boat touched the shore. St.
66
a

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
279
Clyde led out his horse, which cautiously pawed the ground as
he walked along, and putting the fare into the hand of the
youth who had jumped out to hold the boat's cable, he sprang
into the saddle and rode off quickly to the not distant dwell-
ing, which, low in itself and built at the water edge, was as
yet surrounded by the high trees which the new settler meant
to make his livelihood by cutting down and turning into cord-
wood for steam-boats.
The backwoodsman stood in the door.
“Good day, sir!” cried out St. Clyde; “have you seen
anything of the Indians who crossed over yesterday, not far
from here?”
The man listened without answering a word, and, looking
in the direction of the wood, stood silent for several minutes.
St. Clyde, who could only suppose that his question had
not been heard, repeated it, and requested an answer. The
American remained standing as if he were hewn out of stone,
till the young man could no longer suppress an impatient
exclamation.
“Can you find a man, when he sits in a wood and screams
himself hoarse ?” was the counter question, according to the
never-failing custom of the New Englanders.
"If I am near enough to hear him, I can, of course,"
exclaimed the creole in some displeasure ; “but I ask you
whether the Indians'
".
" There they are, screaming in the wood," said the Ame-
rican drily, pointing with his short red tobacco-pipe to a
narrow pathway that led into the thicket.
“ The Indians ?” asked St. Clyde in amazement.
“ Abem !” nodded the other, and then continued smoking
without taking any further notice of the stranger; but the
creole, who had meanwhile listened attentively, now thought
that he heard wild confused sounds, and with a short expres-

280
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
sion of thanks, he proceeded as quickly as he could through
the thick underwood to the quarter from whence the up-
roar came, even more and more loudly. After a short ride
he reached an open space, close to the edge of a small trail of
marsh like that on the sea-shore, which the Mississippi had
left behind it in one of its overflowings, and which was not yet
dry. There he saw a scene as picturesque as it was peculiar.
Stretched upon the luxuriant grass, surrounded by a semi-
circle of towering fires, whose smoke, blowing down upon
them, served to keep off the countless mosquitoes that were
ready to attack them, there lay beneath giant cotton-trees,
seven red-skins, some with, some without their hunting dress;
but all with a nearly emptied whisky bottle in their hands.
They were roaring out, rather than singing, old battle-songs
on newly learnt French and English melodies. The one who
seemed to be the leader of the party, and who was the
soberest of them, even now had taken out his pointed scalping
knife, and kept time by striking it at regular intervals into
the green grass on which he lay with his face upturned to
the breezy tree-tops, while the rest, all in much the same
attitude, accompanied him not only with their voices but
with their fists and hatchets, making thus a primitive but
ear-rending concert.
It appeared that the leader of the party was the first to
discover the stranger. Without moving more than was ne-
cessary to measure him from top to toe, he held his bottle
toward him, and stammered out, while a faint drunken smile
overspread his features :
“ Here-stranger ! here-drin—drink, I say !”
“Great God !” groaned St. Clyde, horrified, as he looked
upon the scarcely conscious forms of the savages,
were these
the men from whom I expected help? Lost-lost-all, all
is lost!"
a
66
-

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
281
you not
He hid his face in his hands, and remained for a few mo-
a
ments absorbed in speechless grief.
6 Drink, I say !” said the leader again; “will
drink out of the same bottle as the Indian, the poor Indian,
eh? The poor Indian is a great chieftain's son ; go to the
deuce!” He sank back upon the root of a tree, and began
his song anew.
The creole dismounted, and, with arms crossed, and eyes
fixed upon the earth, walked up and down near the drunken
hunters, while the leader of the savage band, with glassy
vacant stare, looked up at the green dome above him, and
sang a verse of an Indian war-song-
“I have slain the Chief of Muskokee,
His wife I have burnt at yonder tree;
And his favourite dog I have hung up high,
Hung by his hind legs, slowly to die !
Huh, huh, huh, of the Muskokee,
Wah, wah, wah, the scalp you see !"
At the name of Muskokee, St. Clyde stood still and listened,
for he knew that of late the Riccarees had had many bloody
conflicts with that tribe; the Chocktaws and the Muskokees
having also been at war, this song proved the young Indian to
belong to one or other of them. St. Clyde, therefore, turned
to him, and said—“ To which tribe do you belong; are you
a Chocktaw ?” The Indian, without heeding the question,
went on singing-
“ I have left his skull all naked and bare,
And here is his scalp and the long scalp hair ;
His fiesh fills the panther's hungry maw,
And his bloody bones the gaunt wolves gnaw !
Huh, huh, huh, of the Muskokee,
Wah, wah, wah, the scalp you see !"
“ Are you a Chocktaw Indian ?" asked the creole again,
still more earnestly, as he bent down over him, and laid his
hand
upon his shoulder ;'“ speak, are you a Chocktaw ?”

282
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
1
The savage only muttered a half-intelligible curse, and
continued
“His tendons I use to string my bow,
When I follow the track of some single foe;
Like a reed in the tempest the weak Muskokee
Will quiver before the brave Riccaree!
Huh, huh, huh, of the Musk ”-
" What the deuce is the matter with you ?” said he, sud-
denly stopping, as St. Clyde, at the word Riccaree, exclaimed
in a tone of joyful surprise-
" Ha! Riccaree! You are a Riccaree ?-You are a Ric-
caree ?” he repeated once more, after a short pause.
Very well! what of that ?" was the Indian's curt reply,
as, trying to find the thread of the interrupted song, he
drummed with his heels upon the grass in a vacant manner.
“ You must come with me, and save a child of your
tribe
who is in great danger.”
“My tribe is in Missouri," muttered the red son of the
woods, and then he hummed in a low voice-
“His tendons I use to string my bow,
When I follow the track of some single foe.”
“But your tribe has been robbed !” cried St. Clyde in
despair. Man, has this accursed whisky so burnt up all thy
reason that thou hast no more pity, no more feeling left ?”
“No more whisky left ?” the hunter repeated, rolling out
his tongue.
“No-no more, not a drop-give us a drop ?”
- Ha !” said the creole, struck by a lucky thought, “ you
shall have whisky, a whole caskful ; but first come along
with me and help me.”
“A cask of whisky ?” repeated the Indian, half raising
himself; “ a whole caskful?” The idea was too overpower-
ing, he could not grasp it. Meanwhile his companions broke
out into so deafening a war-song, while they tossed their arms
in the air, that an old alligator, which was sunning itself on
a

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
283
a trunk that floated in the water, not a hundred paces from
where they were, looked up in terror, and then noiselessly
glided back into its own more tranquil element.
“A caskful of whisky?” repeated the Indian, after a
longer pause.
“A great deal of whisky that-come !" and
he vainly tried to raise himself.
The creole supported him, and exerting all his strength,
at last succeeded in making him stand upright; but what
availed it ? What could he do with this scarcely conscious
mass of brutal sensuality ? Was this the man to whom he
had looked to help him in freeing his beloved ? He ceased
to support him, and the young chief staggered, with head
sunk on his breast, to the nearest tree.
“ Poor Saise !” groaned out St. Clyde.
" Ais !” stammered the Indian with an indistinct utterance.
“ Ais ! who speaks of Nedaunis-Ais ? She is dead. I want
whisky-whisky !”
Whisky !” shouted the band who had caught the last
word. “Whisky! whoop!”
“ Nedaunis-Ais ! you know her ?” cried the creole, spring-
ing towards the reeling chief.
“Let me alone, or I will drive this knife into you," said
the savage.
“ Nedaunis-Ais lives," cried the other in a voice of thunder,
wholly regardless of the threat, “ she lives, and
you
shall help
me to save her."
“ Lives ! save! where ?” cried the drunkard, evidently
anxious to grasp the real meaning of the words, and fixing
his glassy eyes more steadily upon the stranger.
In a few short words, St. Clyde now told the story of the
Indian girl to his attentive listener, who stood with hands
clasped across his brow, and uttered not a word. When at
last he began to understand how the case really stood, when
66

284
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
the fate of the unfortunate captive rose before him in colours
ever more clear and distinct, in a transport of rage and fury
he seized the bottle near him that still held about a third of
its former contents, and hurling it wildly against a tree, broke
it into a thousand fragments.
“Poison ! poison ! poison !” he exclaimed ; “my sister
sold, and I drunk! Poison ! poison ! the white man's fire-
water-poison-whisky !"
“Whisky! whoop!” yelled out the rest of the troop, who
had still just sense enough to understand the last word.
“But stop! stop !” suddenly cried the young Indian, while
he pushed back his long black hair from his forehead, “it is
not yet too late—there is still time;" and throwing off his
hunting coat and his leggings, he leaped down from the bank,
which was some feet above the water, dived several times,
and came swimming back to the land. He then ran off
into the wood without first taking the trouble to resume his
dress; and in about a quarter of an hour, returned upon
the back of a small snorting pony. His clothes and his
weapons were then soon huddled together, and almost before
the creole could mount his horse he beckoned him to follow.
“But your comrades," objected St. Clyde; “ what can we
two effect alone?"
“Come on!” said the son of the woods,“ come on! Would
you stay here till morning to hear them stammer out, “ More
whisky, more whisky!' They are Chocktaws. I must go,
you come with me: two are enough.”
He did not even wait for his companion's reply, but rushed
off to the Mississippi, threw himself once more into the river
in order to dispel the last trace of intoxication; and then,
having put on his slender apparel, brought out a canoe that
had been hidden in the bushes. He made St. Clyde seat
himself in the middle of it, and hold a horse by the bridle on
а

THE DAUGIITER OF THE RICCAREES.
285
either side, while he himself rowed the boat swiftly and skil-
fully across the broad rushing river.
But St. Clyde had been so long detained, first by the state in
which he found the Indians, and next by the crossing of the
river, that the sun was already setting when they reached the
western shore. It was now the creole's turn to guide, and he
led the brother of Saise, whom he had so opportunely found,
to the magistrate's house. On the way, Wetako—this was
the Riccaree's name-told him that he had followed his
sister's track, and met with and slain her base ravisher; that
he had wandered about for many months vainly seeking his
stolen treasure, but that he had never been able to find the
least trace of the lost one, who had been, he supposed, con-
veyed, through the wretch's fiendish arts, out of the reach of
his helping arm. In utter despair, he had at last found a
band of Chocktaws, who were hunting in the woods of
Louisiana, and selling their game in the small towns around.
Rendered reckless by grief and life-weariness, he became un-
mindful of all he once held dear and honourable, and had
given himself up to drink, thus following the example of the
whole of his unfortunate race.
The double bath, and the sudden shock of the half joyous,
half sorrowful news respecting his sister, had now banished
every remnant of intoxication. The Indian—the cold, calcu-
lating savage—had once more waked in his breast, and with a
rapid glance he now saw all the dangers that threatened
the one whom he loved best on earth. It is true, that he did
not know the laws of the whites; but he did know how diffi-
how impossible it is for an Indian ever to recover
what they have once laid their hand upon, and he seemed to
have no hope of saving Saise except through fraud or violence.
Either method suited him equally well, so that it answered
cult, nay,
his purpose.

286
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
It was already night, when they reached the magistrate's
house ; and it appeared that important events had been tak-
ing place there within the last few hours. From the con-
fines of the States lying to the north of the Mississippi,
constables had arrived singly, in pursuit of a planter and
his accomplices. It appeared that the fugitives had kept to-
gether as far as Waterloo; after that, they had divided, and
two of the messengers went down the course of the river to
endeavour by all means to stop further flight, while the others
followed the fresher track up the stream, in order to prevent
the fugitives from turning inland and reaching the borders of
Texas.
Immediately upon hearing this intelligence, the suspicions
of the magistrate had pointed towards the stranger; and he
had, even late in the afternoon, sent a messenger to Fausse
Rivière to arrest him, not on account of the Indian girl, but
on the presumption of his being concerned in the slave-steal-
ing above mentioned. And by this means he hoped to arrive
at the truth as to whether Saise were really a negro, or
whether she had been nefariously stolen away from her
tribe.
St. Clyde now insisted upon obtaining a delay in the giving
up of Saise, to which the magistrate quite agreed, but said,
that for this purpose the return of the deputy sheriff must be
awaited, as the high sheriff was engaged up, and both the
constables down the river; and thus the creole found himself
compelled, much against his will, to delay taking any further
steps until then. It is true, that he implored to be allowed
to take the letter himself, but that would not have been
legal; and the magistrate consoled him by the reflection that
after all, a few hours could make no difference, and that, in
spite of the delay, he could be at Fausse Rivière by break of
day, and protect the poor girl from continued imprisonment.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
287
But the deputy sheriff never came. Hour after hour they
waited and agonized ; at last the magistrate himself exclaimed
indignantly-
“Plague take the fellow! I shall be obliged to propose to
the sheriff to dismiss him; there is no doing anything with
him-he drinks himself stupid, makes a fool of himself with
the mulatto women at Fausse Rivière, and neglects his duty.”
“I will go to meet him,” suggested St. Clyde; “perhaps
he is lingering on the way.”
“ That would do you no good,” said the magistrate ; “for
if he is lingering thus, you will never find him—he keeps
his haunts very secret. But if he be not returned early in the
morning, I will ride over with you, and both together we
shall at once settle the matter."
Thus they spent the night, in anxious and sorrowful expec-
tation. But the Riccaree could not possibly be made to un-
derstand the cause of the delay, and continually wanted to
set off, to free and to revenge his sister.
It might have been a little past two o'clock, for the silence
of the frogs showed that morning was near, when a loud
knocking was heard at the door of the house. The slave
whose turn it was to watch, opened, and there rushed up
the
steps, not indeed the deputy sheriff, but the constable, who
gave out, in a few words, that it was proved on the best
authority that Ritwell was the hired kidnapper of the body of
plantation negroes, and that he was no longer to be found at
,
Fausse Rivière ; and also, that Beaufort's overseer must be
with him wherever he was, for that he too, having probably
been warned, had set out in the middle of the night with the
Indian girl, whom he had just bought; and further, that she
followed him by no means willingly, but had to be got off
chained and gagged, as negroes usually are.”
“Wah!” cried Wetako, springing up from the earth on

288
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
which he had squatted until now; "away !-away! we must
away !”
St. Clyde seized his hat and prepared to follow him, but he
was stopped by the magistrate, who begged him to delay a
little longer. He represented to him that they could effect
nothing by force till a sufficient number of planters was
assembled. Of course that would not be till the following
day at noon, and therefore he entreated them to join his
constables in conveying the intelligence to all the plantations
around as quickly as possible. Even if Saise's rescue were
thus delayed for a few hours, it would be accomplished with
far greater certainty. But neither the creole nor the Indian
would hear of this.
"No," cried the latter, “Nedaunis-Ais in chains ! Weta-
ko, with knife and rifle, should be on her track-we must
away !”
>
“For God's sake, commit no murder !” cried the magistrate
terrified ; "you do not know our laws; imprisonment for life
would be the penalty.”
The Indian heard this with a savage smile.
“Why then do you not catch the panther which kills your
young horses by night?” asked he tauntingly. “Wetako is
a man, and his tracks are deep. Follow him if you can."
He sprang at once into his saddle, and the creole did the
same, stopping however for a moment to bid adieu to the
magistrate, who cautioned him anxiously; and then they
galloped along the road that led to the place from which the
overseer had started, in order to follow his track from its
very beginning.
The first sunbeams were already reddening the dusky green
of the rustling cypress trees, when the riders reached Beau-
fort's plantation. There they found everything in confusion.
Almost all the planters from the neighbouring settlements

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
289
had assembled there, armed with double-barrelled guns, bowie
knives, and harpoons; and one division of them was about to
be sent off-so at least St. Clyde heard—to stop the fugitives.
But he and bis companion only remained here long enough to
discover the main point-the way the overseer's gig had
taken, and then they rushed on in pursuit of it like two dark
avenging deities.
This gig had excited a suspicion of Durm much sooner
than he had calculated upon ; for this very day he had sent
off his things to Houston, addressed to a mercantile house in
Texas, to proceed in a steamboat that was lying there. Some
of the negroes whom he had treated brutally, apprised their
master of these surmises, and also that a certain number of
their fellow-slaves, of włom the greater part had been the
overseer's spies, were missing, and that no trace of them re-
mained.
Durm had, moreover, been compelled to leave his newly
bought slave in the old negress's hut throughout the previ-
ous day, for Gabrielle had firmly insisted on it, and he feared
to excite suspicion by open resistance. This delayed until
night the flight, which a messenger from Ritwell warned him
to expedite; and hence it came to pass that while he was still
many miles distant from the place of rendezvous, he heard his
well-mounted pursuers in full chase behind him. Scarcely did
the thundering of the horses' hoofs reach his ear than he rapidly
turned out of the road into the bed of a small dried-up brook.
The negroes, who were mounted on horses stolen from their
master or his neighbours, had already ridden on towards the
place appointed, and Durm had hoped to be able to overtake
them. However, his present stratagem availed him for the
moment; for the planters, who were not much accustomed to
follow a track, did not remark the turning off of the wheels
till it was too late, and then they went on following the road
T

290
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
indicated to them by the negroes, unwilling to lose time by
turning back; for, at all events, thought they, once at the
meeting-place, they should be sure to catch them all.
Durm, who was thoroughly acquainted with every step of
ground in the woods and swamps of the district, knew that, if
he followed the edge of a little thicket, he should find a toler-
ably open clearing, and only have to contend with the remain-
ing roots of cypress trees : that in less than a quarter of a mile
from thence, there was a crossway leading over the swamp as
far as Cutoff,* and that as soon as he reached that place, he
should be safe from all pursuit.
But he had not reckoned upon one obstacle, and that was
Saise. So long as he had kept on the road, the unhappy girl
never relinquished the hope of being overtaken by her be-
loved—for she, too, hung her very soul upon the young creole;
but now that she found herself surrounded by the tall forest
trees, and wholly in the power of a man whom she had feared
and loathed from the first moment she saw him, she believed
that her fate was indeed sealed, and sought with all the
strength of despair to burst her chains and get free.
“Sit still, I say, in the devil's name," growled out the
overseer, who was not in the best temper without this addi-
tional provocation, " or I will give you a cut on the head
with my lash, which will keep you quiet.”
Saise remained for a moment exhausted; then putting forth
all her strength, she succeeded—not indeed in breaking her
chains, but in bursting the cords that held her hands down.
She instantly used them to get off the gag which the villains
had taken the precaution of putting on; and then, impelled
by anguish and despair, uttered a cry for help so sudden and
loud, that the pony that drew the gig swerved to one side in
66
* A bend of the Mississippi, where the river has made itself a nearer and more direct
channel.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
291
terror, and dashed towards the wood. Durm, who was per-
fectly stunned by Saise's scream, could not check him fast
enough—nay, the reins had slipped out of his hand, and in
the very next moment the light vehicle had run against a
cypress stump, and overturned both master and slave.
Durm jumped up, with rage and revenge in his glance; but
the pony claimed his attention in the first place. The gig
contained all his worldly goods, and if the pony were to run
away he would be lost indeed. He sprang to the head of
the horse, which was plunging violently; made him rear till
blood mingled with the foam at his mouth; and then, with
giant strength, lifted up the gig, while the frightened creature
stood still and trembling.
And now he turned his whole anger against the cause of
the accident; for Saise, almost stunned by her fall, had by
this time recovered herself, and again uttered the same pierc-
ing scream.
“Death and destruction !” cried Durm, rushing towards
her, and aiming at her head a blow from his loaded whip,
which, had it struck there, would have killed her on the spot ;
.but she threw up her fettered arms, and the chain received
the full weight of the stroke.
Durm was about to repeat the blow, when a still distant
but sharp and defined cry resounded wildly through the silent
forest, and he stopped to listen to it. Saise appeared to be
suddenly turned to stone, so rigid and motionless was her
aspect while gazing in the direction from which that sound
had proceeded.
“Ha! there are others coming; but they too are upon
the
road," muttered the overseer to himself. “Plague on it,
the affair is getting dangerous ! Come, my dove, and be ra-
tional; the first scream you utter again will be your death."
And so saying he bent down, seized the statue-like girl, and

292
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
tried to lift her into the gig. But his touch woke up the
blood that had almost seemed frozen in her veins by that
strange cry, and lifting up the light chains which confined
her hands, she struck such a blow with them at the head of
her tyrant, that he loosed her and reeled back half stunned.
Again, and louder than before, she sent forth her despairing
cry for help; and Durm, made frantic by rage and vexation,
had no sooner heard the answering and now fast-approaching
signal, than he tore his broad knife out of its sheath, and
rushing upon the horrified and shrinking girl, grinding his
teeth the while, he plunged the sharp steel into her breast.
Saise, mortally wounded, staggered, and fell amidst the
yellow leaves; while Durm leaped to the gig, tore a large
pocket-book out of it, hid it in his waistcoat, cut the traces
of the gig, threw his double-barrelled gun on his shoulder,
leaped on the horse, and the next moment disappeared in the
thicket.
Scarcely had the bushes closed behind him, when on the
other side of the small clearing appeared two horsemen
mounted on foaming steeds, who suddenly pulled up, as if
struck by lightning where they stood. So they remained for
a few seconds. Then, with a wild cry of anguish, one of
them threw himself off the saddle down by the bleeding form
of the lovely and unhappy girl; while the other, rising in
his stirrups, seemed to listen intently, as with fixed and
glassy eyes he gazed into the wood. Apparently some distant
sound must have reached his ear, for without even deigning
to cast one look upon the murdered one, he plunged his spurs
into the side of his horse, which swerved aside at the smell of
blood, leaped over the gig that stood in the way, and silently,
but with an aspect that spoke of death and destruction, fol-
lowed
upon
the track of the flying murderer.
Not one syllable escaped his trembling lips, not one glance

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
293
a
wavered from the track in the soft ground; with the bridle
in one hand and his rifle in the other, he flew swiftly through
the forest, and had hardly proceeded five hundred paces when
he came in sight of his foe, who was occupied in cutting
through one of the traces that bad caught in a bush, and
thus for a few moments delayed his flight.
Durm looked round, and, recognising an Indian in the
rapidly-approaching form, was at first in doubt as to whether
or no he need expect to find an enemy in him ; for he for his
own part had never had any intercourse with the descendants
of that savage race, and he knew that they very seldom took
any part in the quarrels of white men with each other. But
just as the thought of the murdered girl, who belonged to that
unhappy people, shot through his mind, all further doubt was
removed by the young Indian himself, who suddenly reined
in his horse, raised his rifle, and its red flash shone for a
second through the mysterious gloom of the primeval forest.
The overseer felt himself wounded; but no time remained
for thought—the avenger was sweeping on. He raised his
gun to his shoulder with intent to shoot him down; but the
tomahawk had been hurled, and struck his left elbow, thereby
giving a wrong direction to the charge he fired. A few shots
only grazed Wetako's shoulder; and before the murderer,
aware that he had missed his aim, could fire the second barrel,
the avenger flew by, the war-cry of the Riccarees echoed
yelling through the woods, the bowie-knife whizzed, and the
wretch sank down howling.
Meanwhile, supporting on his shoulder the pale face of his
beloved, the young creole knelt by the bleeding form of the
beautiful and unfortunate girl. Promptly and skilfully had
he staunched the widely-gaping wound, but it was too late :
the death-blow had pierced her heart. He heard the gallop-
ing by of the pursuers, who streamed from all sides to pre-

294
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
-
vent the success of the negro kidnapping-he heard the war
cry of the Riccaree; but he heeded neither: his eyes were
fixed on the red fast-flowing life-current of his so dearly-loved
one, and at length all about him grew dark-dark as mid-
night.
When he recovered, the Riccaree stood at his side. He
had wrapped his sister's corpse in his blanket; and now that
he observed the returning consciousness of the white man, he
lifted it on his horse.
" Wetako, what art thou doing?” cried the creole, starting
up in horror; “whither goest thou ?”
“I will take to the tribe of the Riccarees the body of their
chief's daughter," said the young Indian, with a gloomy
smile. “I will tell them it is the gift of peace
that the whites
send them. They have stolen our old land; here is blood to
fatten the new.-Farewell !”
“ And the robber?” asked St. Clyde, looking the while,
half stunned as he was, on the blood-stained body the other
held in his arms.
“The robber!” laughed the Riccaree, while he flung back
his leathern overcoat; “the robber belongs to me!” and the
creole saw with horror the bloody scalp of the slain hanging at
the girdle of the savage. Before he could utter another word
Wetako had leaped into his saddle, with his sister's corpse
before him, had dashed the spurs into the foaming horse's
sides, and disappeared from the white man's sight.
Meanwhile, the planters in pursuit had overtaken Ritwell,
the negro kidnapper; and, with the accustomed despatch in
cases of the kind, had hanged him upon the nearest tree. In
his pocket-book they found abundant proof that he had de-
served a tenfold death ; for the pure descent of the Indian girl
was established beyond all doubt by a letter from one of his
accomplices. Later, on following the track of the gig in
6

THE DAUGHTER OF THE RICCAREES.
295
order to look for the overseer, they found the signs of the
conflict, as well as the gig itself. Not far from thence, pale
and stiff, with a discharged pistol in his right hand, and lean-
ing against the stem of a young tree, lay the corpse of the
Creole, St. Clyde.

296
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
PART I.
LETTER I.
-
New York, March 12, 1848.
DEAR THEODORE,- I am in America! O that you could
understand, that you could even imagine, the rapture of de-
light that floods my mind at the thought !--that but one note
of the transporting harmonies that swell my breast, and al-
most lift me to a higher sphere, could thunder in your soul!
for then I need not take up the feeble goose-quill and attempt
to describe what admits not of description—to communicate
that which cannot be communicated, and which, to be appre-
hended, must be felt:
“Give it what name thou wilt-joy, rapture, heaven, love;
I have no word to shadow forth its meaning.
A name is but the misty vapour that hangs round
The crimson glow of sunlit skies."
I breathe American air ! Do you understand that, you
cold, unsympathizing man of parchments ? bookworm anato-
mist! stealing from house to house to contemplate ghastly
forms of corruption and decay, and heeding not God's
free and glorious world of nature all around you! Come
hither, come to this freedom-breathing world—to this land of

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
297
beauty and of marvels; and if your heart do not swell within
you here, if your spirit do not, like that of the gladsome lark
at dewy morn, aspire to heaven in exulting and exuberant
warblings—then indeed it must be ink, and not red blood that
is flowing in your veins, and your heart can be nothing but
an urn filled with book-dust and miseries.
But
no, you are not so bad as that yet; and I will there-
fore send you such a sketch as I can of the land of my day
dreams. It must be brief; for if I were to enter on a descrip-
tion, volumes would not suffice; and moreover, at present,
neither my heart nor my mind would allow me to devote the
time to such an undertaking.
The very first steps that we happy pilgrims take along the
shore, proclaim to us our escape from the beaten track of the
old despotisms of our fatherland. The bustling activity of a
prosperous commerce fills the streets; the noble pride of free-
dom sparkles in the eye of childhood, and elevates the bearing
of the rising youth ; the symbols of tyranny, which everywhere
remind us of the shame of our slavery, are nowhere to be seen.
No “kingly constitution ” beguiles us with the words of free-
dom only to lull us to sleep, and so to lead us further and
further into bondage, with the fanatic cry still ringing in our
ears: “The people are not ripe for freedom!"
But to proceed. I had not been three days in America
before I was invited to the house of a citizen, a perfect stran-
ger, one to whom my very existence must have been a matter
of indifference. In the most disinterested manner--for he
could not have known that I had property-he offered to
serve me in any way, and committed to me, all stranger as I
was, the superintendence of a plantation.
Here religious freedom really exists; not that phantom
which we have in Germany. But why should I sit here,
turning my back upon this scene of enchantment while I am
-

298
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
attempting to describe it? I can no longer endure the pen-
not even for thy sake, Theodore, dearest of all God's creatures
as you are to me. Come then, friend of my heart! come, and
shake the dust from thy feet, when thou hast for ever left be-
hind thee the musty system-work of the “old country,” as
Europe is rightly called here. Come quickly, come joyously;
and with a right hearty welcome shalt thou be folded in the
arms of thy faithful brother,
KARL VON HORNECK.
Formerly—thank God that can say formerly-
Assessor of, &c. &c.
LETTER II.
CITY OF NEW YORK, March 10, 1848.
DEAR UNCLE,—We arrived happily in America about three
weeks ago, and I am now in that quarter of the globe which
,
has for years occupied my thoughts, and even deprived me of
sleep. It still seems to me as though I were in a dream, and
I often ask myself whether it can be indeed a fact that I am
in America; but the answer is always in the affirmative.
I well remember the time when I regarded with actual
reverence the signs at the doors of “Agents for America,”
with the ship in full sail in one corner of the board. A sort
of tragic shudder would run through my veins as I contem-
plated the majestic vessel.
That is all over now. The voyage cured me of my admir-
ation of ships altogether, for the middle deck is a horrible
residence; and the continual novelty of everything around
me tended to dissipate my mind, and to deaden all strong im-
pressions. I must now confess that I have in nowise found

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
299
America as I expected to find it, and that I am in many re-
spects undeceived. God grant that I may be mistaken now! !
It is possible that the enticing description which I had read
before my departure may have been the primary cause of my
disappointment by exciting undue expectations; nevertheless
I must honestly state, that in the smallest matters I could
wish things were different. Those poetical farm-houses, for
instance, shrink into miserable log-huts with all the winds of
heaven blowing through the four corners. The cattle, it is
true, graze freely in the surrounding woods; but any scoundrel
who has skill to catch them, may steal your cows or horses at
his pleasure. Then as to the breeding of pigs, that too has
its peculiar difficulties; for unless you happen to be in the
forest at the lucky moment, to entice the young litter and the
sow with a handful of maize, they run the woods as wild as
any deer, and the Evil One may catch them if he will. Then
the land, though very good, is hard to bring under cultiva-
tion; for the trees stand so thick, and have stood there so
long, that all you can do is to cut them down, leaving the
roots in the ground; and then when you come to plough among
them, it's enough to drag the very life out of horses and men
too. Then there is no care for manure, and it is not even
collected.
The management of cattle is by no means easy. You
never know where they may be, and every day you hear that
one or other has fallen into the fangs of the wolf or the pan-
ther. And as to the sheep-ay, I only wish you could just
catch a glimpse of them coming out of the wood, with the
wool half torn from their backs, and hanging in tangled
masses about them !
Then as to insects. A man is well-nigh eaten alive by the
ticks and mosquitoes; and flies swarm so, especially in the
woodland pastures, as almost to drive the horses mad; and

300
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
bugs!—but then these last are aboriginal inhabitants, and we
need not be surprised at their making themselves at home.
But the drawback that most oppresses my spirits is the
utter loneliness and isolation of farmer-life here. Instead of
finding houses standing sociably in villages, they are miles
and miles from each other through the woods, so that in case
of accident you are cut off from all hope of speedy succour ;
and I shudder at the thought of illness to me or mine, when
I recollect that the nearest doctor lives seven English miles
from here—and what is worse, I had rather it were seventy,
for sooner than give myself up to such a quack, who feeds and
kills his patients with calomel, I would die on herbs and
camomile tea.
Neither is it by any means easy to get on with the people ;
for as to men-servants and maid-servants such as we have
been used to, and such as are indispensable to a well-ordered
household, they are not to be had here—all must be treated
as equals, and must come and go at their pleasure. Their
demands are also exorbitant and shameless : extravagant
wages, meat three times a day, coffee and sugar for breakfast,
with tea or milk in the evening. And that is not all : if they
.
would only be contented to have it to themselves, and let me
and my family do the same; but no, if I were to do this, I
should expose myself to the most unpleasant consequences.
No, my dear uncle; if
you
will take my advice you will
not conclude your bargain, but will stay quietly in Germany.
What though taxes and other grievances do press heavily,
still the laws defend you from a thousand vexations to which
we are here exposed, and social life makes up for many a de-
ficiency. And if I can sell my farm upon advantageous
terms, I will certainly come back to you; and then, over a
glass of beer--and oh, how I long for a draught of sparkling
Bavarian !-I will tell you all I have endured, and how, little

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
301
by little, day by day, I have been beguiled of all my hopes,
frustrated in all my plans.
That this may speedily be fulfilled, is the sincere wish,
with the hearty greeting to thee and thine, of thy faithful
friend and nephew,
CHRISTOPHER ROSSBERGER.
My wife, who with the children desires to be remembered
to you, complains of chills and headache, and her nails begin
to turn blue; these are the usual precursors of the ague.
LETTER III.
-
NEW YORK—or rayther KENDUCKI,
where I am now.
DEAR LEWIS, -I reached here—that is Ameriger-safely
have been seventeen days on land quite charming. There is
no boundaries and no shondarms and no policemen of which
I wish partikelarly to advise you for I want you to go to
Lowizki to him you wot of and to tell him I never seen any
policemen and this is the land for him. And if so be as you
don't believe as I'm telling you truth the cows and hosses
are running all free in the woods round about and anybody
as will can take them an' I sleep all the night in the most
beautifullest beds and when I ask them in the morning if
they can change me a twenty-dollar note they always say
"No," which makes me sorry. Hurrah! come to Ameriger
to eat meat an' bacon three times a day, an' coffee an' milk
an' pickle gurkins they call a genelman Mister-they always
calls me Mister Bomer. Here if I may trust my eyes is the
place for commonism and a good fast friend we have in the
-

302
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
Mormons as I should have told you we have made brother-
hood with them an' are to share an' share alike everything
they promise we share they share every one share-a fine
thing for us only we must do many little friendly actions for
them-get corn out of a naybor’s field kill a sow by mistake
an' there is no shondarm to say nothing as there is none to
be seen.
A many apples in the orchards and lots of pares
that one leg hurts me confoundedly by a great dog---cursed
creturs dogs! But I must shut up now Lewis. If you knew
what sort of places they has here for prisons—all wood an' no
floors if they was once to see one of ours! you understand
But I must now shut up an' the farmers who
don't choose to go shares, choose to have their corn-crib in
the
open
air and no dog by like that confounded cretur. But
I must now shut up. When you come—I live in the Borting-
-
house with Samuel Smith, an' you can live here for a dollar
and three-quarters the week. But I must now shut up an'
you can live long comfortable if your come here away from
the villains that now worret and oppress you as is always the
case, after the wishes of your faithful brother,
EMANUEL BOMER.
me well.
a
If you see my wife tell her not to come here for there's
nothing at all fit for women here.
LETTER IV.
NEW YORK, March 20, '48.
DEAREST SCHARFENSTEIN,—You will be surprised to receive
a letter from me so soon, for no one knows better than your-
-

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
303
self
my weakness in all that relates to writing—the hand that
is accustomed to wield the sword, generally shrinks from the
pen; but I am too happy, too much delighted here, to keep
my transports within my own breast, and every day's delay
seems an act of treachery to your friendship.
You are no stranger to the reasons that prompted me to
leave Germany. To these my position in the army gave
weight: the pay of the cavalry officer did not suffice to keep
up the count's rank, and I was frequently embarrassed. Still,
I own that I did not find myself on American ground without
certain misgivings. It was republican, and what could the
poor count expect? The first aspect of the monster city of
New York confirmed me in these forebodings; and I felt a
tightening across my chest as I looked from window to win-
dow, and saw all on the lower floors devoted to merchandise
--all the space between filled up with signs and names and
advertisements. “Here,” said I, “the merchant bears rule ;
” ,
the count can play but a subordinate part."
Should I then offer myself as—clerk in one of these houses
of business ? Hire myself for wages, cheapen goods, bow and
measure, and with “honourable industry” win for myself a
place in society, so that after years of wearisome toil I might
at length stand side by side with the merchant? Bah! the
odious thought was degradation, and brought drops of shame
to my forehead. That which threw the first gleam of light
athwart this chaos of my feelings was the sight of a carriage
and four, with a coachman in livery and two laced footmen--
one white, the other black, and even bearing a coat of arms
on the door. Alas! I could not distinguish the bearings, from
the rapidity with which the equipage rolled by. I was greatly
surprised to see such a sight in one of the chief cities of the
Republic; and you will share my surprise when I tell you,
that in less than a quarter of an hour five or six equipages
a

304
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
similar to the first, and all bearing arms—but all strange to
me-passed along the street.
On the following morning, on my way to present my letters
of introduction, I passed through several streets of a less mer-
cantile-indeed of a somewhat aristocratic character. Ele-
gant houses with flights of marble steps, mahogany doors and
gilded knockers, with here and there the woolly head of a
black porter visible. I ascended the first flight of steps with
a kind of suffocation at my heart; the name, John BROAD-
;
FOOT, was too plebeian; it did no wrong, however, either to
him or his consort, although they were both bedizened with
gold. I was obliged to bite my lips in order to restrain my
laughter at the first glance; but, thanks to German breeding,
I succeeded.
And, indeed, the worthy pair were magnificent-quite
princely; and you know I have some experience in these
matters. But it was overdone; there was too much gilding,
too many light colours, too little shadow for the mass of
blinding rays. Still, from that moment a new life was begun
I hastened from one house to another, invitation fol-
lowed invitation, I was fêted as I had never been in France
or Germany, and the German count seemed to have become
the byword of the city. Faith, Eugene, I have been treated
rather as a visitor from another world than as a mere mortal;
and if, as I hear, the monarchy be overthrown in Paris, the
republicans have really shown themselves so considerate to-
wards counts, that I think in future I shall
pass
the season in
Paris, and spend my summers at New York.
I cannot, however, expect that I shall much longer be the
centre of all these festivities—at all events not without mak-
ing some return on a similar scale. And, indeed, all this
incense makes me very proud–far too proud to accept it on
any other terms. In the meantime, my purse is not over-
for me.

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
305
stocked, but it holds out; and my way being made here,
when summer comes I am off to Philadelphia, Baltimore,
Boston, where a count with so fine a name as mine is not
only sure to be welcomed, but received as a favour, since it is
the fashion to be numbered among my friends.
So good-bye, dearest Scharfenstein ; let me soon hear some-
thing of
you, and be assured that you are always remembered
in love and friendship by your
Hugo.
Count of Vollinghausen and Ristadt.
P.S.—If you should think of coming over, mind and secure
-
the first cabin on board the steamer. Here in America, one
is obliged to mingle with many of the canaille ; but on the
voyage, and fresh from home, it is fatal, and very unpleasant.
LETTER V.
-
From Ohio, March 3, 1848.
DEAR PARENTS AND DEAR BROTHER,-I am happy to be
able to tell
you that I am well, and doing well here. That
is to say, I stood the voyage comfortably, though I suffered
long from the sea-sickness; but as I said, I am well enough
now, and lack nothing that is needful for the body. But as
to the state of things around me, I am sorry that I cannot say
anything very particular or very good—indeed, my heart is
pained within me; but perhaps matters will mend as we go
;
on. Still, don't come out just yet, as you thought of doing,
dear parents and dear brother; for a good many things that
Siebenhegers told us in times past are not true, and what is
true looks very different here from what it does in a letter.
.
U

306
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
To be sure, any one who will may be a master here, and I
have not been idle since I have been in America. I collected
my joiner's tools and hired a shop, as it is called, and began
to look about me; and gladly would I have set to work if
there had been work to do. Then there was the hiring to
pay, and the boarding, as they call provisions; and so,
dear
parents, the hundred dollars that you gave me were diminish-
ing day by day, till at last I saw that I should starve if I
continued to sit still in my shop waiting for work. So I gave
my tools in charge to a friend, and went off with what was
left of my money-thirty-seven dollars three shillings—to
Missouri.
Up the country, thought I, one is sure to do well: for it
was said in the letter that the cattle run about wild, and cost
next to nothing; that the corn had only to be sown, and that
the whole produce might be bartered for butter, milk, maize,
and skins; and that the neighbours helped you to build your
house-all this was in the letter. Now, when I arrived here
--
I had just twenty dollars and seventy-five cents left--for tra-
velling is very cheap here. Still that would not buy a farm,
and I could get no work, for they want men skilled in the
use of the axe, and this I was not; and moreover, my tools
were at New York, and when I wrote there, the keeper of the
boarding-house to whom I had trusted them, said in answer
that he knew nothing about them--so that was my loss. At
last I got an offer of work at four dollars a month, with my
keep; but I refused it, thinking it too little, and lived on my
twenty dollars till they were all gone; and then took work for
four dollars, just to get me bread and keep me in an honest
way. I am with Germans, and have to work very hard; but
that I do willingly, for at least I am earning my daily bread.
They tell me that a man who has nothing may be had for
nothing, and that if I work diligently they will give me eight

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
307
dollars in harvest and a new shirt. I also do a good deal of
joiners' work for them and for the neighbours, but without
getting extra pay. Not that my employers take it them-
selves—for they do it very cheap, and mostly to oblige their
friends, from whom they likewise receive many a good turn.
This is the end of our fine fancies about a dollar a day, and
more work than a man could do! My employers, who treat
me very kindly, say that I may think myself well off to be
engaged by them, as many people are running the country
without finding work or bread. And this I know to be true,
for I have seen some of our own country-people, and spoken
with them, and they are in a sad plight. A man from Hesse-
Darmstadt was here just now, who told me with tears, that
his family were all down with the ague in a log-hut hard by,
and that he had not a single groschen to buy them bread.
The man's name is Milger; he is a baker: but the people here
all bake their own bread, and he says he can't turn his hand
to anything else, having never learned.
Now adieu, dear parents and dear brother! Perhaps I may
get on better some day, and then I'll write to you again; but
present prospects are not very bright, and therefore I wish
you good-bye, and am your dutiful son and brother,
CHRISTOPHER ERDMAN.
LETTER VI.
NEW YORK, March 9, '48.
Most DEARLY BELOVED KARL,—According to my promise,
you have tidings of me with the first breath I draw in this
new and glorious country—and tidings not of what is going
on around me, but of my own doings here.

308
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
I have been out shooting almost every day. Not that the
sport in the neighbourhood of New York is particularly good
-a bittern and two musk-rats make up the best part of my
booty; and this will appear strange to you
when
you
recollect
our talk about bears, buffaloes, elks, reindeer, and panthers.
But remember the chase is free here and open to all, and
every child may go out with his gun and shoot; so that you
may believe there is no great chance of finding beasts for the
spit within reach of a city like this, of 400,000 inhabitants.
Yesterday, however, I had the luck to light upon an old hun-
ter from Indiana, a State lying many hundred miles to the
west, and our discourse naturally turned to the chase, and he
related things that I really think must be fabulous. He
swore to me, that on the bright moonlight nights he shoots
bears from his kitchen window, and that he only kills venison
for his dogs. And now listen: In the course of conversation,
it came out quite accidentally (for I observed that the man did
not think of it at first) that he had a little farm—an improve-
ment, as they call it—of a couple of fields or so, of productive
arable land, with a small house upon it, a smoking pavilion,
and a barn. And what think you might be the price? You
will never guess, take as long as you will. Listen : 250
dollars! From four to five acres of productive arable land,
with the appropriate buildings, for 250 dollars! It is surely
fabulous. I was really ashamed to close with him at once;
for it was evident that the man, just fresh from the woods, did
not know the worth of his property, since I might soon make
the purchase-money in bears' grease, honey, and wax, for
,
which there is a regular sale in New York at a good price.
I was grieved to hear that there are now no Indians left in
that State; but my backwoodsman assured me this was a
great advantage, as these red men make sad havoc of the
game.
a

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
309
a
a
-
Yesterday at midday, then, we met and completed the bar-
gain on his own terms—I in the meanwhile dreading lest he
should meet with another purchaser. Deuce take it, when a
man has something to sell, he should know what to ask for it!
and this man is old enough to deal without a prompter. I
subsequently agreed to take three cows that are on the farm,
at the somewhat startling price of twelve dollars a head; also
a herd of swine, consisting of nineteen, at three dollars a head
-a smart price for that wild country. And thus I am at
once launched as an American farmer, and hope next week
to take possession of my property. Would you were here to
travel with me! I can't tell you the delight that fills my
heart at the prospect of entering on my farm.
The only drawback is, that I cannot be introduced by the
old hunter, as he is not returning to his residence in those
parts; he is going direct to Texas, in order to proceed after-
wards to New Mexico, where he proposes to settle as a pioneer
of that civilisation which is hereafter to add another State to
the glorious chain that, in less than half a century, must en-
circle the whole northern continent of America. There is
plenty of game in Texas also ; though, according to the report
of my backwoodsman, it is not so plentiful as in Indiana. He
has given me a graphic description of the turkey-hunts and
the panther-baiting; indeed he mentioned the ravages com-
mitted by panthers, bears, and wolves, upon the cattle as
the only drawback of the settlement for he protested that he
must deal honestly by me. He spoke particularly of the
injury done by the bears to the swine, and also to the Indian
corn, as they even break into the enclosed fields and tread
down whole crops. Karl, I do assure you that I am obliged
to exercise the severest self-restraint, in order to keep my
raptures at all within bounds. Bears in my own maize-field !
Only wait for me, my swarthy Bruin ! I will soon settle your



310
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
a
meal with my unerring rifle : twenty balls to the pound-
that makes a hole where it penetrates.
On the following morning, after I had paid the purchase
money,
in order to console the old hunter in some measure
for the sacrifice he had made, and also to show my gratitude
to him for having thus laid open the path to the attainment
of my wishes, I went with him through the city, and presented
him with a very handsome rifle that seemed wonderfully to
take his fancy, and the price of which was sixty dollars. You
should have seen the look he gave me! His first impulse was
to seize the piece; then, withdrawing his hand, he shook his
head, and would on no account accept it. But as I insisted,
and further declared that I would give it to the first man I
happened to meet, he threw it over his shoulder, and walked
the whole length of the street whistling for joy. An Ameri-
can bargain is rather an expensive affair.
And now farewell, my dear Karl; for the preparations for
my journey require my undivided attention, as I mean if pos-
sible to start to-morrow in order to take immediate possession,
and to find some one who will take charge of the farm this
year, and plant out the maize, &c. As soon as I am settled,
you shall hear again ; and the first buffalo-bide that I take
single-handed shall be spread under thy writing-table, as a
tribute of affection from thy true and now truly happy friend,
FRITZ STERNBERG.
LETTER VII.
PHILADELPHIA, May 10, 1848.
MY GOOD EDIE, AND BEST MAMMY,—What a shourney is
dis dat I 'ave accomplished to de mighty city of de Quakers !
-

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
311
Pure water, and noting but water. May I never stand up-
right in my shoes, if I don't believe dat the great ocean is
called de see because you can see noting else! And de fit
of see-sickness - Aigh! cries mammy-dat was terrible. De
Rabbis allow us to eat bacon when we're at see, for indeed
dere is noting else to be had at de ship's table. But what
good did dat do us? and may I never stand upright on my
feet, if I could ever look at it again!
You wanted to know what de see-sickness is. How can I
describe it? Why, take a good handful of tartar 'metic; and
ven you are getting very uncomfortable, very qualmish, den
seat yourself in a swing, and let Hans swing you backwards
and forwards, up and down, and de vorse you feel de higher
you be swung—dat is see-sickness: and vould you know very
exactly vat it is, sit for a vile in de swing, and keep sipping
warm salt water with butter in it. Who could think of bacon
under dese circumstances ?
Now for de country : how shall I describe de country?
vat sort of land is America? I vould that I had never seen
America. Is that the name of dis country ?-Turkey or
Kosack-land it ought to be called! What profit have I made
since here I come? ask me vat I have made in de vay of
profit? I have MADE NOTING! Quakers are here in Phila-
delphia: dis is a pure Quaker city.
ure Quaker city. May I never stand up-
right in my shoes, if dere be not more Shues dan Quakers in
Philadelphia ; an' how should a Shue get any profit here?--
You make me laugh.
I have made my rounds wid a little basket, and gone from
house to house wid all sorts of beautiful tings—little combs,
hair-pins, braces, ribbons, laces, tapes, timbles, soap, hair-oil,
,
steel-pens, and vat not-dat could be put into de little
basket. And vat business have I done? Vat do you call
business? I have made my vay into de small houses; dey
?


312
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.

look at all my goods: may I never stand upright on my feet
from dis time forward if ever dey had a shilling, or even a
sixpence, by dem, ven dey vanted to purchase! And in de
great houses ? Let Edie get into great house in Philadelphia:
dey drive me avay vid Etiopians, black as night.
Dis is business in de city. An' in de country? I vould
like to catch Edie in de country. De voods swarm wid vild
cats, an' panters, and bears ; vitch of dem vould you do busi-
ness vid ? I do not go into de country to be eaten alive.
Den, who knows one here? who vill give Beitel credit here?
If I vere but in Bamberg, an' had money, may I never stand
I
upright in my shoes if I vill not bring my letter myself !
If de two ducats dat I’ave left, keep me alive so long, I vill
write again in four veeks, an' tell you 'ow I get on. Greet
Rachel for me: she may be glad dat she is in Bamberg. An'
dere, dear Edie an' Mammy, vishes himself your loving son,
JACOB BEITEL.

PART II.
LETTER I.
-
CINCINNATI, August 16, ²48.
DEAR THEODORE,- Don't be angry with me for my long
silence, for really life here is so filled with business and bustle,
and I am moreover involved in so many personal engage-
ments, that I scarcely know how I can describe my present
circumstances in few words. You at home have also seen
great changes, as I am told. Now, only be cautious in found-
ing your republic, and take America for your example—that
is to
say,
of what
you
should not do.

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
313
If I had foreseen what was about to happen, I should have
preferred remaining in Germany. America has many advan-
tages; but—it is not one's home. The laws are admirable,
and the American constitution might serve as a model for all
the nations of the earth, and secure their happiness; but then
it should always be administered not according to the letter,
but the spirit, as those noble men, its framers, evidently in-
tended. Laws alone can never suffice for the prosperity of a
country unless the government have power to carry them out,
and to make them respected; and the Lynch law affords a
melancholy example of the supremacy of the people in the
case of a person who has fallen under their displeasure, whe-
ther justly or unjustly.
The disgraceful aristocracy of money, which sways society
here, makes one almost regret our Old-World nobility; and
the American himself is a cold unsympathizing being, ever
seeking to hide mercantile craft—sometimes amounting to
absolute dishonesty—under the mask of bigotry. Still, he is
a republican to the backbone; he regards his constitution as
superlative, and is ready at all times to risk life and fortune
in its defence. The Germans who have established them-
selves here, and slipped into the Republic they could hardly
tell you how, disgust me altogether; for I am sorry to say of
the greater number, that, to the reproach and disgrace of
their German name, they serve as a football to all parties in
the State. It is true, the majority are democrats; but ask
them on what grounds—they cannot tell you. In the dark
as to the simplest political questions of the land of their adop-
tion, they swim with the stream, and are not unfrequently
sold in a body to one or other of the dominant factions. Ac-
customed to a servile existence in Germany, they begin by
cringing, courtier-like, to better-dressed men ; or if they have
learned that here all men are equal, they assume a rude and


314
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.

bearish manner to those whom they may regard as their in-
feriors in capacity, or in fortune, by way of proving that they
realize the right of thinking as much of themselves as of any
one else in America.
Theodore, Theodore ! my heart sinks when I read in the
last
papers
of your struggles for a German republic, and then
look around me here on specimens of the materials with which
you must fain work at it. They are well fitted to break
down and to break in, to withstand to the death the fierce re-
sistance of a stubborn and powerful foe; but to found and to
build up they are all unskilled—they are even dangerous. I
have seen the burning of a prairie in Illinois ; but it was not
alone the dead and useless vegetation that was consumed.
Not content to do its appointed work, the fire in its resistless
and undiscriminating fury, destroyed fences, homesteads, barns,
laid whole forests in ashes; thus bringing ruin and desolation
on the tract that it should have been the means of restoring
and reviving. This was before I had heard anything of your
proceedings. Strangely enough, the first notice of a German
republic brought this remembrance of the prairie-fire vividly
to my mind.
Do you care to know what the Americans think of the
“German republicans," who, in newspapers, are always vaunt-
ing their German truth and highmindedness, and apostrophiz-
ing freedom and independence? Why, their very name is a
byword among them; especially here in Cincinnati, where
there are thousands of them. The word Dutchman, which
should be the designation of a German, but which does imply
a native of Holland, is their habitual term of contempt.
" You shall call me a Dutchman,” is the provoking assevera-
tion that I am but too often compelled to listen to. " He
fights like a Dutchman,” is said of one who runs away from
the quarrel he has provoked, and only fights when driven into
a
66
a


LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
315
a corner.
“Black Dutch” is an appellation that places the
German in the same category with that most despised race,
the negroes. But enough of this. When I see how despicable
my countrymen are in this land of freedom, and in the
eyes
of
republicans, I would fain have levelled their despisers at a
blow, and yet I could not call them liars.
Bear with me, although my words may sound harshly in
your ears. Things have not prospered with me since I have
been here, and in many respects I have been a sufferer. I
was deceived at the outset by an American, who received me
with apparent cordiality only to tempt me into a worthless
purchase; thus defrauded of all I possessed, I put the affair
I
into the hands of a lawyer, and in a few months saw myself
poor as a church mouse, in a strange land. As I have a
tolerable knowledge of English, I determined to try my
fortune in literary pursuits. German and American editors
were alike willing to receive my articles, but not for nought.
I thought of the bar, but I scarcely felt myself strong
enough in the language for the practice of this country, where
readiness and repartee are essential parts of an advocate's suc-
I was strongly advised to study medicine, but I lacked
courage. I felt that my abilities were below fortune-mark in
that profession. What could I do? Work with my hands ?
The difficulties that met me at the threshold were insuperable.
The labour most in demand here is with the axe; my arm was
unpractised. What am I become? You will laugh as you
read it-fireman on a Mississippi steamboat !
Let me just give you an idea of what I have undergone in
this capacity. I share the meals and the cabin of filthy
niggers; I am subject to the rough handling of the engineer,
as well as the caprice of the captain, who never paid us our
hard-earned wages till within half an hour of our departure
from New Orleans.

cess.

316
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
I tried my luck in another boat, but fell sick, and am now
laid up in a German charitable institution here in Cincinnati.
If I recover, I must again seek employment; but I entreat
you, write to me at once, dear Theodore—you know not how
I long for a letter from the dear old home. I greet and press
you to my heart a thousand times, and am ever your own
KARL VON HORNECK.
a
a
The
P.S.--While I am writing, there is a street row.
rising youth saw fit to make a fire of hay and straw in Syca-
more Street; the sparks were soon carried all over the town ;
but no ! I can give you no idea of what this American youth
is; no foreigner could conceive it.
LETTER II.
WISCONSIN, August 14, '48.
DEAR UNCLE — When I wrote to you from New York some
months ago, all looked dark and lowering ; everything was
against me, and the whole world seemed a blank. But in-
deed, the deceitful pictures that lure us hither are very mis-
chievous; imagination dresses all in sunshine, and then the
first disappointment, however trifling, puts us out of humour,
and we henceforward see spectres in the daylight.
Thus, for instance, I had always lived in warm and commo-
dious houses in Germany, and found here only miserable huts;
and I never stopped to reflect, that as every man builds his
own house, it is certainly his own fault if he do not build it
after his own fancy. I was dissatisfied too with the mode of
rearing cattle and pigs. I had been told that
you
had but to


LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
317
leave a sow in the wood, and in due time you would find a
litter of pigs at your door, and so another and another, till
your herds of swine were multiplied innumerably. Now it is
not quite so easy as all this comes to, though attended with
fewer difficulties by far than with us; and any one coming
with moderate expectations may be sure of realizing them.
Agriculture also promises fair, and suffices for the supply of
present demands; and as these increase, the improvement of
the land will keep pace with them. The damage done by
beasts of prey is not so great as has been represented, and is
hardly worth complaining of. I can't say the same of the in-
sects, and one would be glad if the whole swarm of them were
swept away for ever; still, even this plague may be endured,
and there is no country without its drawbacks.
But in your last letter you desire to know how I am getting
on, and seem to fear the worst. Perhaps what I wrote before
led you to do so; but never mind that-don't be anxious,
things are not altogether so bad as I then thought.
I have bought a pretty farm near Milwandie in the State
of Wisconsin, at a very cheap rate, according to our German
reckoning. I have begun a system of cattle-breeding that
promises well, and have built stalls to shelter the animals in
winter. The wild swine that infest the woods do the farmer
much injury, unless he make up his mind to sacrifice a good
many of them; but even this difficulty may be overcome, and
my German neighbours assure me that they are no longer an-
noyed in this way. The ploughing that I had so much to
say against, on account of the roots and stumps, is easily
managed. There is a way of setting about it that one finds
out by degrees; and so one learns that every country has its
own tools, its own customs and manners, and that these are
those best suited to its peculiar wants and circumstances.
The labour of ploughing the forest tracts is abundantly repaid



318
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
by the productiveness of this rich and fertile soil. It would
be sheer waste to manure it, and I'm not going to be laughed
into any such extravagance.
It is true, life is less social here than in Germany; still I
have very respectable neighbours, and we often assemble with
our families, and have very pleasant meetings. I am even
reconciled to the manners of the servants. They are treated
as if they formed part of the family of their employers (the
word master is never used, except as applied to slave-holders),
and are allowed the exercise of their own free-will; but how
can it be otherwise with the children of free men ? how other-
wise are republicans to be formed ?
The employer is in nowise fettered by his relation toward
them, as I at first supposed. There is no fixed wage for
which they give their labour, and which is a continual source
of irritation and contention ; independent in all their move-
ments, and conscious of freedom, they allow the same inde-
pendence to their employers, leaving wages and earnings to
time and circumstances. When they have earned a small
capital they generally begin on their own account, and the
people whom they engage to help them are treated as fellow-
labourers.
You see, dear unele, I would not persuade you to come
here; but if
you have no very great objection, and if things
in Germany are as bad as you describe them, I think you
might as well come, and I believe you would find yourself
very comfortable before long.
There is a good farm, with capital stone buildings, to be
bought here at this time for 3000 dollars--a fair price, neither
dear nor cheap, for ten acres of arable, and three hundred and
ten acres of wood and prairie land very favourable for the
rearing of cattle. You might think the house rather large
and showy; but it is only suited to farmer life, though well

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
319
built and roomy. We have now a brewery near, and get ex-
cellent beer. My little ones would give you a hearty greeting.
We have suffered, and suffer still, from the fever that is
everywhere the result of forest clearings, in the north as in
the south, but we are getting through it; and our neighbours,
American and German, are as kind and sympathizing as a
man could wish. Although the American of the cities did
not please me, certainly, the American of the clearings makes
up for all; the backwoodsmen of the States are indeed a noble
race.
But I am running on, and the children are teazing me to
go into the wood with them to gather the wild grapes; so fare-
well, dear uncle, receive my hearty good wishes, and ever
bear in mind your affectionate nephew,
CHRISTOPHER ROSSBERGER,
P.S.—If you make up your mind to come, let me know
-
soon, and I will get a nice place ready for
you.
LETTER III.
DEAR LEWIS,—I've a conweyed myself to Texas an' no
more in Kenducki. Hurrah ! vot a country this here Ameriger
is if I vas once vell out of it! The people is hanged here
like noting they just bend a crooked tree and hang a man
upon
it as we should a cat. I vas a vhile afore I could catch
a 'oss an' venn I did by accident an' rode off I must ’av
the hill luck to meet the howner in the road, an' the hurrah!
hurrah! An' venn a man is off he should be off for those
confounded Indians tracks a man an' will dodge and dodge

320
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
away here an' all over for twenty dollars and a pair of boots.
An' with the Mormons vill I never have noting more to do
nor they vith me I promise you. Vot can a man do ven
they say This is
my
land
go
an' fetch me an armful of corn
—fetch me that sow home? And ven by accident I took
anything for myself, they vill hang me up on the spot as if I
vos a cat or a dog. Germany is a fine place an' you're
a
best off there I vould come over to you if I 'ad money.
They talk about sharing here an' say all men is equal but
they are just like the 'ristocrats with us may the Devil take
them all! Vot I 'av that belongs to my naybor too-that's
my principle an' on that I acted; but here no man allows his
principles to be looked into. If all I 'av belongs to my nay-
bor then all my naybor 'as belongs to me--noting can be
clearer. But however bound and carried before the law is
all at once and they vos going to make short vork vith me.
Vat good vas it to me that there vas no polece nor no shon-
darms—for any von plays the policeman. An' it vas a piece
of luck that the sheriff let me off—for sheriff is the name of
the head shondarm whereas I believed at first there vas
none because they don't wear three-cornered hats as with us.
No body had seen me so they let me loose—that was luck,
hurrah !-an’ give me a free passatch on steambote to Texas.
So I go back no more to Kenducki. Dear Lewis ven next
you share in Germany vere it's all comfortable enuff do me
the favor to send my share over here that I may com back
to Germany vere it's very pretty living an' tell my wife she
might send me 5 dollars or more if she could for I am very
bad off an' I should take it kind, you must tell her. I must
finish now.
So I hope you are well and comfortable an'
better than I am for I have the fever and it shakes me ter-
ribly an' this is the wish of your faithful brother,
EMANUEL BOMER.

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
321
Don't forget to send me my share wareby you will do me
a grate favor an' no injury to yourself ven I come back to
Germany an' my wife the five dollars.
LETTER IV.
DEAREST SCHARFENSTEIN,—I am going to make a request
to you in few words. You know that, except yourself, there
is but one man in all Germany of whom I could ask a favour,
and that is my uncle of Sondershausen. Go to him with the
enclosed draught: and when the descendant of that illustri-
ous and noble house, whose ancestors have filled the most
distinguished situations in the imperial court, has read to the
end, he will not long allow me to remain in my present
position.
I am fireman on board of a steamboat. You start? You
have good reason; but do not force me to reveal to you the
extent of my wretchedness. Suffice it to say that I have
lived through it, and cannot be supposed to take pleasure in
the recollection.
In my last I told you that I was thinking of giving a great
entertainment in New York, as a return for the civilities I
had received. My funds were not only sufficient for this, but
I expected to have an overplus, with which—but why tell
you of a plan that has come to nought? During the time of
the entertainment some scoundrel broke into the house-pro-
bably one of my so-called friends-robbed me of all, even of
what I had in my purse, which was lying on a table; and
when, on the following morning, 1-Death and destruction !
I will not recall the thought, much less write it. Some ill
disposed person, perhaps the thief himself, had in the mean-
X

322
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
while spread a report that I was not only not of noble birth,
but that my parentage was disreputable; in short, all con-
spired to lay me in the dust. No one believed the story of
the robbery; and Mr. Broadfoot, the son of the wealthy tailor,
came to me on the second day, in all the vulgar pride of purse,
and I wish you could see the indignant tears that still bedew
—
my eye-lashes !—offered me twenty dollars to enable me to
leave New York at once. I hurled him down stairs.
I made over to the purveyors of the entertainment my
whole wardrobe, with my linen, and everything that I could
call my own, reserving only four gold markers which I had
accidentally dropped into my waistcoat-pocket that morning.
Ask not for the humbling recital of my journey into the
interior. The American of the Western States stares indeed
when a real live count presents himself before him ; but he
only stares—he does nothing. The people are yet too new,
too uncultivated, to understand the prerogatives of birth and
precedent. The feeling will doubtless come hereafter, but
that will do me no good: it will not be in my time.
I will not weary you with the history of my adventures, or
rather my misadventures : they drove me at last to take re-
fuge in a steamer, and put a shovel in my
hand. If only
there had been the resource of war! An honourable death
in the field was denied me; and I am at least earning my
bread honourably, by submitting to the very
lowest drudgery.
My uncle will hand over to you a small sum on my behalf,
sufficient to equip me for my journey to Mexico. I shall then
enter the Mexican service, but not till I have the means of
doing so in a manner becoming my rank. .
If you were not in such a state of convulsion in Germany,
I would return at once; but what could a man of my position
hope for there now ? No; better the shovel here, where no-
body knows me.

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
323
Write immediately. I wait with impatience for my release.
-Thine,
HUGO.
P.S.-My address is, Mr. Hugo, care of Buddle and Smith,
No. 8, Tchapitowlas Street, New Orleans, U.S.
I have fallen in with a fellow-sufferer on board the boat,
also a nobleman from Germany, Von Horneck ; but I have not
c
made a confidant of him, indeed I keep out of his way, for I
do not share his opinions.
a
LETTER V.
-
STATE OF INDIANA, August 1, 1848.
DEAR PARENTS AND DEAR BROTHER, -It gives me real
pleasure to write you a more comfortable letter than the last,
for indeed things are not so bad with me as they were then.
One thing I've made sure of, and that is, that the descriptions
of America that used to make our mouths water as we sat at
home, are for the most part untrue, or at best they are mis-
representations of truth, and it is hard to realize them till you
have some little acquaintance with things in general. It is
very wrong to send such descriptions; but I know how it is,
the writers are either ashamed to own their real condition after
having talked big; or, having settled in desolate tracts, their
only hope of improving their lot is to allure others to come
and settle down beside them.
That I felt myself thoroughly deceived at first is a case in
which I have many companions; still I say, let him who has
health and strength come over and try, even if his capital be
no more than I had after my losses. But German handi-

324
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
craftsmen should never go to German masters—always to the
Americans. The Germans all come to make their fortunes,
and they are the worst paymasters, even after they have gotten
money, especially to their own countrymen, knowing how
poorly they have been accustomed to live at home. Then, in
German houses a man can't learn English, and this is an im-
portant acquisition to an artisan; and then in the German
settlements it is usual to require earnest-money, or a purchase
of land--which ties you down ; so that you remain at disad-
vantage rather than lose your investments. Moreover, the
Germans that are here are not generally the cream of the old
country; those I worked under deceived me and made money
of me. This, I must repeat, I have observed over and over
again ; and when I hired myself to Americans, I got better
wages and better food, and learnt English much faster, so that
I can now make myself understood. The English sounds
comical at first, dear parents, and I used to think that it was
as if people were sputtering gibberish, without head or tail of
meaning; but when you've been used to it a while, it sounds
quite natural, and has a meaning just like German.
As to the people you speak of in your last letter, dear
father, that are roaming about the country here and getting
no employment, which you say surprises you, there's a reason
for that too. Here in America, it is no reproach to change
your trade-every man does what he can to live; and if a
shoemaker make coats, or a tailor chairs, it matters not, as
long as he makes them best and gets custom. But if a man
will do nothing but what he has been brought up to do in
Germany, he may very easily starve here. A poor man has
opportunities of getting on such as he has not at home; and if
he be only industrious, he may soon lay by a trifle, and with
ever so small a beginning he is sure to do well—for the Ame-
ricans are always ready to assist a poor man, and the neigh-

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
325
bours are kind and helpful. In Germany, a man's troubles
increase with his family, here in America it's just the reverse.
Children are a blessing, and support their parents when they
are old and declining. A poor man is respected, too, accord-
ing to his deserts, and not according to his coat.
Land and cattle are very cheap, and you may buy a good
farm for very little money; for farm is the word for a property.
Still it is not advisable, for a German coming here, ignorant
of the customs and modes of management, to purchase at
once, or he will have to pay for his learning out of his own
pocket, and perhaps to his own ruin. The best plan is to
take work at first with Americans, and so learn to use the axe,
and the manner of farming, which is quite different from ours.
Then, after two or three years, he can easily purchase, and
will do as well for one hundred dollars as he would have done
for five hundred before he had earned his learning. I am still
working with Americans, and am very comfortable; but when
I have a little farm—which must be soon, for the farmer has
promised to help me—then you must come over to me, dear
parents and dear brother, and then we all shall live together
in peace and plenty on my own land.
Perhaps this may be next year; but I won't name any
time, for disappointment makes the heart droop. Till then,
dear parents and dear brother, health and happiness and every
good wish be yours.--Your CHRISTOPHER ERDMAN.
Only direct your letter to the city of Vincennes, Indiana,
and I fetch it from there ; but you must write it in English,
dear parents, as they do here. The American will write it
for me underneath, as it should be-
Mr. Erdman.
To be left at Vincennes Post-office,
I---a, U.S.

326
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
LETTER VI.
INDIANA, August 15, 1848.
MY DEAREST KARL, --I should certainly have said that long
before this I should have sent you a letter of a yard long, filled
with adventures of the chase; but alas ! how grievously have
I been mistaken in the chapter of American sports! I am
really ashamed to write the whole truth to you, especially as
regards my own exploits, but it can't be helped—it must come
out. You might otherwise, allured by my former descriptions,
be tempted over, only to find yourself in a fool's paradise.
In order to be rid of the worst I will begin with it at once.
Conceive, then, that this honest, honourable farmer, whom I
believed to be so simple-minded that I was afraid of conclud-
ing the bargain with him lest I should take advantage of his
simplicity; this kind-hearted fellow to whom, in order to
make matters quite smooth, I presented—fool that I was !-a
rifle worth sixty dollars, was an arrant cheat, a crafty Yan-
kee, a downright villain! The scoundrel passed off a miser-
able plot, that I could have bought any day for fifty dollars,
for an improvement worth two hundred and fifty. But this
is the smallest part of his misdoings; this I would have for-
given him freely--it was so much experience bought and paid
for--if only all his other promises had proved true ; but-
rascal as he is !-there was not a word of truth in all he said,
and I believe that he could not speak truth even in his
dreams.
That he should ever have shot bears from his kitchen win-
dow is impossible, for two reasons :--there is no kitchen, for
what the people call so is just a shed, and has no window;
and even if there were both kitchen and window, there are
no bears.
“No bears!” you exclaim in astonishment. But that is
-

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
327
not all: there are neither deer, panthers, nor wild turkeys,
nor any species of game with which, as the old hunter assured
me (by the bye, I don't believe that he was a hunter at all),
the woods were swarming. The opossum, or bog-rat as it is
called, may indeed be frequently shot—a loathsome creature,
living for the most part on carrion, and easily struck down
with the stick, and thus by no means to be accounted game.
Turkeys are often to be seen, and a solitary hart comes near
the enclosure occasionally; but, my dear fellow, a man might
run himself off his legs before he could get even within sight
of either.
You may form some idea of the nature of the sport in this
place from the subjoined table, drawn up, as you will observe,
in the full flush of hope. I send it rather as a witness against
myself than for your edification ; for last month, in spite of all
my experience, I must needs start off to Canada bear-hunting,
and accordingly I neither shot, nor even saw, a single bear:
Bears, ..
Turkeys,
Panthers,
Other game:
Prairie Hens,
Partridges,
Rabbits,
The one deer I shot at Wabash, and the one turkey this
morning, in the very heart of the settlement, whither it had
happened to stray. Once, in Illinois, I shot a good many
prairie hens--birds about the size of our domestic poultry;
but as to the nobler game—such as bears, panthers, and buf-
faloes—they are not to be thought of. The latter are finally
driven to the far west. An old bear may sometimes be found
hanging about the settlement-indeed one was shot last year;
but this was regarded as a remarkable event.
In the neighbourhood of the spot on which I have erected
my dwelling, the sport is but indifferent; and as to what the
cheating old rascal said (he doubtless saw that I was passion-
1
0
0
0
1
0
Buffaloes,
Deer,
Foxes, .
.
17
20
13

328
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
66
ately devoted to the pursuit) about the danger to which the
cattle were exposed from the continual inroads of wild beasts,
it was just a fable. Wolves indeed abound, and the Govern-
ment gives a premium for every head; but they are so shy
and so cunning, that although at my first coming I used to
roam the woods early and late in all directions, I have never
yet got within sight, much less within shot, of one.
Shoot deer for the dogs!” Ay, so he and the devil lied
together. I should thank God, I am sure, for a single haunch
of venison; but hitherto my bill of fare has been confined to
the driest and toughest of beef, unless when I choose to vary
it with rashers of bacon. If I insist on having game, I may
shoot a brace of squirrels—an animal that is always destroyed
here, and which does not eat badly by any means. Who
could have foreseen, when I landed at New York, that I
should ever have been settled hundreds of miles to the west,
in Indiana, shooting squirrels! How the old swindler must
have laughed in his sleeve when I presented him with the
rifle! I know now why he went off whistling.
Then the so-called improvement is not worth twenty dollars ;
and the best improvement I could make would be to burn
down the two crazy log-huts that are upon it, for if I do not,
they will soon fall about my ears together. As for the land,
I can certainly clear and begin to plough it. It is all wood-
land now, except about half an acre that the scoundrel had
cleared for potatoes. Two only of the cows have as yet been
found; and the pigs have furnished my only diversion, for
they are so wild that I am literally obliged to hunt them as
I want one, and I can tell you I seldom get within shot. On
these occasions I have to ask the neighbouring farmer to ac-
company me, lest my mark, or rather the swindler's mark,
should be mistaken for his. The pigs, you must know, are
all marked by cuts, or holes bored in the ear. A neighbour

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
329
has just been to offer me fifty dollars for the farm, with the
cattle, as it stands; and if he be fool enough to give it, it's
his, and may he turn it to good account !
One word more about American sport, for I know you are
longing for it. Dear Karl, how differently I once pictured it!
for in Germany our notions are quite erroneous. It was ex-
actly what we were led to imagine it to be now in the United
States; but the wild beasts of the field have long since given
place to cultivation and civilized life, and it has naturally
become
very
indifferent. I lately met with a sportsman from
.
Arkansas, which is considered the best hunting-ground of the
Union, and he very readily gave me the following particulars.
There are still districts in Arkansas, especially going west
from the Mississippi, where a good shot, if he be acquainted
with the forest and not apt to lose his way, may kill a deer,
or even sometimes a bear. Turkeys are abundant in certain
tracts of that country; but the days when bears were shot out
of windows are for ever past in the United States. Neither
does any one now live by the sports of the field, as I firmly
believed many did. And what an existence it would be, even
if it were so! To live in the woods the whole year round,
and to know no other variety in diet than the choice between
raw and dried flesh! As to the sale of game, there is no
longer any to be found in the parts where it is most in de-
mand; and where there are deer, a man is well pleased to get
eight groschen for the whole carcase, or he will dry the
haunches for the market.
According to all I have heard, the chase has ceased to be
a source of profit, and the information furnished by the Ar-
kansas man is confirmed by many persons; so that I am con-
vinced that a sportsman settling down in the remote districts,
although he may occasionally shoot a deer or a turkey, and in
so far as he is content to follow the sport for recreation, may
a

330
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
find it profitable as a casual supply for his own larder; yet,
as a means of livelihood, its day has gone by.
But enough for the present, my dear Karl. I shall in all
probability go farther west; and whenever I settle again, you
shall hear from me. In the meantime, believe me thine ever,
FRITZ STERNBERG.
LETTER VII.
Good EDIE, AND BEST MAMMY,—Vat sort of a country is dis,
Edie? Take Mammy, an’ Samuel, an' Moshes, an' Rashel,
an' bring dem quick, quick to Ameriger. How is it called
Ameriger? Canaan shuld it be called, may I never stand
upright on my feet! See-sickness ! vot do you call see-sick-
ness! Cholera's bad ting, an' de small-pox, but all togeder
vere not too much to come to Ameriger for.
Vot business ’av I done since I been in Ameriger? asks
Edie. I'аv been three monts in de land, an' vot’av I made ?
May I never stand upright on my feet !-seven hundred
dollarsh ready money. An' ’ow ’av I done business ? asks
'
Edie again. In leetle wee packets I 'av done it, and only
changed silver for silver, like vun honorable man.
is very simple. I vos feared at first to go into de voods, for
fear of de vild bears an' vild cats. Vot are vild cats? May
I never stand upright on my feet if I’av not travelled all round
about, an' never seen vun single vild cat, mush less cats.
But vot sort of men are dey here in Pensylvania, an' Ohio,
an' Indiana, an' Kenduckie ? De men are like childer—dey
are innoshent like doves! Mammy vould ’av joy at 'er 'art
if she could see how dey treat Beitel, an' vot fine beds he
De story
sleep in.

LETTERS FROM GERMAN EMIGRANTS.
331
An' vid vot did Beitel mostly do business? Ask Beitel
agin vot he do business vid ? Vid jewellery, vid bishouterie,
an' silver forks, he do business ; an' may I never stand up-
right on my feet if he 'av not done business vid bishouterie
an' silver forks.
But I must first let Edie into de secret-de English is a
most excellent speech. It speaks de ting so vell out vot it
describes, dat vun would know it in de dark. In Germany,
ve say “ Argentan,” or “Neisilver.” * Vot is Neisilver ? '00
knows veder it be new or old ? Vot a clever man is de Ame-
riger! He calls silver Dscherman silver, as dey say here;
an' ven I am come to de people an' bring forks of Dscherman
silver, dey mostly ask me, Vot is Dscherman silver? Is it
someting different from Amerigan silver? An' den I’av said,
“Silver, ven it is in Dschermany, must be called Dscherman
silver, an' ven it is in Ameriger, Amerigan silver; an' may I
never stand upright on my feet if der is any oder difference
but de price; ve Dschermans do business for very
little profit.”
I 'аv made just seven hundred per shent upon de leetle tings
dat I 'av taken about vid me, an' I am not yet got far in de
country.
An' I believed it vos misfortune dat nobody know us here,
an’ve could not get credit. Misfortune ? just de contrair.
It's a vonder vot credit ve Jews as are (here the original is in
the Hebrew character). Jesse Lowenhaupt, dey say, dare not
enter five cities; but den Jesse is rich, very rich man.
If I had but Rashel here, vot business I could do, an' Edie
an' Mammy, but dey must all come to Ameriger! Vot about
Bamberg ? Vot 'av I to do vid Bamberg ? I vould not be
a
in Bamberg
Now, you ask vot Beitel has done vid 'is leetle basket, an'
veder de folk 'ay met 'im in de road an' taken all de tings
* Anglicè-New Silver.
bricked up

332
TALES OF THE DESERT AND THE BUSH.
out as fast as he can put dem in ? Vot you ask about leetle
basket ? Beitel 'ay a leetle coach an' a fine 'orse, an' he sits
in front an' drives about de place vid 'is packages like a coach-
man; don't ask Beitel any more for his basket.
Good-bye, Edie an' Mammy; don't think about Beitel, your
young vun's doing good to himself. My love to Rashel an’
'
Simon, they shall come over vid dere leetle merchandise, an'
de rose garden an' de starling; but don't tell dem about de
forks. Vere I'ay not been, I know noting about it; but it is
not vort vile to set out all de inconveniences. An' vere I 'av
not been, vot can I do vid Simon, an' de starling, an' de rose
garden? Farewell, Edie and Mammy; I greet you kindly,
an' am your loving son,
JACOB BEITEL.
EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE, PRINTER TO HER MAJESTY.
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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1980
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