º/~~~ 22 -
º º, º ſº,



THE STOLEN BOY.
indon-Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall Street.

-
-
-
-
-
- - -
-
-
- - - -
-
-
- - -
- - -
- - -
- - -
-
- - -
- -
-
- - - -
- -
- - - -
- - - -
- - - -
- - -
- -
-
- -
- -
- - - -
- -
- - - -
-
- - -
- -
- -
-
- - - -
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
- -
- - -
-



THIE, STOLEN E3 ()
Y
-
º-
ºn Vºs
ºv
º
Zºº.






--~
--~
º
sºro ten º ox,
–
Tº -
IN DIAN TALE.
J. –
ºf Z. --
^^ Z. /
--> –
ºr sº
- % º º/, // % º
/º *
% , º/, º///7, , ,
-
intºm -
-
- - º -
- * */ / 7, - |, …, º /. 1 –




THE
S T O L E N B O Y.
A STORY,
FOUNDED ON FACTS.
By MRs. HoFLAND,
AUTHOR OF
THE CLERGYMAN’s widow; THE sist ERs; BLIND FARMER
BARBADoES GIRL: PANORAMA OF EUROPE: YouNG CRUSOE
YoUNG NorthERN TRAVELLER; GooD GRANDMOTHER:
AFFECTIONATE BROTHERS; DAUGHTER-IN - LAW 5
MERCHANT's widow;
&c. &c.
There might you have beheld one joy crown another so, and in
such a manner, that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them,
for their joy waded in tears. SHAREspeaRE.
LONDON :
PRINT E D FOR A. K. N. E. W. MAN AND Co.


TO THE READER.
THE following Story, in its prin-
cipal incidents, was published in
the Juvenile Souvenir for 1828;
but being necessarily curtailed, so
much as to exclude that develop-
ment of mind in the subject of
the tale, and those affecting cir-
cumstances which give deep inte-

vi
rest to his long and extraordinary
escape, it is now offered to the
youthful public in a more finished
state. -
It is perhaps necessary to re-
peat, that the Story of the Stolen
Boy is founded on facts, which
were communicated to the writer
by Mr. Parker, a gentleman now
in this country, but who resided
at Nachitoches at the period of
the boy's return, where the circum-
stance created considerable sensation

vii
among all classes of the community
who became acquainted with the ex-
traordinary escape of the boy.


THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. I.
* DEAR father, pray come and look at some
of the strangest people that ever were seen, who
are sitting opposite to the garden. They are
not gipsies, such as we used to see in Spain,
but yet they seem to be wanderers like them,
and to live out of doors. They all look as
grave as judges, and have very comical-loºking
clothes. Do pray come and see them.”
Such was the entreaty addressed to Don
Manuel del Perez by his son, a boy between
eight and nine years of age, a few days after
himself and family had arrived at the town of
San Antonio, in the province of Texas, a coun-
try which joins Louisiana, on the coast of the
Gulf of Mexico.
B

2 THE STOLEN BOY.
Don Manuel's family consisted of an amiable
wife (Donna Seraphina), the son we have
already introduced, a daughter two years
younger, and a babe of six months old.
Little Manuel was a sensible, active, lively
boy, and being newly released from the con-
finement of a long voyage, beheld the new
scene around him with great delight; but
never had his dark eyes glistened with so much
pleasure as now, or his inquiries on subjects of
curiosity been made with so much interest.
His kind father, therefore, did not hesitate to
go out with him to see the objects of his at-
traction; and having done so, he replied thus
in answer to his inquiries:– “ These people,
my dear Manuel, are Indians, the descend-
ants of the original inhabitants of America.
Like those of other continents, they are di-
vided into tribes or nations, none of whom
are fond of European settlers, though some
are friendly in appearance. These people
are come to trade with us, and will, I doubt
not, conduct themselves with great propriety.
I perceive they are of the tribe of Choctaws,

THE STOLEN BOY. 3
who, with another called Cadows, never
come hither for any other than peaceable
errands.” -
“And do they all go half naked, father,
and paint themselves so strangely, like these
poor creatures?”
* They all greatly resemble each other, and
term themselves, aptly enough, ‘red men, as
you see their skin is copper-colour. They are,
as you must perceive, finely-formed athletic
men, spare of flesh, in consequence of their
temperance, but possessing much muscular
strength, which results from their habits of
exercise. Their countenances are indicative of
deep thought, mingled with an expression of
cunning and ferocity.”
“As they looked so very grave, I took them
to be good people, father, only ignorant. Do
you take them to be so?”
* Indeed I do not, Manuel.”
The poor boy, looking exceedingly disap-
pointed at this short answer, which by no means
accorded with the benevolent wishes of his warm
little heart, Don Manuel soothed him by adding
—“My dear, though I am not partial to the

4. THE STOLEN BOY.
Indians, many people are, and I dare say
there are persons in San Antonio who can give
you many instances of their good properties.
It is certain they are very hospitable, for they
will suffer no stranger to enter their abode,
without relieving his wants; and even if he is
of a white nation with whom they are at war,
they will treat him with kindness, and con-
duct him in safety beyond their own pre-
cincts. And although they consider us (with
great justice) as intruders on their land, yet
when they sell any portion of it, they rigidly
adhere to their bargain, and depart altogether
to a proper distance. In their less important
concerns, they are not less punctual; and if
they agree to bring a certain quantity of skins
(which are the principal produce with which
they supply us), we may always depend upon
them, even if we had paid them beforehand,
in the spirits, arms, and blankets, they require
from us.”
“Then surely they are very honest good peo-
ple?” said Manuel, eagerly.
“ These qualities are very good certainly,
my dear, and cannot be too much praised; but

THE STOLEN BOY. 5
there are other points about them, that more
than counterbalance their virtues. They are
so revengeful, as to be never known to forgive
an injury, even though it was inflicted on a
distant relation, and could have nothing to do
with their personal feelings. They are so
bigoted to their former opinions and customs,
as to resist all improvement, thereby rendering
the gift of reason useless; and, what is far
worse, they are so cruel, that they destroy
prisoners of war by the most horrible torments,
a conduct, of all others, most repellant to our
ideas of justice, which teaches all men to re-
spect that valour in another, which he is proud
of in himself.”
“That is very wicked certainly—do these
Choctaws do this P”
“All the Indian nations do it, the Choctaws
among the rest. The Alonquas are, however,
much worse than these, for they are cannibals,
which even the Indians consider to be hateful.
The Cumanches are a nation scarcely less
dreaded, for although they do not eat their
victims, they sacrifice more than other tribes
B 3

6 THE STOLEN BOY.
do, since they not only frequently torture their
prisoners of war, but those unhappy people
whom they seize in their robbing expeditions,
which are frequent. These people are re-
markable for always travelling on horseback,
and their appearance, even at a considerable
distance, never fails to inspire terror in our
settlements, as it is well known that they are
in quest of plunder, and will stop at no means
to attain it. They frequently take away a
great number of mules and horses, and never
fail to murder their owners, unless they re-
serve them for more cruel sport at their own
residence.”
Manuel looked very grave whilst Don
Manuel spoke, but as he was not told that
these terrific tribes ever visited San Antonio,
their enormities of conduct soon vanished from
his mind; and being permitted to cultivate an
acquaintance with the Choctaws, he soon be-
ame amused and interested, in the greatest
degree, with everything concerning them.
Like mostlively children of an enterprising tem-
per, he was delighted with their power of throw-
ing the hatchet, shooting with bows and arrows,

THE STOLEN BOY. 7
tracing the woods through impervious paths,
and enduring pain and hunger without com-
plaint; and he soon learnt so to practise these
accomplishments, as greatly to surprise his
mother and sister, the latter of whom was
charmed to see him dressed in a coronet of
feathers, and a pair of mocassins. In the
course of their intercourse, he also picked up a
good deal of their language; for being much
struck with the attitude and delivery of one of
their orators, he could not help earnestly de-
siring to know what he was saying, and never
rested till he had so far attained it, as to com-
prehend all their common forms of speech, and
their names of those things amongst them in
general use.
When the Choctaw tribe had finished their
bargains, had received their rum, brandy, guns,
beads, and blankets, they returned to their own
distant settlement, but not before many of their
wisest and gravest chiefs had exhibited that
terrible propensity to drunkenness, which is
such a remarkable trait in their characters.
Manuel was much shocked at this degradation,
and for some time ceased to praise them as he

8 THE STOLEN BOY.
was wont, or to display the feats of activity
they had taught him ; and the circumstance of
his father's purchasing a large house at a little
distance from the town, and the pleasure and
trouble of removing thither, soon occupied his
mind so much, that he nearly forgot his old
friends, the “Silver Fox,” and the “ Black
Bear,” and began, as little Inez, his sister, told
him, “ to find himself very happy with his
own family, even though they wore decent
clothes, eat good dinners, washed their faces in
pure water, and prayed to God as good Chris-
tians both night and morning.”

THE STOLEN BOY. 9
CHAP. II.
Don Manuel had suffered his son to mix
much with the Indians, from a persuasion that
the love of exercise they were likely to inspire,
could hardly fail to be beneficial to a Spanish
boy, being well aware that his nation are
(generally speaking) much too indolent; and
being a sensible, well-informed man, calculated
for residing in any country, and learning what
was most valuable in each, he wished to render
his son alike fitted to become a citizen of the
world. He was not, however, sorry to see
that the boy returned to his usual avocations
with pleasure, and he determined that when
he had passed his ninth birthday, he should
enter on a more regular course of study than
had hitherto been required from him, the
course of his education having unavoidably
been interrupted by the voyage to America,
and the unsettled state of the family before
they could procure a permanent abode.
The birthday of their eldest son was fixed

10 THE STOLEN BOY.
upon, by his affectionate parents, as a proper
time for giving a suitable entertainment to the
principal inhabitants of San Antonio; and ac-
cordingly his entrance into his tenth year was
celebrated with the united luxuries of the old
world and the new ; and for the day, Manuel
was treated with much consideration as well as
affection. He had a handsome new dress for
the occasion, and among other presents, he
received, from one of the guests, a very beau-
tiful galloway suited for his age and size; and
as he had learned to ride, it will readily be
conceived that nothing could exceed the plea-
sure he promised himself with this pretty
animal, which had been properly broken in for
him, and on which he mounted in the presence
of his mother, and the ladies of her party. The
address with which he managed his steed, the
grace of his motions, and the firmness and agility
he displayed, excited the admiration of every
one; and the heart of the fond mother beat
high in her bosom, as she inwardly predicted
the future greatness of her beloved boy; whilst
her young daughter, not less happy, bounded
round her brother, extolling all he did to the

THE STOLEN BOY. 11
skies, and allowing (for the first time) that
even the Choctaws had improved him in some
things; “for though they did not teach him
to ride, yet they did teach him to shoot, and he
could now do both, at the same time, most
surprisingly.” -
All pleasures, as well all pains, must have an
end; and poor Manuel, in despite of his tempo-
rary greatness, at length sunk into such deep
repose, that it encroached considerably on the
following day; but his parents would not
allow him to be disturbed, because he had never
been up so late before. In consequence, when
other persons were inclined to take their siesta
after dinner, Manuel was quite upon the alert,
and instead of going to sleep, determined to pay
a visit to his pretty horse, and perhaps take a
short ride with the groom. Accordingly,
having received a nod of approbation from his
father, he went up to the stables, which lay at
some distance from the house, and finding there
Diego, a favourite servant, who had accom-
panied the family from Spain, he began
immediately to beg he would saddle the new

12 THE STOLEN BOY.
favourite for him, and accompany him a little
distance.
Diego readily promised to fulfil his wishes,
but observed, “ that he must, in the first place,
put the finishing stroke to what he was about,
which was cleaning a very fine mare of his
master's, which had been out that morning.”
To this, of course, the boy made no objection,
and he continued to caress his own pet, and
feed him with the best food in the stable,
whilst the man pursued his task.
In a moment both were astonished by a loud
outcry, of a nature which was utterly incom-
prehensible to them, since it neither resembled
the roaring of wild beasts, nor the voices of
human beings; it was wild, terrible, and
wonderful—advanced nearer every moment—
and was soon heard in conjunction with the
sound of horses’ feet. When this sound struck
on the servant's ear, he exclaimed—“ This
must be the Cumanches—fly, my dear young
master, fly to the house this moment.”
But all flight was impossible—even whilst
he spoke, the stable was entered by a whole
troop of terrific-looking Indians. Diego was

THE STOLEN BOY. I3
seized on the instant, and hurried out by two
of them; and although Manuel instinctively
crept under the animal he was caressing, he
too was presently seen, and felt a strong arm
dragging him from his hiding-place. All re-
sistance appeared vain, and only likely to pro-
duce instant death; but Manuel for some
moments called on his father, in a loud shriek-
ing voice, and afterwards knelt and held up his
hands in supplication to the ferocious savage
who stood nearest him. Alas! both were in
vain; his father at that moment slept uncon-
scious of all danger, and the only sensation
produced in the breast of the savage by his
intreaties, was that of contempt; nevertheless,
as he perceived that he was a handsome, well-
grown boy, and from the situation in which he
found him, likely to be conversant with the
management of horses, and was, moreover,
richly dressed, he determined on taking him
with them, in preference to stifling his cries
by killing him on the spot.
In a few moments the poor little boy was
dragged out, placed on a tall horse, and held
there with an irresistible arm, by the strong
C

14 THE STOLEN BOY.
Indian whose particular prize he was made.
The horses and mules were all taken out, save
one deemed too old to be useful, and each of
them being secured by a noose, was led off by
one or other of the Indians, poor Diego being
bound fast to one of them, and led off with
the rest. Whilst this was doing, hope re-
vived in the breast of Manuel, and despite of
his situation in the gripe of the barbarian, he
shouted aloud, though Diego called on him to
desist, as he expected every moment to see him
murdered in consequence. The poor boy knew
that there were plenty of fire-arms in the house,
and many hands that would rush to his assist-
ance, and the dear home which he them be-
held with his eyes, he hoped could be reached
with his tongue; and in the frantic agony of
the moment, it is certain that his shrieks could
have reached the ears of the family, they were
so loud and piercing, had they not been ex-
hausted by the fatigues of the preceding day.
All this was but the work of a few mo-
ments, and Manuel soon found himself riding
at a prodigious rate, in a direction he had
never gone before; and being sensible that he

THE STOI, EN BOY. 15
might scream himself to death to no purpose,
he ceased, and tried to comfort himself with
the hope that they would shortly be pursued
by his father and the servants. As his en-
slaver kept at the head of the troop, he was
many times deceived with false hopes, when he
heard the trampling of horses near him; and
at one time, so sanguine were his expectations,
that he called out—“Courage, Diego! they
are following us; we shall soon be rescued.”
“I can see, master, though you can't,” an-
swered the afflicted man, “ and I perceive no
help of any kind. Besides, how can they pur-
sue us to good purpose, when there is not a
single creature left for them to ride on ?”
This melancholy recollection had not once
occurred to the mind of the boy, who had
hitherto buoyed himself up with the hope that
his father would follow at the head of his
friends and servants, whose guns and pistols
he almost instantly expected to hear, thinking
such sounds would be the sweetest in the world
to him, and being willing to be wounded, and
almost killed, so he might escape from the
Indians. When, however, he recollected that

16 THE STOL EN BOY.
indeed all the horses were gone, that his fa-
ther would be obliged to send for others from
San Antonio, and that the time which would
elapse, rendered it utterly improbable that he
could overtake them before their arrival in
those interminable forests towards which they
were directing their flight, his heart sunk into
despair, and he wept in bitter anguish for
several hours.
The Indians, on entering the woods, slack-
ened their pace, and rode on in silence, thread-
ing their way through the dark labyrinth of
tall trees, with a precision and ability which,
under other circumstances, would have recalled
to the mind of Manuel his admiration of his
old friends, the Choctaws; but he was much
too unhappy to notice any external circum-
stance. Often had he wished to penetrate
these sublime forests, to see those stately trees
which rise higher than the towers of cathe-
drals, and whose branches are frequently adorn-
ed by beautiful flowers, at the same time that
their trunks are entwined by other flowers, of
the most dazzling colours and beautiful forms,
presenting altogether an assemblage of the

THE STOLEN BOY. 17
richest stores of nature. To him, these things
were at this moment totally disregarded, for
every moment that bore him further from his
beloved parents and home was a new cause for
sorrow, and every faculty of his mind and his
memory was absorbed in the sorrow of his
heart. Even the terror which rested on the
future, as far as regarded his personal safety,
was, for the present, suspended, and grief for
the loss of his beloved parents filled his bosom,
to the exclusion of every other regret,
CHAP. III.
About midnight the whole party emerged
from different paths, as it appeared, into an
open glade, of considerable extent, through
which a clear rivulet wound its way in a wavy
line, the banks of which were covered with
fine soft grass, of the purest emerald hue.
The moon was at this time high in the blue
heavens, and the rays reflected in the stream,
as it rippled over a bed of white pebbles, were
C 3

18 THE STOLEN BOY.
so brilliant, that for a moment they roused the
languid spirits of poor Manuel. He cast his
eyes upwards, and said—“ Surely there is a
God in that beautiful heaven, who looks down
on this earth, for it is very beautiful too, and
he will take pity on me, and deliver me some
time.”
The Indians tied their horses to trees, and
their prisoners also, in such a manner that the
former could obtain food, but to the latter they
did not offer any ; neither were they observed
to take any thing themselves, notwithstanding
the many hours in which they must have been
without, and the great fatigue they had en-
countered. Diego lamented this privation ex-
ceedingly, and dwelt pathetically on the com-
forts his supper was wont to afford him; but
his wants were at this time not equally felt by
Manuel, for his sorrow had completely taken
away his appetite, and notwithstanding his
extreme fatigue, his mind was actively em-
ployed in weighing the possibility of escape,
whilst the Indians lay asleep around them.
His ideas were revealed to Diego, who was not
less alive to the subject ; but they both soon

THE STOLEN BOY. 19
perceived (with that dismay which can only be
justly estimated by those who have suffered
similar misfortunes) that although their liga-
ments did not appear strong, they were so in-
geniously contrived, that it was impossible to
unbind them, and also, that they were actually
fastened to an Indian, whom on arising they
would inevitably awake. This discovery, of
course, plunged them still deeper into afflic-
tion; and the night was spent by each in fruit-
less lamentations, which were, in one sense,
solitary ones also, since they were at a con-
siderable distance from each other; and this
proof of the ability of the Indians led them to
suspect that they might understand as much
of their language as would render conversation
unsafe; and the only consolation left to the
unhappy prisoners was thus denied to them.
Diego did, however, venture to hint to
Manuel, that it would be advisable for him by
no means to let the savages understand he had
learnt any of their language from the Choc-
taws, as he observed—“ That if he appeared
to gain it from them, it would give them an
idea of his extraordinary quickness, which would

20 THE STOLEN BOY.
not fail to render them kind to him, and that
during the time when he was supposed to be
entirely ignorant of it, they would converse
freely before him, and he might learn what
they intended to do with their prisoners.”
This advice proved to be very good, as it
afterwards answered both these purposes. If
it had not been given, poor Manuel would
have acted precisely in a contrary manner, as
it was his intention to beg the chief to release
him, and restore him to his parents, in his own
tongue, which he hoped would have a greater
effect upon him than his supplications hitherto,
and for that purpose he had been trying to
recollect every word which could be supposed
to move him. He now abandoned this idea,
and determined to observe Diego's suggestions,
remembering that the Indians were little
likely to forego their intentions from any in-
treaties of his, as all he had learnt from their
own people, or others, induced him to consider
them inflexible: he was also persuaded, that
his father would pursue them even to the Red
River, on the banks of which he knew there
were many settlers; and therefore, if they could

THE STOLEN BOY. 21
gain time, they would eventually be restored
to San Antonio.
The Indians, after a few hours slumber,
started up with celerity, liberated their horses
and their prisoners, and after mounting and
securing them as before, resumed their journey.
It continued for about two hours longer, in the
same woody kind of country, but after that,
was continued over an immense plain, great
part of which was exceedingly swampy, and,
of course, bad for the horses.
Diego observed—“ That no European could
have passed it with safety, nor indeed any other
creature than an Indian, who, he firmly be-
lieved, was endued with more senses than his
fellow-mortals, and therefore, in his opinion,
akin to the 'ºl.”
When Manuel was enabled in any measure
to overcome the severe grief which at this
period might be said to bow him to the earth,
he was more happy than his fellow-sufferer, in
not thinking so ill of the persons by whom
they were taken as he did. In fact, within a
few months, Manuel had loved the Indians
with enthusiasm, entered into their pursuits

22 THE STOLEN BOY.
with pleasure, studied and extolled their vir-
tues, excused their faults, and even fancied
that he should enjoy their manner of living;
so that it appeared possible, that if he were
not destined for slaughter, he might exist
amongst them happily enough. Far different
was it with poor Diego; he was more than
thirty years of age, his habits were all con-
firmed, and it had been no small trial for him
to leave Europe at all, though his affection for
his master had led him to a country which he
considered uncivilized at the best—of course,
the prospect before him was doubly appalling;
and although he bore it like a man, and a
Christian also, by lifting up his heart to God,
and praying for resignation, yet his spirits
were depressed with the deepest sorrow, and
he would have been thankful for relief, even
by the hands of death. He had heard of the
cruelty of the Indians to their prisoners; and
they never turned their eyes upon him but he
expected they were about to scalp him; and it
might be truly said—
* He died a thousand deaths in fearing one.”
About noon, the party again entered a

THE STOLEN BOY". 23
mighty forest, to the great relief of poor
Manuel, who had long suffered from the heat,
and whose galled and wearied limbs, when at
length they alighted, refused to sustain him
when he was taken from the horse, so that he
fell as if dead on the roots of a huge tree, be-
neath which the party were assembling. On
seeing this, his new master gave him some
water from a calibash, which was extremely
refreshing to him, and afterwards some maize,
so prepared as to answer the purpose of bread,
together with a small strip of dried venison.
When the poor boy put it to his lips, he thought
he could not swallow it, but when the first
mouthful was gone, he found his appetite re-
turn, to voraciousness, and he eagerly eat all
that had been given to him. After this he
dropped asleep, almost instantly, and doubtless
continued unconscious of anything many hours,
since he was lifted upon the horse, and had
travelled a long way, without being aware of
his removal.
In two days afterwards, the troop arrived at
the banks of a considerable river, where the
wives and children of the party were waiting

24 THE STOLEN BOY.
for them, furnished with plenty of provisions,
which were now exceedingly wanted, also with
canoes, by which they crossed the river. -
After passing this boundary, their watchful-
ness over their prisoners greatly relaxed, being
evidently unnecessary, since it was plain they
had no chance for returning. Every thing
now conspired to shew them that there was
indeed a great gulf placed between them and
the world behind them. All vestiges of civi-
lized life had been lost to them nearly ever
since they were carried away, and woods, al-
most equally impervious with the stream, to
any but Indian feet, shut them out from all
intercourse with their countrymen. They
were surrounded by a new race of beings, who
held them as enemies, though they had never
offended them, and who, probably, only pre-
served them in order to make them a future
sacrifice, and to whose imperious will they
must in the mean time stoop, in the same sla-
very to which, it is true, they had seen many
fellow-men (the negroes) devoted, but had
never till now conceived that they could bend
themselves.

THE STOLEN BOY. 25
Three days more elapsed before they reached
the town, or settlement, of this Indian tribe;
it lay on the banks of a stream which feeds
the Red River (or Nachitoches), which, after
passing through a great extent of country,
scarcely known (even to the enterprising in-
habitants of the United States), falls into the
Mississippi in Louisiana. Here they were met
by all the inhabitants, who came forth from
their wigwams, or huts, to congratulate them
on their safe return, and the success of their
expedition, in which a valuable booty had been
secured, without the loss of a single Indian.
Manuel perceived that his master, who was
called Tustanuggi, was held in high respect;
but yet he learned that he was only a kind of
second chief, the first being out with a troop
of warriors, who were engaged in warfare
against the nation of Alonquas.
Tustanuggi took Manuel to his hut, whilst
another Indian made signs to Diego to follow
him. This destination wrung the poor boy to
the heart; he had no comfort on the face of
the earth, but that of being near the faithful
D

26 THE STOLEN BOY.
servant whom he had known from his cradle,
and whom he well knew was willing to die in
his behalf. Rushing forward, despite of his
terrors, he threw himself into Diego's arms,
clung round him, and sobbed on his bosom, in
all that agony of sorrow and affection natural
to his age and his situation.
On seeing this, one of the old Indians drew
the young boys around, who were nearest the
age of Manuel, and pointing out to them the
weakness of this Christian youth, earnestly
exhorted them never to give way to such weak-
ness, especially before their enemies. He con-
demned tears, as a folly which belonged ex-
clusively to women, and told them “the sons of
their father should spurn it, as the proof of
cowardice, and the companion of guilt.” When
the weeping boy heard this, he tried to wipe
his eyes and look manful; but the grief of
his heart was so great, it admitted not of con-
trol; he felt that he was torn from his last
friend, for Diego was mother, sister, father,
and friend, to him who was henceforward to
be utterly desolate. His bitter sobs would
have awakened compassion in the heart of any

THE STOLEN BOY. 27
human being, save an Indian ; but they are
taught from infancy to quell all the natural
feelings of the heart, and to despise that in
which they disdain to sympathize.
Manuel was at length torn from Diego's
bosom, but not before he had whispered to him
an assurance of his love and watchfulness, and
an exhortation “to attend to the words of all
the Indians whom he should hear speaking of
them.”
Exhausted by the passion of sorrow he had
undergone, Manuel now entered the wigwam
of his enslaver, and after a short time, cast
round his eyes to recognise his future situation.
The wife of Tustanuggi was a woman appa-
rently turned of thirty, and might be called a
good-looking squaw ; she was named Moscogi.
They had two children, the eldest a boy about
a year older than Manuel, the other a female
child under two years; all were in the hut,
and appeared anxious to pay all possible atten-
tion to the master of it, who received every
mark of honour and affection in silence, nei-
ther encouraging their freedom, nor returning
their caresses.

28 THE STOLEN BOY,
It is well known that the Spaniards are a
proud people, of stately manners, and little
given to that lively intercourse among stran-
gers to which the French and other countries
are subject. Within their own families this
formality is entirely dispensed with, and there
is a deep-seated affection towards those to
whom they are attached, by domestic ties of
the warmest description, and which displays
itself by a thousand trifling attentions, indica-
tive of what is passing in their hearts. When,
therefore, Manuel perceived the coldness Tus-
tanuggi displayed towards his own wife and
children, after he had been so long divided
from them, (for Moscogi had not been one of
the wives who attended on the river to for-
ward their views), he could not help thinking,
that to him he would be more severe than he
had apprehended, and that his future life was
devoted to a hard-hearted master, whom no
submission could move, no service could soften.
This surmise did not appear to be well
founded ; Tustanuggi demanded nothing more
than it was easy to perform, and when a failure
took place, he resorted to no mode of punish-

THE STOLEN BOY. 29
ment beyond quiet reproof. His wife partook
his manners; she displayed none of that pity
towards the captive, which his too frequent
tears and evident suffering might have awaken-
ed; neither was she petulant or exacting in
her manners. Silent and collected, with a
pensive aspect, but unrepining temper, she
performed her allotted task in the management
of her household, and seemed to find her re-
ward in the smiles and caresses of her little
girl; for the boy, although he obeyed her
commands, appeared to have little affection for
her person.
Often did Manuel look towards this boy, as
if he hoped to find in him a friend and play-
mate, for so we find in general, all children of
the same age do look towards each other, what-
ever may be the difference of their country,
their situation in life, or their education; for
nature alike inclines them to play and to
friendship. But his efforts towards conciliating
the good will of this young Indian were fruit-
less; he felt, in the glances of his keen black
eyes, that he was a despised creature, whom
D 3

30 THE STOLEN BOY.
the little savage would have delighted to de-
stroy ; and he learnt, by several questions put
to his mother, that Manuel was expected by
and by to form a subject of sport for the boys,
who hoped they might be permitted to torture
him to death. On hearing this, Manuel lis-
tened, it may be supposed, with terrible in-
terest to every thing that was said, and be-
came anxious to the greatest degree to recall
every word he had obtained from the Choc-
taws.
The second night spent in the wigwam was
disturbed by the loud shrieks of the infant,
who was seized with some internal disorder,
for which the mother appeared to have no re-
medy, and which evidently awoke all her feel-
ings as such. Manuel had frequently looked
at this child with great interest, for he felt
that she could not be his enemy; and besides,
he was a boy of a truly compassionate disposi-
tion towards every one; so that it was natural
he should rise eagerly and offer his assistance,
though he knew not in what way to be useful.
They had not hitherto taken his clothes
from him, and in taking them up in the dark,

THE STOLEN BOY, 31
he got hold the wrong way, in consequence of
which, a few little sugared balls, of the nature
of peppermint-drops, which had got into the
crevices of his pockets, rolled out on the floor.
He well remembered that they were given to
him on his birthday, but he did not know
that there were any left, and he gathered them
up very eagerly, thinking that their sweetness
would render them pleasant to the child, to
whom he carried them immediately, using
the most affectionate gestures he could, to in-
duce her to take them. The father had by
this time struck a light, and with much less
apathy than usual, gazed upon his child, and
suggested means for its relief, which, however,
did not appear in the least availing. Very
soon, however, after the little sufferer had
swallowed the comfits given her by Manuel, a
great change took place, for the disorder, pro-
bably proceeding from flatulence, the pepper-
mint was extremely good for it, by expelling
the wind. In a short time those alarming
shrieks (so rarely heard in an Indian cottage)
had ceased, her eyes again shone brightly, her
labouring chest ceased to heave, and, as if sen-

32 THE STOLEN BOY.
sible to whom she owed her restoration, she
held out her arms to Manuel, who, taking her
fondly to his bosom, lay down with her, and
had soon the satisfaction of seeing her fast
asleep and perfectly restored.
This amendment, which appeared almost
miraculous in the eyes of the squaw, as might
be supposed, was very valuable to Manuel, not
only by disposing the hearts of the family fa-
vourably to him, but by inspiring the idea that
he was become exceedingly attached to them.
They had no idea of the existence of a prin-
ciple of humanity like that which really affect-
ed his mind, because with them no general
virtue or affection can be said to exist, such
feelings never passing the bounds of family or
country. To these they are firmly, inviolably
attached; what they want in vividness and
acuteness, they make up in depth and perse-
verance; but never have the divine doctrines of
forgiveness of enemies, universal love of their
fellow-creatures, or pity for their misfortunes,
been inculcated amongst them.
On the following morning, Tustanuggi con-
vened a meeting of the chiefs and fathers of

THE STOLEN BOY. 33
the settlement, which consisted of nearly three
hundred huts, and afforded about thirty men
of importance. To this meeting he took Ma-
nuel, and having placed him before them, de-
clared “ his intention of henceforth establish-
ing him in his own household, in consequence
of the talent which he protested he possessed
of relieving sickness, and also in the belief of
his management of horses, whom, in like man-
ner, he expected him to cure.”
Manuel heard this in silence, and with as
much composure as he could assume; but his
consciousness of total ignorance on those points,
and his knowledge that not a single comfit re-
mained now in his clothing, and of course that
he had no power of cure in any future occur-
rence of the same nature as that of the preced-
ing night, rendered him very unhappy. Ear-
nestly did he desire to explain his situation,
but the remembrance of Diego's advice had
weight with him, and he studied to repress all
emotion, even when the most aged man in the
circle thus replied to his master.
* Son, thou hast spoken well; the great
spirit hath doubtless sent this child amongst

34 THE STOLEN BOY.
us to preserve our children and our horses;
see thou to him, that he become a man amongst
men, and learn the usages of a true son of the
Cumanches. The other Spaniard whom thou
broughtest, shall await the day when the war-
riors return, then shall he be brought to the
feast, and the fire, and die with the enemies of
the nation.” -
Every one present applauded this sentence
of the aged chief, and in their self-gratula-
tions observed not the situation of poor Ma-
nuel, whose blood was frozen with horror,
when he thought on the fate which threatened
his faithful Diego, whom he apprehended re-
mained a prisoner in the house to which he
had been taken, since he had never seen him
since the time of their arrival.

THE STOLEN BOY. 35
CHAP. IV.
WHEN Tustanuggi returned home, he pre-
sented Manuel to Moscogi his wife, and US-
wega his son, as one “who was henceforth to
share their table and their home, not as a
slave but a son,” information received by the
squaw with evident pleasure, but by the son
with disappointment, although, in common
with all Indian sons, he reverenced his father
too much to express his dissent, obedience be-
ing one of the chief virtues of these people.
The master of the house then proceeded,
with an air of great solemnity, to strip off
Manuel's clothes entirely, and rub his body
completely with some kind of greasy mixture,
which was in the first place extremely disa-
greeable, but was certainly necessary to guard
his body from the musquitos and other flies,
if for the rest of his life he was to go nearly
naked, like the people by whom he was sur-
rounded. He next put mocassins on his feet,
a calico shirt over his shoulders, and a silver

36 THE STOLEN BOY.
fillet round his head, and completed his dress
by bracelets and armlets, having first cut his
hair in the usual fashion of the tribe.
When Uswega beheld him thus metamor-
phosed, though he had seen the process sullen-
ly, he yet condescended to shew him how to
hold his spear, and proposed taking him to
join the boys of the town, who, at his age,
learnt to throw the hatchet, or use the bow
and arrow.
To this the father made no objection, far-
ther than to say, that on the morrow the son
of the pale man must begin his duties of at-
tending the horses, an employment he must
share with the other captive, until the return
of the warriors. Manuel was glad to hear he
should so soon see his fellow-sufferer, but yet
he dreaded answering the questions he would
naturally ask; and again he spent a sleepless
ruminating night.
To his great relief, when on the morrow he
met Diego, the poor man saw only, in the im-
proved condition of his young master, reason
to hope the same consideration would be ex-
tended to himself. This conclusion he had

THE STOLEN BOY. 37
the greater right to make, because he knew
himself to be a valuable groom, and that he
had been of great use to several of the horses
they had stolen from his master, and which
he observed, “it was quite natural he should
have a regard for, wherever they might hap-
pen to be.” He told Manuel every thing re-
specting the management of these noble ani-
mals, likely to be of use to him in his future
occupation, repeatedly adding, “ and it will
be a strange thing indeed, if after a time, you
and I being well mounted, and having well
trained our horses, cannot make our escape,
either to the Red River, at the time when some
trading vessels are upon it, or to the Christian
town of Nachitoches, to which it will be our
guide.”
Every time they met (which was now twice
a-day), the instructions were repeated, and the
hopes expressed: but though Manuel heard
the first with due attention, the second fre-
quently banished them from his mind, since
they inevitably led him to the dreadful recol-
lection of that fate which awaited poor Diego,
E.

38 THE STOLEN BOY.
and which was now frequently adverted to
at home by Uswega, as an approaching fes-
tival. At these moments, his eyes would fill
with tears, and he would try to throw himself
into Diego's arms, that he might hide the an-
guish of his heart, whilst he gratified its im-
pulse of affection; and scarcely did he know
whether it was right to tell the poor man, in
order to give him the means of seeking to es-
cape or to die, or to preserve a silence, which
saved him from a contemplation of the most
appalling and heart-rending nature.
One day, a large party of Indians set out to
hunt in the woods, and having observed that
Diego was in every thing he did expert and
courageous, they took him with them, order-
ing Uswega, Manuel, and a few other boys, to
follow, for the purpose of collecting game,
these children being quick of eye and swift of
foot. The scene was entirely new to our
Spanish boy, and with the hilarity natural to
his age, he soon forgot his sorrows, and eager-
ly joined in the sport, feeling, for the first
time, that it would be possible to him to live
happy in that wild state, whilst actively em-

THE STOLEN BOY, 39
ployed, although he was miserable when in a
state of indolence. During their excursion he
saw several wild beasts, which were chased
and killed with an amazing dexterity by the
naked Indians, at the very moment of their
becoming in the utmost danger; and he knew
not how to admire sufficiently their presence
of mind, the management of their weapons,
and the acuteness of their perceptions; and he
again thought they were a wonderful people.
He had always had a great taste for natural
history, as many children have, and had been
permitted by his father to have a little aviary
in the garden, in which he was making a col-
lection of birds, at the time of his misfortune.
He now saw innumerable birds, of form and
plumage such as he had formed no idea of, and
particularly the condor eagle, the vulture, and
the wild turkey, contrasted with innumerable
small and exquisitely beautiful birds, blue,
green, and crimson, which darted like living
gems from tree to tree, their own vivid hues
catching the slanting beams of the sun as they
penetrated the forest. These objects he might
have noticed during his journey, but his mind

40 THE STOLEN BOY,
was then sunk in all the stupor which follows
a sudden and terrible misfortune; he was now
to a certain degree recovered, and being at
that happy season of life, “when the tear is
forgot as soon as shed,” he became capable of
receiving at least a transitory pleasure, from
the novelty of every thing around him.
Alas! poor Manuel's pleasure was indeed
transitory ; whilst gazing on an immense
group of parroquets, who seemed to have taken
possession of a beautiful flowering plant, and
looked like moving foliage themselves, he was
startled by a loud cry of pain and terror, and
the voice that uttered it was doubtless Diego's.
Manuel hastened to the spot where several
Indians were standing, and amongst them lay
the unfortunate Spaniard, who had been bitten
in the hand by a rattlesnake, as he was search-
ing for a bird that had been shot by one of the
company. . The reptile had been instantly
killed, but no attention whatever was paid to
the wounded man, which not only distressed,
but surprised Manuel exceedingly, as he had
repeatedly heard that these people possessed a
cure for the bite of this dreadful animal. In

THE STOLEN BOY. 41
his distress he forgot his caution, and address-
ed every word in his power to use (as taught
him by the Choctaws), first to one and then to
another of the Indians, imploring them to as-
sist Diego; but they either heard him in per-
fect silence, or commanded him “not to trouble
them, seeing his friend was dying.”
Meantime Diego, in an agony of pain, ear-
nestly besought the boy to cease his lamenta-
tions, and assist him by his prayers, seeing that
he had not an hour to live-‘‘ Pray for me,
my dear Manuel,” said he, “ for, alas! I have
no minister of religion to comfort me at this
awful moment; and when I am gone, pray
for yourself to that gracious God who can
guard you in an Indian hut, as well as in your
father's house. Oh I I have been much to
blame, that when I gave you instructions how
to manage your horses, I did not tell you also
to hold fast your religion, to pray night and
morning to your blessed Saviour; promise me
that you will—it is the only comfort you can
give me.”
Poor Manuel, almost choked with grief,
E 3

42 THE STOLEN BOY.
promised this, and began to repeat aloud his
own evening prayer; but the increasing pangs
of poor Diego rendered him unable to do more
than cry fervently on Heaven for help, ming-
ling with petitions for his soul, prayers for the
deliverance of Manuel, who continued to
kneel by him and kiss him, till the last awful
moment was passed, and his bloated, disfigured
corpse lay before him, outstretched in the si-
lence of death.
And thus he was compelled to leave it, for
he had neither implements wherewith to dig
a grave, nor strength to drag it into any re-
cess. He wished he could have covered it, if
only with leaves, but as he was called upon by
his master, all he was able to do was to take
off the cloak of Diego, and fasten it over the
face, which he effected as quickly as possible.
In doing this he found a small book, which he
took, it being the only property their enslavers
had left in his pocket, as being to them useless.
It will be readily conceived by my dear
young readers, how deeply Manuel lamented
the loss of this his only friend. Indeed, so
lively was his sorrow, that, to a certain degree,

THE STOLEN BOY. 43
his Indian friends sympathized with him; and
Moscogi in particular lamented his loss, and
shewed him considerable pity. One word,
however, of her hard-hearted son consoled
him for his present loss, much more than any
circumstance beside could possibly have done.
The young barbarian lamented “ that he was
lost in the woods, because he would not now
afford them the opportunity of torturing him
to death;” and as Diego was a fine athletic
man, the young savage observed, “ that it
would be a great chance if any prisoner was
brought in, capable of living so long under the
torments they had intended to inflict upon
him.”
When therefore Manuel next fulfilled his
promise, by offering up his prayers, most de-
voutly did he thank the all-wise Disposer that
his faithful servant had been removed, by a
death, which, though painful, was only so for
a short time, and which, in being accidental,
was infinitely preferable to that of murder and
torture, which was prepared for him.
In the act of lifting up his feeble voice and
throbbing heart to God, the poor boy found

44 THE STOLEN BOY,
present comfort; and who shall dare to say that
that “ still small voice” was not heard and an-
swered by Him “ whom the heaven of heavens
cannot contain P”
CHAP. V.
IF such were the just conclusions of Manuel,
whilst the day of sin and sorrow was at a dis-
tance, much more decidedly did they soon be-
come so. About a fortnight after the death
of Diego, the long-absent warriors returned from
a far distant expedition, in which it was not
doubted but they had suffered great loss, although
it was hoped, from their long-tried valour, that
eventual victory had crowned their expedition.
The conjectures proved just—it was a most
striking scene, when on their first appearance,
the whole population of the settlement turned
out to meet them; wives and children pressing
forward to find their husbands and fathers, or
to ascertain the loss they trembled to learn.
At this awful moment, the wisdom they affect,
and the apathy they usually exhibit, all gave

THE STOLEN BOY. 45
way before the dictates of nature, and mothers
clamorously demanded their sons, wives sought
eagerly for their husbands, and men demanded
their friends and brothers.
When the result of the battle was known,
the howlings and lamentations that followed
were absolutely astonishing; it appeared as if
these people, usually so firm and unmoved,
had treasured up every warmer feeling, that
they might give them vent at one eventful
moment, or as if grief had suddenly rendered
them frantic. The air resounded with their
cries—the most dolorous eloquence burst from
their lips; and although the women expressed
their sorrow the most vehemently,the menjoined
them in the strongest demonstrations of it; and
the whole settlement seemed moved as by one
heart, and afflicted as by one sorrow. Manuel
stood amongst them as the only stranger, but
such was his compassionate nature, that he
could not behold their affliction without in a
degree sharing it; and often did he recollect,
that he too had lost not only a friend, but
parents, country, and home.
In the course of less than two hours, the

46 THE STOLEN BOY,
principal warrior proclaimed his success, and
exhibited eleven prisoners, who were the
trophies of his victory: on this being known,
the whole settlement passed in a moment from
this expression of uncontrollable grief to the
wildest signs of joy. They shouted in exulta-
tion, pressed round the prisoners, and demand-
ed that they should be given to them, and
hastily began to arrange the means of making
a feast, and of torturing the prisoners—two
circumstances which always accompanied each
other.
Before this important affair was settled,
seven of the women, whose husbands had been
killed during the late affray, stepped forward,
and claimed the right of choosing each a part-
ner from the prisoners, that he might hunt for
her and her children. This right was acknow-
ledged by the aged men who presided over the
assembly ; and accordingly seven of the un-
happy men condemned, though innocent, to
suffer the most dreadful death, were led by the
squaws to their own wigwams, and four only
were left to glut the cruelty of the savages.
The moment poor Manuel saw these victims

THE STOLEN BOY. 47
led towards stakes, which some of the party
were placing in the ground, he fled towards
the place where the horses were sheltered, and
mounting one of those committed to his care,
rode out, as was his usual custom, towards the
watering-place. By doing this, as if it were a
duty he ought not to omit, he escaped the de-
rision of Uswega, as well as the sight of bar-
barities it froze his blood to think upon ; and
when he returned, finding no one in the hut
but the young child, he remained to take care
of it, and in doing so, gained the praises of the
mother.
Manuel thought himself happy in thus
escaping the horrible scene; but, alas! he
could not escape the recital with which his
young companion thought proper to oblige
him; and such was its effect upon his spirits,
that all the grief which he had lately appeared
to have conquered returned upon him; his
appetite forsook him; his sleep was disturbed
by terrible dreams, in which he beheld Diego
under those sufferings which had been intend-
ed for him. Sometimes he would cry out—
* Oh, do not tear out his tongue—let him

48 THE STOLEN BOY.
speak to me once—do not mangle him with
those hot pincers;” and so much was his mind
impressed by the horrible accounts he had
received, that all the family were convinced he
had witnessed them, and gave strict orders
that he should never go near any prisoners
again—an order which he had repeatedly
reason to rejoice in having received.
Most of the Indian tribes live by hunting,
and this settlement of the Cumanches culti-
wated only a small portion of maize, which was
managed by the women entirely, who although
great slaves to their husbands, were not so
ingenious or industrious as many of the women
are in less ferocious tribes. Moscogi was,
perhaps, the cleverest woman in the settlement,
and under her teaching, Manuel soon became
expert in forming straw mats, and weaving
baskets, at such times as he was not employed
with the horses; but as his care of them (young
as he was) had hitherto given great satisfaction
to Tustanuggi, he had not much time for
in-door employments. Happy was he to get
a single half hour to himself, in which to read
the little book he had found in Diego's pocket,

THE STOLEN BOY. 49
and which was entitled “ The History of
Saint Theresa.” Perhaps had Manuel been at
home, he would never have looked at it, as
being too serious for his age, but now, as the
only book he had, it was inestimable in his
eyes; and he read it over and over again with
avidity, often thinking that the good woman
whose life was recorded, was more happy in
her state of suffering than if she had fallen
into the hands of the Indians; for he would
say—“she suffered for her religion, and set a
glorious example to all the world; but here
people are tormented for no fault, and die to
no end—they are lost in the wilderness, and
no one knows what is become of them.—
Yes,” he would add, “thou, Almighty Father,
seest them, and either in this world or another,
thou wilt assuredly relieve them: I will never
cease to pray to thee, and hope in thee; and
though I am but a poor, lost child, perhaps
thou wilt have mercy on me, and release me.”
With such pious aspirations as these, the
poor boy frequently comforted himself, and by
degrees he became so habituated to his mode
F

50 THE STOLEN BOY.
of life, that he appeared to those around him
well satisfied with it, especially as he grew fast,
and looked remarkably well. The maize, pre-
pared by long boiling into a species of food
called hominy, agreed well with him; and
when to this was added a portion of venison,
he considered himself well fed, and forgot the
dainties of his father's table, though he never
forgot for an hour the dear parents who pro-
vided them. The first winter he lived with
the Cumanches, inured him to that evil which
they think (and justly perhaps) their greatest
misfortune, viz. the want of sufficient nourish-
ment; and after experiencing that for several
weeks together, it was no wonder that he
afterwards ate moderately, and with high
relish, whatever was given to him.
It is only justice to Tustanuggi to say, that
in the time of scarcity, Manuel shared the
scanty fare of the family as a son, and that his
own temperance offered an excellent example
to those around him. Manuel had at this
period gained a complete knowledge of the
language, and as he attended many meetings
of the warriors and elders, he was frequently

THE STOLEN BOY. 51
struck with the wisdom of their remarks on
the common duties of life, and the peculiar
virtues called for in emergencies of this nature.
Child as he was, he could yet see the folly of
their conduct, in persisting so pertinaciously in
the way of their ancestors, by never cultivating
land, that they subjected themselves to starve
in the midst of plenty, and in the possession of
an immense expanse of fruitful country, re-
mained liable to the most positive want.
So soon as there was a prospect of success,
the men set out on various hunting expedi-
tions, alike for the purpose of procuring food
for themselves, and the means of barter, for
clothes and blankets, this tribe greatly prefer-
ring the calico shirts and the blankets, which
they procured by that medium, to the skins
made up by themselves. Tustanuggi and his
two boys were generally very fortunate, and pro-
cured many valuable skins, which the former
intended to dispose of, together with a portion
of his mules and horses, to the traders who
annually came up the Red River for that pur-
pose. To these visitants Manuel could alone
look as the future means of his liberation, and

52 THE STOLEN BOY.
therefore he carefully listened to every word
which could throw any light on the subject of
their arrival, the time they remained, the dis-
tance of the settlement from the Red River,
the direction in which it flowed, and the pro-
bability that he should be concerned with any
negociation. He even learned as much of
their language as he could obtain at second
hand, as he found many of the Indians spoke
a little, and he thought that a few words
would suffice to tell them who he was, and to
move their compassion; and many a sleepless
hour did he pass in contriving the means of
escape to their vessel, and arranging the words
with which he would address the commander.
Poor Manuel, when the time came, had the
mortification to find that all his ingenuity and
his hopes had been excited in vain. Tusta-
nuggi not only set out without him, but by
his manner, indicated suspicion of that which
was really passing in his mind, as he gave him
to understand, “ that any effort to escape
would be severely punished,” and recom-
mended him to use double diligence towards
the horses. This disappointment he felt se-

THE STOLEN BOY. 53
verely; but he had the good sense to subdue
his emotion, and by that means he eluded the
vigilance of Moscogi, and at least obtained the
mournful privilege of weeping in secret over
his misfortunes.
CHAP. VI.
TUSTANUGGI returned in good humour, for he
had sold his horses to advantage, and brought
blankets, which he greatly needed, and rum,
which he liked much too well; and for some
days a scene of drunkenness ensued, very in-
consistent with the boasted wisdom and gravity
of the Indians. Uswega, who had accompanied
his father to the Red River for the first time,
was exalted exceedingly by the honour con-
ferred on him, and treated Manuel with the
utmost contempt, forbidding him “to consider
himself a Cumanche, or to associate with the
boys of the settlement as he was wont to do;”
and as his father appeared to warrant this in-
solence, since he did not reprove it, the stranger
F 3

54 THE STOL EN BOY.
was, of course, compelled to submit. Formerly,
when the youth of the town went in the cool
of the evening to throw the hatchet, or the
spear, and to shoot with their arrows, or pitch
their darts, Manuel constantly made one of
the party; and as he was singularly expert for
his age, and the time he had practised, many
of them were delighted to see him come
amongst them; but now, all held themselves
at a distance, and took care often to remind
him, “ that he had no red man’s blood in his
veins—he was a stranger, the son of the pale
man, with whom they held no affinity.”
It is very probable that, cautious as poor
Manuel had been in guarding his words at the
time when he sought to escape, that he had
betrayed himself in his sleep, in consequence
of which, confidence was withdrawn from him
by the father; and the son (who had been
always inclined to treat him ill) thus gained a
power of effecting his wishes. The mother
and the child, however, remained attached to
him, and the caresses of the latter, in a great
degree, consoled him for her brother's ill treat-
ment. He now abstained from seeking any

THE STOLEN BOY. 55
play, and applied himself to making baskets
with double diligence; and forbore to reply
when he was twitted by the boys with being
“ fit only for a woman,” though, like all
his sex, he felt it as a terrible insult. From
being a lively, gay, and most amusing child,
he sank into a deeply thinking little man, ob-
taining a kind of premature wisdom, far from
being desirable at his early age. Living in
the midst of people who, though ignorant, were
cunning, treacherous, and implacable, he found
all the sweetest affections of the heart, the
bland ingenuousness of youth, blighted, as it
were, in their bud; and he was constrained,
from the principle of self-preservation, to weigh
even the most insignificant words before he
uttered them—to repress a sigh for the home
he had lost, or a smile to the companion with
whom he played, lest they should subject him
to anger, which might be deadly, or imprison-
ment, which might be final.
One day, when poor Manuel had a little
more time than usual, from Tustanuggi having
taken out the horses himself, he ventured to a
little thicket near the town, where the boys

56 THE STOLEN BOY.
were wont to assemble. As soon as he was
seen, the young fry set up a shout, but it was
one of joy rather than welcome, for in a minute
they all assembled round him, and instantly
began to bind him, under the direction of
Uswega; and he was given to understand that
they were going to fix him in the opposite tree,
in order to furnish them a mark at which to
throw their hatchets or tomahawks. One of
the boys told him good naturedly, that their
object was to throw as near as possible to his
body, but to avoid injuring him ; but though
this was better than his first expectation, he
could not flatter himself that such young and
unskilful hands could effect their purpose; and
in a silent prayer he recommended his soul to
God, and also begged a blessing on his far
distant parents.
At this time he was placed with his back to
the tree, to which he was firmly bound.
Knowing that no entreaties would alter the
intentions of the Indian boys, and that all
complaint would but subject him to their
ridicule, he determined to endure his fate with
firmness; and although he could not forbear

THE STOLEN BOY. 57
shutting his eyes when the first of these tre-
mendous weapons came whizzing close to his
ears, not a single word escaped his lips, and
many of the boys praised his unshrinking firm-
ness. He learnt from their conversation, that
the boy who should touch him, would forfeit
his weapon; it was therefore probable, that
each would try to avoid it to his utmost ; but
he found also that not one of the young urchins
attached the slightest idea of harm to killing
him, or even supposed they should be blamed
for mangling him in the most terrible manner.
One after another did the hatchets approach
the shuddering victim; yet such was the prac-
tice and abilities of the boys, that no wound
was given, until the eleventh struck into the
calf of his leg, from which the blood gushed in
a torrent.
On seeing the sanguine stream flow from
their innocent and uncomplaining victim, a
loud shout of derision was uttered against him
who had thrown the last tomahawk; but no
pity was evinced for Manuel, who would pro-
bably have received the next weapon in a more
vital part, if a dispute had not arisen as to

58 THE STOI, EN BOY,
whose property the forfeited one had become.
Happily for him, Tustanuggi had heard the
shout, and turned his horse towards the place
from whence it proceeded. The animal he
rode was one of those originally stolen from
Don Manuel, the only one remaining unsold;
and having been lately very ill, had been at-
tended to by the poor boy, who was the com-
panion of his theft, with unusual care, accord-
ing to the well-remembered directions of
Diego—a circumstance which had given Tus-
tanuggi a much kinder sensation towards our
young friend than he had evinced for a con-
siderable time. Under the influence of this
sentiment, on seeing his present situation, he
galloped hastily to his rescue, and loudly re-
proved the troop around him, particularly
blaming his own son, for suffering them to
injure the boy, who was his father's property.
He then applied a ligature to Manuel's leg,
assisted him to mount his horse, and conveyed
him speedily home, where his wound was
dressed by Moscogi with great care, as she
applied to it a poultice of cooling herbs, and

THE STOLEN BOY. 59
bandaged it with a skill which would not have
disgraced an accomplished surgeon.
Whilst this was doing, the poor boy (whose
generous heart was easily touched by kindness)
felt, towards both his master and mistress, a
sense of gratitude which almost amounted to
affection, and enabled him not only to forgive
the cruel treatment of their son, but to conceal
all the share he had taken in the late affair.
Uswega was sensible of this, since he heard
the questions of Tustanuggi, and from this
time his dark looks ceased to threaten him;
but yet it was evident that he despised him for
the very conduct by which he profited; for as
revenge is a principle implanted in the Indian
from his very birth, he considers it an act of
weakness to lose any opportunity of taking
Vengeance.
Here let my young reader pause, and whilst
reflecting on the vices of this misguided boy,
let him devoutly and humbly thank his Al-
mighty Father that he was born of Christian
parents, in a Christian land; let him rejoice
in that his heart is tender, that he can love,
and pity, and relieve, every human being,

60 THE STOLEN BOY.
knowing that he is commended so to do, by
that blessed Redeemer who laid down his life
on the cross for sinners, and let him anxiously
nourish these feelings, lest he should in any
degree become hard-hearted, cruel, and re-
vengeful, like the Indian of whom we speak:
he must remember that he has not, like Us–
wega, ignorance to plead in excuse of such sin
and folly.
CHAP. VII.
MANUEL now lay for several weeks on the
mat in the tent, unable to move, suffering se-
were pain, and that sickness and weariness
which is the consequence of confinement. Dur-
ing this period a messenger arrived from a dis-
tant settlement of the Cumanche nation, call-
ing upon them to go to war with the Choc-
taws, who were said to have made an irruption
on their town.
The summons was met on the part of the
Cumanches with great spirit, for an Indian in
general thinks that fighting is the great busi-

THE STOLEN BOY. 61
ness of life; and so subject are the various
nations of Indians to warfare, that they have
always remained few in number, and with a
beautiful and fruitful country, rich in all the
means of life, and capable of giving abundance
to myriads, have continued to be mere patches
of population, scattered over a continent that
may give birth to empires. Had they been
united in mind, flourishing in numbers, and
improving in the arts of life, no stranger could
have entered their country and taken posses-
sion of their birthright: they could not have
been so situated that other nations might say
(as they have said, in fact), and might do it
with truth—“ Give place to me, for I am
worthier than thou.” In their history, every
member of a family may see the value of
union among themselves.
Manuel was surprised to see the numerous
preparations now made by Tustanuggi for en-
tering on the ensuing campaign. He had
seen many instances of extraordinary personal
vanity amongst the Cumanches, and found
that the beaux of Spain were not more parti-
G.

62 THE STOLEN BOY.
cular in their love of ornament than the bar-
barian beaux of an Indian settlement; but it
is certain he did not suspect that a man of his
master's age and gravity could be guilty of
such weakness, till he beheld his present anx-
iety on the subject. It appeared to be an ob-
ject of the last importance, in the present case,
that his personal appearance should be impo-
sing; and for this purpose, himself, his wife,
and his son, were fully employed.
In the first place, his head was carefully
shaved on either side of the head, leaving a
ridge of hair standing up in the middle, like a
cock's comb; and in this state it was first rub-
bed with bears' grease, and then well powdered
with swans'-down. The sides of his head
were then painted with vermillion; and his
ears, which had already been slit, were so
loaded with ornaments, that they hung low
down on his neck, and were made nearly to
meet behind. Long black streaks were car-
ried round his eyes, and spots of the same hue
on his cheeks, so as to render his countenance
terrific ; but in his own opinion, and that of
his wife, it was the perfection of beauty, not

THE STOLEN BOY. 63
less than terror. It was certain, that when
fully equipped, his appearance was grand and
martial. He had a hunting shirt made of a
beautiful deer-skin, which descended nearly to
his knees; a belt, richly worked with beads
of a scarlet colour, in which was slung his
tomahawk; and he held gracefully in his hand
a spear, of large dimensions. Thus equipped,
he placed himself at the head of a small body,
similarly ornamented and accoutred, forming
one of three bodies, who were led by an ex-
perienced warrior as the general.
Moscogi evidently felt much anxiety on the
subject of her husband's return ; for little as
the feelings of affection may be exercised, the
wants of nature create a bond in the domestic
life of a savage.—“Who will get us venison,
if thy father falls?” were words frequently
addressed to the little girl; for Uswega was
seldom in the hut ; and often did the heart of
Manuel answer—“I will hunt for you—work
for you;” for he was grateful for the kindness
she had lately shown him; and he thought it
very wrong in her son to stay at home so little,
at a time when his mother required comfort.

64 THE STOLEN BOY.
He found, however, that in general the sons
of other women were attentive to their wants;
and that on the death of a warrior, if their
sons had attained manhood, they cheerfully
undertook to provide for their widowed parent.
When Manuel was able once more to take
exercise on horseback, his strength returned
quickly, and as provisions were now very plen-
tiful, he was well fed, and soon recovered his
good looks. It was observed “ that he had
grown much during his confinement,” so that
he was now very tall of his age ; and it is pro-
bable that when Moscogi looked at him, she
thought he might hereafter be as a son to her,
seeing his obedience to her wishes; and his
efforts to give her pleasure far exceeded those
of Uswega; and to him the child looked for
all the pleasure her monotonous existence per-
mitted.
Before the return of the warriors took place,
the town was enlivened by the arrival of a
party who had made a successful sally in pur-
suit of booty, to some town or village on the
frontier, and brought back several horses, two
of which were particularly valuable. Often

THE STOLEN BOY. 65
did poor Manuel look wistfully at these
animals, and wonder whether they also had
been stolen from his father; and the sight of
them brought forcibly to his mind those ima-
ges which had naturally faded in the memory
of one so young, and so continually called
upon to attend to his personal duties and pre-
carious safety. From what he could gather,
through Uswega, who was now more conver-
sant with him than formerly, they had been
brought from a still greater distance than San
Antonio, and were thought to be injured from
the length of the journey. In consequence of
this surmise, notwithstanding the absence of
his master, they were given, in a great mea-
sure, into Manuel's care, on account of the
lightness of his weight, the gentleness of
his treatment, and the skill he had already
evinced in discerning the diseases of horses,
and prescribing for them properly.
Despite of all his care, one of these valuable
creatures soon sunk under its complaint, and
the other remained too unwell to be taken to
the Red River, when the season arrived for
G 3

66 THE STOLEN BOY.
the annual visit of the traders; so that poor
Manuel's chance for seeing them, and regain-
ing his liberty, again went past unimproved;
but it did not by any means affect him in the
same way it had done before. He comforted
himself with inwardly observing that he had
excited no suspicion, that he was on good
terms with all around him, and that if he con-
tinued to grow up strong and hearty, the time
would come when his master would need his
services, and perhaps grant him freedom, as a
reward for them, which would be safer and
better than seeking it by a medium which
would expose him to lingering destruction.
At length the warriors returned, and again
the whole population rushed out to receive
them, and repeat the tragic mourning, and the
barbarous rejoicing. To the great relief of
Manuel, Moscogi was not among the widows,
for Tustanuggi returned to his family; but by
no means in the health in which he had de-
parted, for he had lost much blood by the
wounds he had received, and was evidently
weak and dispirited. He saw with surprise
the improvement which had taken place in

THE STOLEN BOY. 67
Manuel, whom he had left on the bed of pain,
pale and languid; and it was evident that he
believed, as before, that the poor boy possessed
some extraordinary knowledge of the art of
healing, which he desired to benefit by-a
conception that of course was very distressing
to one who knew himself ignorant of the way
to help him.
Happily the prisoners were few in number;
and after the usual allotment had been made,
two only remained for slaughter, and these
were reserved until the night of the full moon,
for some reason connected with the supersti-
tions which indicate the only sense of religion
they display; although it is certain, that their
orators frequently refer to a future state of
existence, and speak of the Great Spirit as the
rewarder of good and evil. Truly happy was
Manuel to hear of this respite, for he flattered
himself that some other person might be found
to claim them, not yet sensible of their own
wants; nor could he forbear to busy himself
with plans for their liberation, especially after
Uswega had informed him that one or both
would be roasted at a slow fire, and pointed

68 THE STOLEN BOY.
out the wood intended for the occasion. So
far, however, was he from being able to assist
them to escape, that he never could learn in
whose wigwam they were confined; and in-
deed there was every reason to believe they
would not themselves have consented to fly,
for the courage of endurance is so great in
them, that they have a pride in suffering,
which enables them to sustain unheard-of tor-
tures, and to challenge the inflictors to invent
still greater.
Tustanuggi, under the care of his wife and
Manuel, and principally in consequence of the
repose he enjoyed, soon regained his usual
health; and as he imputed this, in a great
measure, to the charm which he imagined to
be connected with the Spanish boy, of course
he became more a favourite with him than be-
fore; so that at length Manuel thought he
might venture to speak a word in favour of
the prisoners, whose death had already been
delayed till the following new moon. Such
was his influence at this time with his master,
and so great had become that master's impor-
tance, from his courage and conduct, that a

THE STOLEN BOY. 69
consultation was actually held on the subject,
which was certainly a most extraordinary com-
pliment to so young a pleader, and probably
without a precedent in the annals of the na-
tion, and by no means likely to ensure the
favour of the public for the original mover.
When Tustanuggi made this proposal to the
assembled warriors, he gave, as a reason, the
welfare of the community, who might, in his
opinion, be more benefited by retaining the
prisoners as slaves, than sacrificing them for a
temporary gratification.
In reply to this, an aged man observed—
* That although the health of Tustanuggi
(who was dear to them all as a son and a
chieftain) had been indeed restored by the
Spanish boy, who also had been useful to the
horses, and was undoubtedly a prize of great
value to the Cumanches, such arguments did
not apply to the prisoners, who were Indians
like themselves, gifted with no power over
diseases, but able and willing to die the death
of the brave, and that it would be alike an
injury to their friends and enemies, to alter

70 THE STOLEN BOY.
the customs of their fathers on the present oc-
casion.”
This advice being received with due ap-
plause by all the assembly, Tustanuggi de-
parted in silence, and this he preserved after
his return to the tent; so that Manuel knew
not the consequences of his mediation, though
he too truly guessed that it was not successful.
He was, however, by this time, so well aware
of the habits of the Indians, that he abstained
from asking any question; and aware that he
had risked his own safety, he appeared to for-
get the subject, and redoubled his attention
both to his master and the ailing horse already
mentioned.
A short hunting excursion, in which Manuel
was included, (and in which he was very use-
ful, and therefore distinguished), relieved his
mind from the anxiety he had lately felt, when
the moon arrived at that period fixed on for
sacrifice. The unusual bustle in the town,
and the pleasure manifested by Uswega, told
him what was going forward, for Tustanuggi
abstained, with much delicacy to his feelings,

THE STOLEN BOY, 71
or with some mysterious reference to his own
amendment, from speaking on the subject.
Gathering his materials together, Manuel
sat down on the ground, to make himself a
bundle of arrows, not sorry to find himself
alone, for even the child would have been a
trouble to him at this moment, when his heart
was heavy, and his spirit restless.
Seeing he could do no possible good in the
case, and that he had already risked his own
welfare, perhaps even his life, in the service of
these unknown savages, who were most pro-
bably not less vindictive and cruel than their
persecutors, he thought the best thing he could
now do, was, if possible, to banish them from
his mind altogether, by bustling about, and
going from one employment to another. This,
however, he could only accomplish within the
hut, for he would not go out, lest the fires or
the victims should come before his sight, as it
happened to be within a little distance, and
almost in a direct line from the place of exe-
cution, pointed out by Uswega.
But it was in vain Manuel tried to polish.
an arrow, weave a mat, or sift the maize for

72 THE STOLEN BOY,
boiling ; he could not read in his book, which
was generally the best expedient he found for
restoring his mind to tranquillity; nor even
frame one sentence of prayer, to that God whom
yet his heart looked towards as its only source
of consolation. The circumstance of the pri-
soners being Choctaws, not only gave them a
peculiar interest in his mind, but recalled more
vividly than he had lately felt it, attachment
to his family and his country. Every little
circumstance connected with his first view
of the Indians, and his communication with
them afterwards, rose to his mind; and with
these remembrances came a bitter sense of his
own banishment. His own dress and imita-
tions of the Choctaws—the innocent delight
of his little sister—the fond smile and kiss of
his tender mother—and the observations of his
beloved father, rose to his mind; and though
the tears slowly rolled down his cheek, he yet
felt that it was sweet to recall the dear images
to his mind, and dwell in idea on those fea-
tures he would never more behold.
By a natural movement, he placed his hands
over his eyes, to exclude sight of the objects

THE STOLEN BOY. 73
around him, in order that he might with bet-
ter effect concentrate his thoughts, and feed his
imagination with recollections of each of those
relations. Father, mother, sister, and baby-
brother, each rose successively before him, en-
dued with every beauty that could give grace
to their forms, and every quality that could
endear them to the heart, in his partial view ;
and he wondered how it could happen that he
could forget any one of them for a single hour.
—“ Not even you, little Juan,” said he, as, in
idea, he gazed on the fair child in its mother's
lap.
Just at this moment he was startled from
his sweetly-sorrowful reverie, by the entrance
of some person into the hut. He took his
hands from his eyes slowly, for he feared that
the traces of tears might be displeasing to his
master. But no master did he behold—a ter-
rific spectre, such as his imagination, in its
most vivid moments, could never have con-
ceived, alone stood before him for a moment,
and then staggered forward and fell, mutter-
ing, in an almost suffocated voice, a desire for
water.
H

74 THE STOLEN BOY.
This was one of the victims, then in the
course of torture; and with an agony to which
no words can do justice, Manuel perceived
also that he was the very Choctaw to whom,
in days past, he had attached himself. Though
his newly-scalped head was all one bloody
wound, and one eye was torn from its socket,
there was still some likeness left in his mangled
form, which he recognised at the instant, and
which served to increase the horror, pity, rage,
and consternation, which agitated his heart,
and rendered him for a short time utterly in-
capable of fulfilling the wretched creature's
request. He was absolutely sick with the re-
volting spectacle, even whilst he would have
given worlds to have relieved its misery: his
knees smote each other; his teeth chattered;
his hands refused their office: he believed
himself to be actually expiring.
Again the poor wretch begged for water;
and as he had thrown himself on the ground,
his mutilated body was less exposed; and
Manuel, rousing all the man within him, tried
to fulfil his wishes. He brought him pure
water, in a small vessel, which he held to his

THE STOLEN BOY, 75
mouth, (alas! he had no longer lips), and had
soon the satisfaction to perceive that he swal-
lowed it with avidity and thankfulness.
Having given him all that he would take,
he went out himself for air, and rushing as
fast as his trembling limbs permitted towards
the open country, he soon placed himself be-
yond the view of the fire and the crowd, when
he threw himself on the ground, and a flood
of tears in some measure dispersed that swel-
ling of the breast, which was so great as to
threaten his instant destruction.
It is well known, that the wretched victims
of Indian ferocity are frequently permitted to
rest during the time when they are under-
going torture, and that they will even sleep
some hours in that deplorable situation. On
this detestable subject we are unable to dilate;
the heart sickens—the blood curdles as we ap-
proach it; nor will we afflict our young rea-
ders, or our own feelings, with one word on
so revolting a theme, beyond what is necessary
for the development of poor Manuel's feelings,
and the progress of his story.
For nearly two hours the unhappy boy sat

76 THE STOLEN BOY.
on the ground, almost stupified with contend-
ing emotions; sometimes he was overwhelmed
with pity; at others with anger; and several
times he started on his feet, determined to run
into the midst of the crowd, and protest against
their proceedings, even at the risk of sharing
the horrible sufferings he had witnessed.
There can be little doubt, that such would
have been his conduct, had this circumstance
happened soon after his arrival, for he was by
nature high-souled and courageous, (as he had
proved to be, in the affair of the tomahawks);
but as he had now been nearly two years
among these people, their habits of caution
and deep rumination were grafted on his own
quick passions. In consequence, he forbore
all present action; and recollecting the hour
for attending the horses was near, he with-
drew for the purpose of watering them; and
found the exercise salutary, in somewhat dis-
sipating the terrible oppression of his spirits.
Whilst still employed in this duty, he was
joined by Tustanuggi, who informed him,
“ that the feast was over, it being concluded
sooner than was expected, in consequence of

AIIE, STOLEN BOY. 77
the elder prisoner having died in his wigwam,
long before that event was expected.”
The heart of Manuel at this moment felt a
throb of joy, for he believed that the long
draughts of water which he had administered
had accelerated his death, and rendered it easy.
This relief to his mind enabled him to imitate
the Indian caution, and without replying to
that part of his master's information, he made
some observation on the state of the horse he
was riding, and on the complaints which had
been fatal to that which died during Tusta-
nuggi’s absence. In doing this, he removed all
suspicion of his having seen the Indian; for
his master, concluding the subject was hateful
to him, said no more upon it; and desired Us-
wega also to be silent.
But although silent, the heart of Manuel
was from this eventful day so deeply moved
against the Indians, that every hour of his life
he was brooding in his mind schemes for es-
cape. All his prayers were now directed to
this purpose—all his thoughts were given up
to contrivances, and the cares which he gave to
H 3

78 THE STOLEN BOY.
his personal comfort and improvement were
directed to this end. Such was the loathing
of stomach which he experienced, whenever
the thoughts of the mangled prisoner crossed
his mind, that it is probable he would have
become seriously ill, from loss of appetite at
this time, if he had not continually sought to
counteract it, by determining to eat, in order
that he might become strong; and for the
same reason he used frequently to bathe, and
to run, and spend every spare moment in
athletic exercises.
For this conduct Tustanuggi praised him
highly, and spoke of him as one who would
become a true son of the Cumanches: he took
him out in every hunting-party, by which
means he learnt the art of living in the woods;
and as at this time they mixed more familiarly
with their neighbours than usual, circum-
stances of great moment to Manuel arose,
such as conversations on the subject of the
traders, the course of the Red River, the dis-
tance and situation of Nachitoches, and other
towns from whence adventurers might arrive.
From all these conversations, Manuel drew

THE STOLEN BOY. 79
information, which led him to infer, that
although he was actually at a greater distance
from Nachitoches than from San Antonio, and
that the two places were at an immense dis-
tance from each other, yet that the former
must be the point at which he must aim, since
the country was in that direction less inter-
sected by those dense forests through which
he had been brought, and that there was no
river so broad or deep as the one which he had
crossed. Indeed, so far as he could learn, if
he could reach the Red River, he might course
on its banks all the way to Nachitoches, with-
out meeting any stream over which a good
horse could not swim, except one river, which,
though important, was of a short course, and
could be skirted without great loss of time.
Deep in the recesses of his mind did Manuel
hide all the information thus gained; always,
apparently, employed in watching for game,
or preparing his weapons, he asked no ques-
tions, nor appeared to listen to any conversa-
tion. Sometimes, when the labours of the day
were over, and the hunting-party were assem-
bled in a pleasant glen, if they had been suc-

80 THE STOLEN BOY.
cessful, the hearts of the party would open,
their usual taciturnity give way, and they
would “hold a talk,” at which time the children
stood in respectful silence around them, or
couched in the grass at a distance. At these
times Manuel always took care to be near, but
he affected to sleep, as if wearied by the fa-
tigues of the day; and thus he not only learnt
many particulars of the country, but also that
Tustanuggi never intended to take him down
to the Red River. His master observed, with
a just judgment of human nature—“That al-
though his boy Manuel had now become In-
dian in his habits and affections, yet, if he
went amongst people who looked like his pa-
rents, spoke his language, or in any way re-
sembled those amongst whom he had been
born, probably his old feelings would return,
and he would endeavour to escape from him.”
To the possibility of losing him he always ad-
verted with pain, not only because he was use-
ful, but because he had become “ the son of
his love.”
When Manuel heard an expression of this
kind from his master, his own heart never

THE STOLEN BOY. 81
failed to warm towards him personally ; but
he did not the less resolutely persist in his
intention; and added to his other preparations
for departure, that faculty of abstaining from
food, and subsisting on the smallest possible
portion of it, for which the Indians are so
remarkable. This is probably the most diffi-
cult of all attainments to a young boy, in
habits of exercise, and in the enjoyment of
health; nevertheless, Manuel voluntarily en-
tered upon it, and, to a great degree, effected
his purpose in conquering his appetite.

82 THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. VII.
As Manuel, from the nature of his employ-
ment, had always the power of being well
mounted, and was now fully trusted, he fre-
quently was able to take a long ramble
through the neighbouring forest, when he
would sometimes climb high trees, in order
to take a survey of the surrounding country,
and more especially to trace the courses of
rivers. In such a situation he could, of course,
do himself little good, seeing that his view
was continually impeded; but the experiments
he made helped to keep up the spirit of enter-
prise in his heart; and the short glimpses
he obtained at times acted as a stimulant and
refreshment to his spirits. One day, when
he had gone to a much greater distance than
he ventured on before, he reached a beautiful
glade, which spread out like a vista for a con-
siderable way, and in the extreme distance he
saw, or thought he saw, a man, whose ap-
pearance denoted that he was not an Indian.

THE STOLEN BOY. 83
The figure was stepping in a direction from
him, therefore Manuel lost not a moment in
descending the tree from whence he had seen
him, and mounting his horse, by which means
he hoped soon to overtake him; but rapid as
his movements were, since they were unno-
ticed by the stranger, they failed to facilitate
his wishes, as the figure was soon lost in the
mazes of the wood. He saw enough to con-
vince him that the person (although arrayed
in articles of Indian apparel) was a civilized
man, and, he was inclined to believe, was
some one sent out for the purpose of recon-
noitring the country on his behalf. For a
moment the thought struck him that it might
be his own father; but Don Manuel was
remarkably tall, and this person, though of a
good stature, was not of a description to war-
rant this conjecture.
For several days Manuel tried, but in vain,
to get back into the woods; but the length of
his stay on this occasion was the means of
preventing his return; and since he had been
in the very part through which he came from
San Antonio, he apprehended that they sus-

84 THE STOLEN BOY.
pected him of an intention to escape that
Way.
It is probable that they detained him, in
the first instance, only as a punishment for
loitering; but as a hunting-party, on their
return from this part of the forest, declared
that they had seen a man in the woods, who
carried a gun, and other weapons of a singular
construction, suspicion was excited; and Manuel
was ordered to air the horses in a contrary di-
rection for the future.
In his present state of excitement, from
anxiety and curiosity, this mandate was hard
to obey. It was impossible for the stolen boy
to believe that any object save himself could
have drawn a person such a long way from
any civilized settlement; and being well
aware that his father would offer a liberal
reward to any person who would rescue him,
he was led to this conclusion, “ that, after
long search, Don Manuel had at length found
some person habituated to negociate with the
Indians, and who had come out for the pur-
pose of ransoming him, but who, probably,
had become terrified with the known ferocity

THE STOLEN BOY. 85
of the Cumanches, and was likely to return
without effecting his purpose.”
* Oh that I could meet with him, and take
from him some of the arms of which they speak!
I am sure, if I were supported by a friend,
and had a good pistol in my hand, I could
make my way through all the Cumanches,”
were words frequently hovering on the lips of
Manuel at this time; but, alas ! they only
served to irritate his mind, without in the
least contributing to the end he so earnestly
desired.
Twice afterwards the strange man was seen
in the woods, and once observed to shoot a
bird; but after that he was seen no more ;
and as conjecture respecting his appearance
died away, the hopes of Manuel died also ; but
his resolution remained as strong as ever.
He felt that he could only depend upon him-
self, and that, in pursuance of his object, he
must risk the utmost vengeance of Indian
infliction; but he thought that he could do
this, rather than be thus exiled from all that
rendered life happy, and be compelled to re-
I

86 THE STOI.EN BOY.
side with those whom he at once dreaded and
despised. He felt at this period of his open-
ing mind, that necessity for the ties of kind-
red and friendly intercourse which are perhaps
most acute in early life, when the heart is
open to every amiable impression, and though
subject to many errors, is seldom hard or
sordid.
* I must,” said he, “ have somebody to
love, and somebody to care for me. I must
seek my dear parents and my sister; and even
if I should be so unhappy as never to find
them, yet I shall find some people in a Christian
country, who will pity and protect me as a
Christian. Go where I may, so I am in a
civilized country, I must be better off than
amidst a nation of barbarians.”
During the succeeding winter, all idea of
departure was suspended ; but not less busily
did the mind of the unfortunate boy labour in
thought with the project he contemplated;
and never did he in the least relax in his at-
tentions to all the horses under his care, more
especially that fine one we have already men-
tioned, since to his management of this animal

THE STOLEN BOY. 87
he looked for his power of accomplishing that
project which now so incessantly occupied his
thoughts, that it might be said to constitute
alike his pain and pleasure, and become to
him a kind of exclusive existence, unseen, but
always operating,

88 THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. VIII.
THE schemes of Manuel were interrupted,
though his intentions were only confirmed, in
consequence of the present year being that on
which the Cumanches perform those rites in
honour of the dead, peculiar to the Indians,
and in which they stand distinct from all other
people who ever have existed, so far as their
annals are transmitted. It is well known that
all their tribes, at the recurrence of seven or
ten years, repair to the graves of their relatives,
whom they disinter with the greatest care, and
lament over with every demonstration of the
greatest sorrow. This dreadful view of mor-
tality, in every stage of decay, so naturally dis-
gusting to every sense, they endure without
shrinking, and spend, upon the most loathsome
objects the mind can conceive, that love and
respect, which during the life of the subject
they have seldom appeared to feel. They ap-
proach these perishing remains with profound
respect, lavish on them the fondest caresses,

THE STOLEN BOY. 89
water them with tears of sorrow, and shew in
every respect an acuteness of feeling which no
person could have supposed them capable of
entertaining, especially when they recalled
their cruelty on some occasions, and their gra-
vity on all.
Manuel saw their emotions with a degree
of pity, but he could not help thinking how
much better it would have been to shew such
affection to the living, whom it would render
happy, than to the dead, who felt it not; and
he considered that an act of lamentation in-
tended to end with a feast, either must be con-
nected with frivolity or hypocrisy. When the
lamentations had ceased, he joined with the
rest in restoring the disturbed bodies to their
graves, and covering them with bark, and other
substances, intended to preserve them; after
which the ceremony concluded, with a much
more plentiful repast than he had ever pre-
viously witnessed; and on their return to their
own wigwams, he perceived no traces of that
sorrow which had lately been so strikingly ex-
hibited.
I 3

90 THE STOL EN BOY".
The whole design of an Indian, from his
cradle to his grave, is to live as his fathers
have lived before him. To this he devotes
himself with the zeal of a martyr, and the cou-
rage of a warrior ; and without allowing him-
self to suppose that error can have existed, he
continues to perpetuate it, even in cases the
most opposite to those principles of reason which
seem in many respects to guide him. He is
sagacious, discriminating, slow in judgment,
self-controlled, and generally temperate ; but
neither time nor experience improve his condi-
tion, remove his prejudices, ameliorate his
hardships, soften his austerities, or advance his
interests. Like the beasts and birds, who share
his forest domain, he exists as if by instinct,
contented to be neither better nor happier than
the brood before him had been ; and for him
light shines in vain, since he prefers darkness
to light, because his fathers were born in dark-
IleSS.
So blindly do these men follow their guides,
that Manuel found actions of revenge imposed
as duties from father to son, and failing him,
to far distant kindred. Tustanuggi, who, con-

THE STOLEN BOY. 91
sidering him as a Cumanche, might be termed
a man of amiable disposition, committed a
murder, for the purpose of revenging the father
of his mother, who was dead many years be-
fore himself, or the man he slew saw the light;
and in doing this, he excited the vengeance of
that man's family, who, it was well known,
lay in wait for the blood of himself and Uswega.
Manuel was one day mistaken for the latter,
as he was returning alone with a string of
horses, and narrowly escaped having his skull
cleft by the tomahawk that was thrown at
him by a Cumanche, of evident skill, who, on
picking up his weapon, gave him to understand
that the blow was not meant for him; but if
he kept not silence, another would soon lay
him low.
The time again approached when the traders
were expected on the Red River, previous to
which parties of robbers had, as usual, visited
the Spanish settlements, but, as it appeared,
to little purpose, and of course, the horses then
in possession were doubly valuable. Every
time this subject was alluded to, the heart of
Manuel throbbed as if it would burst his bo.

92 THE STOLEN BOY".
som, and the blood rose to his cheek, and suf-
fused his features with burning blushes, which
were happily imputed by Tustanuggi to his
vexation at finding Uswega was to visit the
Red River, whilst he was still considered meet
only for living with the women. The true
cause of his emotion was, the consciousness
that now or never was the time for his escape;
that the effort so long contemplated, must soon
be made, or he must resign himself to an ex-
istence which every day became more hateful
in his eyes.
Manuel had now for a long time so trained
the horse on which he placed his dependence,
that he knew it could far outstrip any other in
the possession of the settlement; and having
never seen any other equally good, he had con-
tracted a belief that it was the best in the
world; and that if he did not avail himself of
its great properties, such a chance could never
occur to him again. Subduing the perturba-
tion of his spirits, lifting up his heart fre-
quently to heaven, and eagerly listening to
every word which threw light on the move-
ments of the Indians, he now held himself

THE STOLEN BOY. 93
ready for flight, according as circumstances
might favour his intentions. Within a fortnight
of the time fixed for their departure, which
was the full of the moon, Tustanuggi ordered
Manuel to ride the horse in that direction
which he was hereafter to take ; on which oc-
casion Uswega accompanied him, and occa-
sionally mounted the favourite. As this boy
was only an indifferent rider, the father did
this to accustom the horse to the way, and the
boy to the horse, which was a very spirited
animal, and little likely to submit to a new
master, especially a young one; but it was ne-
vertheless necessary that he should be mounted
by one of light weight, that his strength and
beauty might remain unimpaired, on arriving
at the place of barter.
The boys proceeded together for some time
very well, but when it was the pleasure of Us-
wega to mount the favourite, it proved so restive,
that for a long time there appeared little chance
of his retaining his seat; and several Indians,
who were also present riding other horses, des-
timed to the future mart, condemned the com-
mand of Tustanuggi, as one likely to prove in-

94 THE STOLEN Boy.
jurious both to the rider and the animal. At
length, with a great bolt, the horse galloped
with amazing rapidity, completely out of sight,
and the party followed, under a strong impres-
sion that both “ the horse and his rider” were
lost. -
After traversing the same distance as fast as
their inferior horses would permit them, Ma-
nuel and the Cumanches arrived at length to
the spot where Uswega had been thrown on
the ground, and was found covered with bruises;
the horse could not be seen.
“ Has he gone the way towards the Red
River?” said an old Indian, to the boy, as he
assisted him to rise.
* No ; he is gone the way towards Nachi-
toches, and will soon enter the forest that lies
betwixt the morass and the river, if he is not
there already.”
The Indian thought for a moment, and then
said to Manuel—“ Go then towards the forest
and seek him ; he will know thy voice, and
obey thy command; he is a beast of value, and
must be restored.”
* That he will obey my voice, I am aware;

THE STOLEN BOY. 95
but I shall become entangled in that forest,
and may never be able to return.”
The Cumanche gave him exact directions
how to proceed, by marking certain trees which
he described, observing, that beyond the forest
lay an open prairie, bounded by the Red River;
and added–º But go thou fearlessly, and we
will follow at a distance.”
Manuel obeyed the command, and before he
reached the forest, found his darling quietly
grazing on a green turf of the finest verdure;
at the sound of his voice, he readily came up
to him, but would not suffer himself to be led ;
so that his old rider was obliged to mount him,
and wait the arrival of the Cumanches; during
which time he recognised the spot, and found
readily every object described by the old Indian,
who, on arriving, took charge of Uswega's
horse, and highly praised the skill and intrepi-
dity Manuel had displayed.
On returning home, whither the discomfited
Uswega was slowly led, it was strongly insist-
ed upon by the party, that Manuel was the
only proper person to conduct the horse to the
Red River; and it was so evident from his

96 THE STOLEN BOY.
conduct on that day, that he could have no in-
tention to escape, that Tustanuggi seemed in-
clined to think of it. He however observed,
that if the horse were taken every day over
the same ground, he would not fail to become
used to it; and this mode of conquering the dif-
ficulty should in the first place be resorted to.
The following morning this was had recourse
to ; but so strongly did Uswega himself recom-
mend the rest of the company keeping at a dis-
tance, imputing his own misfortune to riding
in company, that this caution was observed,
and they only followed in such a manner as to
witness his success. He caused the horse again
apparently to run away, but it was now in the
direction they intended him to go.
When this had been practised several other
mornings, Manuel was permitted to go out
alone; and Tustanuggi observed, he thought
this trial would suffice, and that for the three
following days the horse should be perfectly at
rest. -
The poor boy heard these words with a sen-
sation that cannot be defined ; his heart smote
him as being guilty towards his master, in thus

THE STOLEN BOY. 97
forsaking him; nevertheless, his reason fully
acquitted him, seeing he had an unquestionable
right to regain the liberty of which he had
been unjustly deprived, and by the same rule,
to take possession of one horse, in lieu of the
many stolen from his father, a point he had
often argued with his own conscience. The
contending feelings which pressed upon his
mind in this most awful moment, were, how-
ever, such, that they entirely prevented him
from securing a little stock of provisions which
he had secreted; and the presence of Tusta-
nuggi also hindered him from taking his bow
and arrows, the only means of procuring food
in the wilderness. Such indeed was his agita-
tion, that many a time he reflected on it with
surprise, and almost wondered that with all
his acquired stock of prudence, it had not led
him to bid farewell to the good Moscogi and
her beloved little daughter, in which case his
scheme would have been utterly ruined, and
his captivity ensured.

98 THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. IX.
MANUEL pursued his journey as before, at an
easy pace, till he reached that spot from which
Uswega's unlucky flight might be dated, when
he suddenly pricked his horse into a full gallop
towards the forest, in order that if any Cu-
manche was abroad in that direction, it might
be supposed he laboured under the same mis-
fortune that his master's son had experienced.
His quick eye darted far and near, to discover
either friend or enemy ; but neither appeared;
and he had the satisfaction to enter the forest
in less time than it could be expected that he
should have taken half his usual airing.
He now, with all the Indian caution, noted
every mark described by the old Cumanche;
and dismounting, led his horse carefully for
many miles; and, to his great satisfaction, saw
the day decline, at a place where a little sweet
grass and a rippling stream, promised the food
greatly needed by his generous but jaded steed,
to whose comfort he paid every possible atten-

THE STOLEN BOY. 99
tion. Such, however, was still his own anx-
iety, so instinctively did he listen for those
sounds of pursuit which would have been to
him sentence of death, under its most terrific
form, that he could not venture to eat the piece
of hominy designed for his breakfast, and con-
cealed in his bosom, till he had climbed the
highest tree in the vicinity, and crouched in its
thickest foliage.
Here indeed he slept ; for exhausted nature
demanded repose; but his sleep was disturbed
by terrific dreams; and but for the pity he felt
for his horse, he would have pursued his jour-
ney by moonlight, unfavourable as it was for
ascertaining those marks in the vegetation,
which could alone enable him to gain the open
country. On reflecting on the instructions he
had so lately, and by such mere chance, re-
ceived on this head, he could not help think-
ing that they had been given him by an espe-
cial Providence, for the most merciful end,
seeing that all the knowledge he had previously
gained, had related much more to the country
in the neighbourhood of Nachitoches, and the
banks of the Red River, than that which was

100 THE STOLEN BOY.
to lead him thither; and that without his last
instructions, all the former would have been
void.
Under this happy impression, fervent were
his thanks to Almighty God, when, with the
first beams of day, he prepared to renew his
journey. He found the forest now much
more intricate than before, and decidedly more
difficult to ride through than any which he
had ever seen ; but this circumstance he could
hardly regret, since, as the Cumanches always
travel on horseback, it would be not less diffi-
cult to his pursuers than himself; he trusted,
however, that he had none at least in this
direction, and flattered himself (most probably
with justice) that if he was indeed sought,
they would go in that direction to the Red
River, where the ship was expected by them-
selves. This was in a contrary direction to
that he pursued, because the difficulties of
passing this very forest rendered it easier to
the Indians to visit the traders considerably
higher up the river, i. e. nearer to its source.
The situation of the sun was at this time a
guide of great importance to Manuel, since

THE STOLEN BOY. 10}
he was well acquainted with the general bear-
ings of the country he desired to traverse; and
before his glorious guide reached his meridian,
the forest was far less crowded with trees, and
he saw that he should diverge into the prairie.
When, however, this noble barrier between
him and the Cumanches were passed, seeing
the day was extremely hot, he thought it right
that his faithful companion and only friend
shouli enjoy some repose before they ventured
from under the shade; and accordingly they
halted for a considerable space.
At this time Manuel began to suffer the
pains ºf hunger, and bitterly repented his own
deficiency of self-command at the moment of
his departure. When he saw that his horse,
which (in memory of his home) he called
Antonio, was asleep, and he had covered his
head with leaves and branches, to guard him
from the musquitoes, he returned into the
forest, for the purpose of collecting some kind
of nuts or fruit, remembering that now he was
entering the open country, he should have no
chance for food of any kind. In a short time
K 3 -

102 THE STOLEN BOY,
he found a tree of nuts, which, although of a
bitter quality, allayed his hunger; after which,
he contrived to stow a quantity of them in his
bosom, and would certainly have made a good
provision for the wants of another day, if the
sound of a rattlesnake under the tree, prepared
to strike a bird, had not exceedingly alarmed
him, and caused him to fly with precipitation
from such a dangerous neighbourhood.
In the evening he pursued his way more
slowly, and by the light of a beautiful moon,
advanced towards the river, which had been so
long the object of his wishes, and towards
which numerous little diverging streams di-
rected him; but he soon became aware that it
was too probable he was wasting both his own
strength and that of his horse, so that they
stopped as by mutual consent, and laid down
on the open heath until the morning.

THE STOLEN BOY. 103
CHAP. X.
When the sun rose, Manuel stretched himself,
and gazing round on the boundless expanse,
slowly lighted up as the mists dispersed,
thought that he must feel at this moment as
the first man felt on his creation. He seemed
to be alone in the vast universe—a being cut off
from every human tie, and left to steer his
way in an unknown sea, without guide or
compass-“And yet,” said the lonely boy, as
he patted the sides of his loved Antonio, “I
am not wholly alone, for thou, my good fellow,
art a safe companion, and a good conductor;
for if I mistake not, we are within a furlong of
the Red River itself.”
Yes! indeed that long-desired object was
now before him; and Park himself, when he
beheld the majestic Niger, never could expe-
rience more delightful sensations, than those
which now cheered the breast of the stolen boy.
Alas! he had need of comfort in mind, for
little had he in body, seeing the nuts of the

104. THE STOLEN BOY.
preceding day rendered him a very scanty
breakfast; and so dried and bad was the grass
around the place, that his poor horse was very
insufficiently fed, and little inclined to pursue
his journey. By slow degrees, they traversed
the banks of the river, often looking round for
a few stunted tufts of maize, but seldom find-
ing any.
One object, however, soon struck, and for a
moment delighted, the eyes of Manuel. This
was a beautiful American vessel, the very one
towards which his wishes so long had pointed.
The first emotion he felt was a desire in-
stantly to hail her, and request the protection
and assistance he so much required. Before
he attempted this, however, the caution he had
acquired among the Indians induced him to
pause ;-he recollected that these people were
going, not returning; and that if he entered
their vessel, he should be carried into the very
midst of the people from whom he had escaped;
and even, if not delivered up to them, he
could hardly hope to elude the vigilance of
their observations, or be protected from the
severity of their punishments. Besides, he had

THE STOLEN BOY. 105
understood from all he had heard, that these
dealers were sordid and over-reaching—that
they were well aware the horses and mules
they purchased had been stolen from his coun-
trymen; and “if such was their disposition,
would they not rob him of his horse, and leave
him to perish in the wilderness alone *
Pursuing these reflections, Manuel pushed
his horse into a little hollow below the bank,
where he quietly waited till the vessel was
got to a considerable distance, when he again
put his horse to its speed, nor rested till he
had advanced so far, that the object of his sus-
picion had completely vanished from sight,
and he again remained the only human being
within the immense circle of cheerless desert
by which he was surrounded.
But the sun did not go down on this day,
before poor Manuel severely repented his want
of confidence in the only persons whom he was
likely to see in his long journey, in whose
pity he could place any trust; and he now
hated in himself that cold, suspicious temper,
which had been nurtured in him by Indian
education, and which he fancied could not be

106 THE STOLEN BOY.
required in an intercourse with Christians of
any country. He knew that the cannibal
tribe of the Alonquas had a settlement at no
great distance from the Red River, on the
desert he was passing ; and that the Choctaws
had several towns betwixt this part and Nachi-
toches, and that in both he would find enemies;
for the Cumanches, as the most warlike and
formidable, are regarded with fear or dislike by
all; and the Choctaws would revenge their late
losses by seizing any individual of that nation,
to which they would assign him. Of course
his only safety lay in keeping as near as possi-
ble to the river; but in this case famine, the
most dreadful of all deaths, appeared inevitable.
Water, which happily was of the purest
kind, was now the only refreshment Manuel
or his horse partook, and that only made the
pains of hunger felt more keenly: often would
Manuel think of his bows and arrows, and
sometimes he would try to make one from the
trees that now and then might be found ; but
his efforts were ineffectual; and he could only
travel slowly forward, in hopes of once more
entering a wooded district, where birds might

THE STOLEN BOY. 107
be plentiful, and his efforts to obtain them
more successful.
In the lonely region he was now passing,
the awful stillness was rarely broken in upon
by animal life; sometimes a small hare or
rabbit would dart past him into its burrow, or
the flapping wings of some prodigious bird
attract his eye, as it sailed through the bright
firmament in solitary travel. Otherwise, for
two successive days, he seemed alone in the
universe.
His strength was nearly exhausted; his eyes
grew dim; and he almost desired to lie down
and die, when the welcome forest again ap-
peared, which was not less necessary to his
wearied and hungry steed than himself, seeing
that although better fed than his master, it
was several days since he had tasted any
herbage sweet and nutritive; and his travel,
except during the hottest portion of the day,
had never been suspended. In the recesses of
the forest again glades of green grass were
found, but, alas! there were no fruits save
nuts, which, difficult of access, required strength
Manuel no longer possessed; and to shoot,

108 THE STOLEN BOY.
or kill a bird, appeared a more likely means
of preserving existence.
In this pursuit he was continually foiled;
but on arriving at a little stream abounding
with fish, he plunged into it, and was so for-
tunate as to secure a fine trout, which having
killed, he lighted a fire by rubbing sticks, as
he had been taught by Tustanuggi, and roasted
it by running a long stick through the fish,
which was then thrust into the ground. Hap-
pily for him, his fire answered a double pur-
pose, for whilst he watched with impatience
this preparation for his food, a large beast of
prey darted from the underwood, as if about
to spring upon his horse, but on sight of the
fire, fled into the recesses of the forest.
This new danger awoke painful surmises
for the future in the mind of Manuel; but
such was his present distress, that it only
quickened his movements in securing his food,
which he ate half raw, yet thought delicious.
With the prudence for which it is certain he
had to thank his former habits, he did not eat
to excess, but carefully placed the remainder
of his food in some leaves, and tied it with

THE STOLEN BOY. 109
strings of grass round his body; after which,
he stretched himself by the side of his fire, and
in the belief that it would prove his protection,
resigned himself to sleep, which he exceeding-
ly required, as hunger lately kept him awake,
though it happily had not the same effect on
Antonio.
He was awakened by the startling and
neighing of his faithful animal, which was
laid close beside him, and which he instantly
mounted, aware that danger of some kind
threatened them. How to proceed he knew
not, and therefore resigned himself to the in-
stinctive wisdom of the alarmed animal, which
threaded its way with wonderful velocity
through the thickest part of the forest, and
never seemed willing to halt till he emerged
into the open country once more; but they had
now lost sight of the Red River.
Conscious of his obligations to Antonio,
Manuel would not eat again till he had at-
tended to the wants of his wearied beast,
which laid down at his bidding, whilst he
sought about for little tufts of good grass, and
L

1 10 THE STOLEN BOY.
occasional handfuls of maize, which he ga-
thered for his food, making a bag of the calico
shirt, which was his only clothing, in which
he carried the result of his labours to the
wearied horse. When the poor creature was
fed, and laid down to sleep, Manuel thank-
fully untied his own provision, and fed also.
By climbing into the highest tree he could
find (now a work of terrible labour), he had
the satisfaction to see the course of the Red
River, and be aware that he was still in the
right track, and would probably before long
reach that river, which was the only barrier of
which he had any fear. For a moment his
spirits rose, with the idea that he had accom-
plished much the greatest part of his journey;
but they were as instantly repressed, from re-
collecting that he was now in the very neigh-
bourhood of the Indian towns.
Trying to reassure himself, he proceeded
now more cautiously, looking round on every
side, and many a time fancying he saw a snake
rise, when it was only the dimness of his own
eyes, arising from diminished strength, that

THE STOLEN BOY. III
awoke his fears. Towards nightfall, however,
it was certain that he did see an Indian town,
and was in the direct way to enter it.
The question arose as before, “might he
trust the well-known hospitality of the In-
dians?” These people were far, very far from
the settlement he had left—they could un-
doubtedly forward him to Nachitoches, by a
more direct road than he was pursuing—they
might take pity on his youth, and relieve his
wants—a few days rest and food would restore
him, for which he could hereafter reward them
a hundred fold, if ever he arrived in his father's
house.-- But how did he know this was not
the tribe of cannibals, of whom he had the
most unmitigated horror?”
The moment this question arose in Manuel's
mind, he turned his horse's head from the set-
tlement; yet with a melancholy smile he said
to it—“It is certain they would get little
picking from either your bones or mine;” and
indeed, so thin and gaunt were both become,
that one would not have supposed it possible
they could have existed another day. To hide

112 THE STOLEN BOY.
himself from the Indians, he entered a wood
in the same direction, but remained during the
following night in the skirts, being fearful of
entering, lest he should encounter wild beasts,
and not daring to make a fire, lest it should
attract attention from the Indians. These evils
in some measure diverted him from the pains
of hunger which he again experienced, and
which, during the hours of darkness, it was
impossible to alleviate; but his horse, more
fortunate, could nibble the herbage near him.

THE STOLEN BOY. I 13
CHAP. XI.
The following day brought no relief to poor
Manuel, who now had no means of allaying the
claims of his appetite, besides eating the young
leaves of certain trees, and these unfortunately
were immediately rejected by his stomach, so
that he obtained no nourishment from them,
and was at length compelled to abstain from
eating them.
Towards evening he reached the river so
long expected, and as he was now at a consi-
derable distance from the Red River, into
its source, there is little doubt but his horse
which it falls, and course so much nearer to
could have forded, or swam it, at an earlier
period, but now it was impossible. Weak as
he was, it was yet to him a source of comfort,
and he would have laid down to sleep on its
banks, if they had not swarmed with musqui-
L 3

114 THE STOLEN BOY,
toes, to a greater degree than he had yet
witnessed ; and having lately suffered
much from these insects, he sought to avoid
In Ore.
The following day, he pursued this stream
towards its source so far, that he was enabled
to cross it, and having done so, had the inex-
pressible satisfaction of seeing a kind of village,
or settlement, before him, but whether of
Indian or of civilized construction, he could
not tell. He was now so wearied and worn
down, that his mind was incapable of any
strong emotion, and he wished only to creep
into a hut and die; nevertheless, he combined
with this idea a sense of consolation in the
presence of his fellow-creatures, when that
moment should arrive. He consequently ex-
erted himself to the utmost to reach the vil-
lage, and effected his purpose before sunset;
but on entering the place, he saw no one
stirring, nor heard sounds indicating human
existence.
Manuel alighted, and entered the first hut
he saw ; it was perfectly empty, yet indicated

THE STOLEN BOY. 115
that it had been lately inhabited. Another
and another was found in the same situation;
not a single human being was left in the set-
tlement.
When he finished his search, it was quite
dark, and the poor boy sitting down on the
floor of the last hut he had entered, wept
bitterly over the most terrible disappoint-
ment he had hitherto experienced. He had,
after so many toilsome days, reached the ha-
bitation of man, yet found no voice to bid
him welcome, no hand to administer to
his wants—life would close on him in the
desert.
But the hour of dissolution, though ex-
pected, did not arrive; Manuel slept many
hours, and on raising his head, found the sun
was high. He rose, and going out, saw his
horse apparently busily employed, at a little
distance, in picking something from the ground.
To his delight, he found that a bag of maize
had been scattered there, and he had therefore
every reason to believe that Antonio had made
a hearty breakfast before his arrival, as indeed

116 THE STOLEN BOY,
might be perceived by the renewed lustre of
his eye, and the manner in which he approach-
ed his master.
It will be readily conceived with what eager-
mess the famished youth threw himself on the
ground and ate those precious grains—how
carefully he then gathered them, and sought
in the first hut a vessel in which he could
wash off the chaff. The quantity obtained
was indeed far from satisfying his wants; but
there can be no doubt but it sufficed to prevent
him from dying of hunger, and the strength it
imparted gave him power to make a diligent
search through the place; and though only re-
warded by obtaining a small portion of dried
venison, in a state which we should consi–
der loathsome, to him it was an invaluable
prize.
On this slight refreshment, Manuel once
more set forward, after carefully recalling to
his mind all that he had heard calculated for
his guidance to Nachitoches, and fervently
thanking God for the mercies he had expe-
rienced.

THE STOLEN BOY. 117
When he had proceeded but a short way, he
again became sensible of extreme weakness;
but his horse was more effectually recruited,
and bore him through the whole day in a.
wonderful manner; and he had the satisfaction
of recognising many circumstances which
proved that he was directing his course aright.
He also obtained a few nuts, and might have
got a fish, but he had not strength to throw it
on the bank; so that he fancied he could
already perceive he was drawing near the land
of promise, and that the bitterness of death
was passed.
But on the following day, his poor horse no
longer obeyed his wishes, and his own strength
failed so entirely, that all hope again vanished
from his heart, until, at the evening hour, he
again feasted his eyes with the Red River,
now a noble stream, and affording him a
positive assurance that he was within a short
distance of civilized life. As the nights were
now at the darkest, he was compelled to take up
his bivouac as usual; but he could hardly help
persuading himself that he was already near
-

118 THE STOLEN BOY.
to human habitations; though in this he was
mistaken.
The following morning, he arose, as usual,
with the sun, and tried, by every means in his
power, to aid his drooping horse; one of which
was, plunging into a stream of pure water—a
refreshment he always took himself when it
was practicable. He then took the last of his
nuts, which only served to render his appetite
more poignant; but he yet determined to resist
eating the foliage which tempted him, for he
said—"Who knows but I may see a village,
or even Nachitoches itself, and then I shall
have every thing.”
But many a weary mile yet lay between
him and the haven he sought, and his voice
and caresses frequently failed to urge his faith-
ful steed to further exertions; and often did
his upturned eye seem to look reproachfully,
yet pitifully, upon his wretched master.
When, however, they obtained a near view of
the Red River, and saw vessels indicating po-
pulation in their vicinity, he too seemed
inspired by a desire once more to visit man-

THE STOLEN BOY. 119
kind, and he stepped forward with renovated
spirit.
As the sun grew high, Manuel was aware
that it was time he should take his usual re-
pose; but as at this time every thing around
him indicated that the end of his hopes were
obtained—that Nachitoches itself was before
him, he could not bring himself to stop; and
though he alighted to kneel and thank God
for having so nearly accomplished his ardent
desire, he instantly resumed his journey–
“Antonio, dear Antonio, only go a little
longer, and you shall have corn and water of
the best; and you shall rest, day after day, in
a comfortable stable, or lie in a green meadow
the rest of your life.”
Such were the promises and consolations
offered continually to the poor animal; but on
his actual arrival at that place so long the
object of his incessant desire, there seemed
little probability of their fulfilment.
It was the Sabbath day, a day unregistered
by the Indians of course, and which had, in a
great measure, faded from the memory of

120 THE STOLEN BOY.
Manuel. Many of the inhabitants of Nachi-
toches were returning from their place of
worship, or walking to the outskirts of the
town, and the appearance of numbers which
they presented seemed wonderful in the daz-
zled eyes of poor Manuel. He had long
desired to see his fellow-creatures, but he felt
at this moment rather distressed than comfort-
ed by the view; and that most heart-sinking
of all sensations, being solitary in a crowd,
pressed heavy upon him.—“No one,” said he,
“approaches me, no one speaks to me—do
they not see that I am dying with hunger?”
It was yet plain that every eye was bent
upon him, as well they might, for he appeared
to all a terrific phantom. Both himself and
his horse were so attenuated, that their ribs
were seen as plain as those of a skeleton; and
they moved so slowly, that there was some-
thing awful in their gait. The few tattered
rags which still clung to Manuel waved in the
wind, and his hollow cheeks, staring eyes, and
matted hair, united in his person the repre-
sentation of famine and madness—of every

THE STOLEN BOY. 121
thing that was at once deplorable and
terrible.
Still he went on, and still the people gazed
after him; but at the corner of a street, a
gentleman was crossing with his son, and the
horse, wearied beyond endurance, stumbled
and fell just before him. At this moment,
Manuel collecting all his energies, threw him-
self on his knees before the stranger, and
holding up his bony hands, cried out, in his
own language, in a faint, hollow voice—“Oh
sir, have pity on me—I am a Christian boy,
and not a Cumanche.”
“Whatever you may be, I will take care of
you; rise if you can, my poor child, and go
with me.”
But, alas! this was beyond his power; the
stranger had spoken to him in his own lan-
guage, and in a tone of kindness, which so deeply
affected the poor long-suffering boy, that he
instantly fainted, and was believed to be dead
by all who saw him fall, and beheld the si-
tuation to which he was reduced. Luckily,
amongst other gazers at this strange spectacle,
M

122 THE STOLEN BOY.
was a medical man of great experience, by
whose skill the weak lamp of life was again
rekindled. -
So soon as he could bear motion, his first
friend, whom I shall call Mr. Osborne, had
him conveyed to his house, when he was placed
in a comfortable bed, provided with clean
linen, and attended with the utmost humanity
and skill; by which means he was, in a few
hours, placed out of immediate danger. The
first words he spoke were an inquiry after his
horse; and when told that it was as well pro-
vided for as himself, weak as he was, he ex-
pressed his gratitude warmly, on which he was
earnestly advised not to say any thing more at
present, and to endeavour to keep his mind as
calm as possible.
In the mean time, many conjectures were
made respecting poor Manuel in the town; and
public curiosity and compassion once excited,
every one became impatient to know some-
thing respecting him ; and as many strangers
were there, and amongst them several Spa-
niards, in whose tongue it was said he had

THE STOLEN BOY. 123
spoken, these especially greatly desired to
question him. This interference with his
protégé Mr. Osborne resisted, saying that un-
til the boy was considerably better, not a single
question should be asked, nor a remark made
in his presence, which could agitate him.
As, however, every day rendered his son
more intimate with Manuel, it was not sur-
prising that this young gentleman was soon
able to inform his father of the principal cir-
cumstances connected with his history, both as
to his being stolen fron San Antonio about three
years before, and his miraculous preservation
through a journey of nearly four hundred
miles.
These particulars Mr. Osborne immediately
communicated to Don Ignatio, a friend of his,
who had often been to San Antonio, and was
acquainted with Don Manuel del Perez, who
he observed did indeed lose his eldest son at
that time, and was, together with his wife,
plunged into the deepest affliction for the loss
of him, insomuch that he had left San An-
tonio in consequence, but not, he believed, till

124 THE STOLEN BOY.
he had been satisfied that both his son and his
servant were dead.
This account of the affair was confirmed by
another gentleman, who had resided in San
Antonio at the time, and said “ that he had
actually seen the clothes worn by the stolen
boy in possession of his father, to whom they
had been brought by an aged Indian.” This
gentleman said further—“ that so bitterly
had the mother of the stolen boy grieved for
his loss, that her youngest child had died, in
consequence of the effect on his sustenance
occasioned by her sorrow; and that the con-
tinual anxiety produced on both parents was
such, that they had at length removed to New
York, where he believed they were, with their
only daughter, living at this very time.”
It was evident from these accounts, either
that the parents of Manuel had been imposed
upon with a false account of his death, or that
the youth now calling himself Manuel was an
impostor; and to the latter belief every person
seemed inclined, probably because it added
considerably to the wonders of the tale. That

THE STOLEN BOY. 125
a Cumanche Indian should conceive it possible
to step into the place of a Spanish gentleman's
son, and suppose that in three years all traces
of identity would be lost—that he should seek,
by native ingenuity, to supply all original pe-
culiarities and attainments, was really so sur-
prising, and argued such talents, that Manuel
became not less an object of curiosity in the
second place, than of interest in the first.
This view of the matter Mr. Osborne could
not for a moment take; for although Manuel
did not speak his own language fluently, from
so long disuse, yet he spoke it very differently
to what any Cumanche could do; and as he
began to recover, it was evident that his skin
had originally been of a different colour, and
what might be expected in an European
Spaniard. Why the Cumanches should, at
the risk of being punished, take the pains
to send his clothing to his parents, so long a
journey, he could not, in the first instance,
conceive; but when poor Manuel was able to
converse on the subject, he then saw clearly
that Tustanuggi, having determined to adopt
M 3

126 THE STOLEN BOY.
him as a son, took this method of deceiving
his father, in order that he might prevent him
from all further search after a son, for whom
it might be supposed he would never cease to
inquire.
So soon as his kind protector had satisfied
his own mind on this important point, he be-
gan to make inquiries as to the possibility of
informing Don Manuel on the subject of his
son's safety. In the course of his conversa-
tions on this point, he learnt, to his great
satisfaction, that it was not to New York, but
Savannah, that he had removed; and this point
once ascertained, he determined to complete
his “labour of love,” by taking the boy thi-
ther himself, and restore him to those who
had long lamented him as dead.
As it will be evident to our readers that only
vague reports have hitherto reached them, as
to the actual situation of Don Manuel's fami-
ly, we shall now leave our stolen boy to the
kind nursing of his American friends, and
look into the house of his father, on that
eventful night when he entered upon a life of

THE STOLEN BOY. 127
such peculiar character. Happy are we, that
although still pale and weak—still surrounded
by strangers, and scarcely assured of the ex-
istence of his parents, we yet consider him
placed under the kindest protection, making
sure progress in improvement, in health, edu-
cation, and, consequently, happiness.

128 THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. XII.
IT may perhaps be recollected, that at the time
when poor Manuel was borne away from his
father's stables, he did not cease to shriek with
all his might, so long as he had breath or
strength. His voice, there is every reason to
believe, awoke his mother, as she started from
her couch, exclaiming—“ That Manuel must
have fallen, and hurt himself.” -
To this observation her husband replied, by
an assurance that she was mistaken, as he had
heard no sound of any kind; and when, in
answer to his inquiries, the servants assured
him that Manuel was then gone to the stables
to visit his pony, it was concluded that her
fears were entirely false, and she was en-
treated to compose herself, and finish her
siesta.
This she found impossible; but supposing

THE STOLEN BOY. 129
herself to be in error, she remained for some
time in the apartment, and then went out to
walk in the garden, and enjoy the evening air.
Whilst there, finding her spirits much oppres-
sed, (for the sound of her dear son's voice still
seemed ringing in her ears), she sent a servant
to the stables, to desire that he would come
and walk with her, till it was his hour for
retiring.
The servant so dispatched, before he ar-
rived at the place, was sensible that many
horses had been there, and that something
particular had occurred; and he ran forward
in great consternation. The total emptiness
of the stable, the signs of scuffling on the
ground, together with a part of Diego's torn
clothing, told the fatal truth, that robbery
had taken place, probably attended with
murder.
The alarm was now given to the family;
and Don Manuel, who was just awake, lost
not a moment in calling on his friends to join
him in pursuit; whilst Donna Seraphina,
almost frantic, ran from place to place, in

130 THE STOLEN BOY.
agony, calling in vain on her lost child, and
bitterly reproaching herself for having allowed
the cry of her son to sound in her ear un-
heeded.
By the light of the moon the path of the
Cumanche horses was for some distance wi-
sible ; and so soon as horses and men could be
collected, adequate to the proposed rescue,
Don Manuel set out with a well-armed troop,
in that direction where the tearing of the turf
was visible. It afterwards appeared, that the
cunning marauders had descended in one di-
rection, and returned in another, a circum-
stance not discovered till the following morn-
ing, when, from the marks of the hoofs, it
was found that Don Manuel had taken the
wrong direction. His pursuit was indeed
checked by the intervention of the broad for
rest, in which himself and followers soon
became involved, and wandered in hopeless
perplexity, until conscious that, without
proper guides, they could never penetrate
it, they returned by degrees, and with great
difficulty, after experiencing for several days

THE STOLEN BOY". 131
all the evils of hunger, apprehension, and fa-
tigue.
Don Manuel's next effort for the recovery
of his son, was by engaging the Indians them-
selves in his service, particularly the Choctaws,
who knew and remembered his son; and
through their mediation he hoped to trace
the place to which he had been conveyed,
promising, through them, to pay a princely
ransom for their prisoner, and freely forgive
their offences towards him. From these people,
however, he could gain no information; and
although he sent to examine all the settle-
ments of which he could obtain any tidings,
he still remained in total ignorance of the fate
of his son and servant. Neither could he
learn that any horses or mules, of the descrip-
tion of his own, had found their way into the
United States on the one hand, or into Mexico
on the other; in every respect to him, dark-
mess sat on the fate of his son, which neither
his cares, his activity, nor his wealth, had
power to unveil.
Whilst the father thus searched unavailingly

I 32 THE STOLEN BOY.
for that beloved child, so long his pride and
delight, the unhappy mother, devoured by the
most distressing anxiety, experienced still se-
verer sorrow; and her youngest offspring pined
away like a withering flower.
On returning from the last fruitless expedi-
tion he had made, Don Manuel determined,
that although his inquiries after his child
would never cease, that he would not again
subject his wife to the increased solicitude
occasioned by his own absence; and he sat
down once more in his own house as an inha-
bitant. Scarcely had he done so, when that
Indian arrived who had doubtless been dis-
patched by Tustanuggi, but was not of his own
nation, and who, after a long oration on the
shortness of life, and the folly of grief, pre-
sented the afflicted parents with the garments
of their child, and informed them that he
slept in a far distant grave.
Many times had Donna Seraphina, in the
first days of her sorrow, protested, “ that if
she knew her child was dead, she should be
resigned to lose him, but that the dread of his

THE STOLEN BOY, 133
sufferings among the Cumanches, or Alonquas,
was more than she could endure;” and in this
sentiment her husband had concurred. But
when the awful destiny of the poor boy was
announced, when they conceived him to have
pined away in sickness and sorrow, among a
savage tribe, they could not forbear to lament
his death, with all the poignancy of a new and
unexpected sorrow ; and they hung over his
well-known garments with bitter anguish and
floods of tears.
When Don Manuel was able to examine
the man farther, he was informed truly that
poor Diego had died of the bite of a rattle-
snake, and his body been left in the woods;
but the time of his death was specified as oc-
curring in the course of the journey, the real
time being probably unknown to the relator,
as being a circumstance deemed immaterial by
Tustanuggi, when he prepared the fictitious
narrative of Manuel's death.
Orders were given to the servants to feed
the Indian with whatever he liked, and re-
ward him liberally; whilst the unhappy pa.
N

134 THE STOLEN BOY,
rents shut themselves up in their own apart-
ment, to seek in prayer and meditation, aided
by the ceremonies of their religion, that sup-
port in their affliction, which it might be said
their new loss demanded.
In the mean time, the servants, who were
attached to their superiors, and particularly
fond of little Manuel, sought to gain from the
Indian all particulars of his death; and finding
him (according to their universal custom) ex-
ceeding silent, they plied him with liquor,
as a temptation he could not resist, and
which would not fail to render him more talk-
ative.
From all which they now gained from him,
the more intelligent were led to believe that
their young master was not dead, and that the
clothes had been only sent as a feint, to deter
Don Manuel from farther search ; but as they
were led also to believe that the poor child
was reserved for some horrible fate, they re-
solved not to add by such surmise to his present
affliction.—“In the morning,” said they, “we
will tell him what the Indian has said in

THE STOLEN BOY. 135
his cups, and he shall examine him more
closely.”
But when the morning came, the Indian
was gone; though secured, as they thought,
by his own complete intoxication, as well as
by the fastenings of his chamber, he was gone
forth, and never could be traced.
Often did the servants consult together on
the propriety of revealing their suspicions, but
they could never find a time when it would
not have been cruel to add to the sorrows of
their afflicted master. These sorrows were
now multiplied; for the infant boy died with-
in a month after Manuel's death was announ-
ced; and his mother was pronounced in a state
of the utmost danger.
Regardless of every thing, save the health
of his beloved wife, and convinced that every
thing around her contributed to remind her of
her twofold loss, Don Manuel hastily arranged
his affairs, and determined to leave for ever a
place which to him had proved so disastrous.
He could not, however, quit America alto-
gether at present, without injury to the pro-

136 THE STOLEN BOY,
perty of others as well as his own; and
therefore he determined, in the first place,
to procure change of scene, and the best me-
dical aid, for his lady, and afterwards fix on
some seaport town suitable for his views
as a merchant, yet removed from scenes
connected with his irreparable losses as a
father.
In consequence of this determination, he
now sailed with his family for New York,
where he had several friends, who entered
into his feelings with the warmest sympathy,
and left no means untried to restore the health
and cheer the spirits of Donna Seraphina.
This was, however, best effected by her own
sense of duty to her beloved husband, and the
delight she was still capable of taking in her
little daughter, who, having the advantage of
instruction in this large city, improved rapidly
in her education, and daily drew her mother
from sorrowful contemplation on the past, to
thankfulness for the present blessing. But
the time too soon arrived, when the health of
this their only blossom suffered from the

THE STOLEN BOY. 137
climate, which was too cold for a southern
flower; and the parents were warned to de-
part, lest their last hope should be taken from
them.
N 3

138 THE STOLEN BOY,
CHAP. XIII.
ON quitting New York, the long-treasured se-
cret of the servants of Don Manuel escaped
them, by one of those accidents that can nei-
ther be foreseen nor guarded against. In the
vessel in which they now proceeded to Savan-
nah, two of the passengers were dilating on
the deceitfulness of the Indians, and giving an
instance, in which, without telling a lie, a
Creek chief had yet fully embued a story with
untruth; when Donna Seraphina's maid look-
ing at her master's valet, observed—“ That was
just the way in which that old man who
brought master Manuel's clothes told lies about
his death. I believe him alive yet.”
“So do not I,” said the man.
As these words were unfortunately spoken
within hearing of the master and mistress,
both servants were immediately questioned by

THE STOLEN BOY. 139
them; and in consequence, those wounds which
time and absence had somewhat healed, again
bled in both their bosoms, and neither the ca-
resses of their little girl, nor the anxiety they
felt to preserve her from partaking their emo-
tions, and thereby adding to her complaints,
could save them from renewed sorrow. So de-
cidedly was the distressed mother persuaded
that her son had been preserved that he might
become a future victim, that at some moments
she believed he was still living, and besought
her husband again to seek him, protesting that
she would accompany him all over the Conti-
ment of America; at other times she would
consider, that he had already suffered under
the most cruel tortures, and she would rend
her own heart, and that of her husband and
child, by witnessing the ill-suppressed agonies
this thought awakened in her bosom.
Such was the state of their minds on their
arrival at Savannah, which, though not a
healthy place to the inhabitants of cold climates,
was a present restorative to the little girl,
whose recovered looks consoled her parents,

140 THE STOLEN BOY.
who endeavoured to overcome the pangs of me-
mory for her sake, and look forward with hope,
and backward with resignation.
But, alas! an arrow was planted in the
heart of each, which never ceased to rankle,
and which was rendered still more acute, be-
cause each felt it a duty to conceal the fears
and feelings which now agitated them from
the other. Continually did Don Manuel re-
peat, that “ he believed his poor boy was long
since dead;” and he would argue on the utter
improbability that a child of his age and sensi-
bility, brought up with so much tenderness,
could long survive the terror he experienced,
when torn from his home and parents, and the
hardships which naturally followed. In tra-
cing his fate, he uniformly spoke well of the
Indians, and doubted not their kindness; but
he maintained that Manuel could not live on
the food they used, or endure the exercise they
practised. But even while the anxious hus-
band thus sought to alleviate the sufferings of
his wife, his mind (at variance with his tongue)
was employed in devising a thousand means for

THE STOLEN BOY. 141
farther search after the child he pronounced
dead; and if he could have formed any idea
whither to direct his steps, he would, like the
Indians, have opened the grave to have con-
vinced himself that those precious remains were
indeed returning to their native dust, and that
the hand of violence had not precipitated them
thither.
Sensible that her husband had done his ut-
most to discover their son, and believing that
he was indeed satisfied that Manuel was dead,
the unhappy mother brooded in silence on the
subject; again the colour on her cheek became
paler, and the strength she had in a measure
regained, was declining, when those circum-
stances occurred, which furnish the subject of
our concluding chapter.

142 THE STOLEN BOY.
CHAP. XIV.
MR. Osborne, fully satisfied that his new guest
and protégé was indeed all that he pretended
to be, became every day more interested in his
welfare. To those who suggested the idea that
the stolen boy was an impostor, and not the
son of Don Manuel, he had uniformly answer-
ed—“ There is no imposition in his desolate
condition; every body may see that he is starv-
ed to death, and therefore it is my duty to re-
lieve him first, and examine his character af-
terwards.”
This judgment of the case was both just and
benevolent; but all my young readers will be
aware, that when this kind-hearted man was
convinced that the unfortunate boy had told
him no lies, nor affected to move his compas-
sion, and awake his admiration, by any false
account of his past sufferings and former situa-

THE STOLEN BOY. 143
tion, he felt for his misfortunes a double pity,
and for his character a sincere respect; since,
young as he was, he had evinced high and es-
timable qualities. He had shewn a strong and
enduring affection to his parents, a reliance on
Almighty goodness, an abhorrence of all cruel-
ty, and a firmness of endurance, seldom exhi-
bited; and therefore, had that in his character
which promised still more, when his education
could be formed and his morals attended to.
Often would Mr. Osborne point out these qua-
lities to his son Henry, as worthy of the high-
est praise, even whilst he lamented the circum-
stances in which the stolen boy now stood, as
being ignorant on many points, well known to
children much younger than himself.
When Mr. Osborne had ascertained that Don
Manuel del Perez was indeed at Savannah,
and had made up his mind to take Manuel thi-
ther, he had a dress made for him, as much like
that which he described as being worn by him
when he was stolen, as the tailors of Nachi-
toches could manage; and in this dress, so soon
as it was deemed prudent for him to go out,

144 THE STOLEN BOY,
he took him, in the first place, to the house of
God. Often as the feelings of devotion had
been strongly excited before, in this singularly-
situated boy, never had they risen so highly to
the great source of good as on the present oc-
casion. Though every eye was turned on him
(for, alas! human nature is easily drawn from
its duty), his eye was on no one; he looked
only to that God whom he conceived to be
more especially looking upon him from hea-
ven, in this place, and claiming his gratitude,
his promised obedience for the future, and his
faith in the doctrines to be revealed by the
preacher. He thought this the day when his
emancipation was completed, his restoration
ensured; and it was observed by all around,
that although he scarcely uttered a word, even
after he had returned from the church, yet
that his countenance was expressive of the pu-
rest and serenest pleasure: yet tears frequently
filled his eyes, and there were moments when
he pressed his hand upon his heart, as if to re-
press the violence of its throbbing, -
He still remained extremely thin in his per-

THE STOLEN BOY. 145
son; but his sunken cheeks began to resume
the plumpness and smoothness of young flesh,
and the colour of his skin resumed its original
olive cast; whereas, on his arrival, it was
nearly black, from constant exposure to the
sun, in addition to starving, which has always
a tendency to darken the complexion. As
soon as he could crawl out, and use the most
trifling exertion, he had gone to visit his
horse; and it was curious, and even affecting,
to see the joyful recognition of his young
master exhibited by the poor animal. After
he visited him, Antonio fed better, and gained
good looks much faster than before; and there-
fore Mr. Osborne never interfered to prevent
him from performing the offices of a groom,
so far as he had strength for it, to a creature
so well meriting all his kindness; but he
nevertheless lost no opportunity of impressing
on his mind the necessity there existed that he
should now turn his thoughts to totally diffe-
rent pursuits, and seek very distinct accom-
plishments from those to which he had been
so long accustomed.
O

146 THE STOLEN BOY.
Happy was it for him, that the little book
found in poor Diego's pocket had been so long
cherished, seeing it had preserved to him the
power of reading; the faculty of writing was
entirely lost; but even in his present weak
state, he made considerable progress, under the
tuition of Henry Osborne, in regaining it–
“for the purpose,” as he said, “ of writing to
his sister,” when he could find any person to
carry the letter. Mr. Osborne informed him
of the means by which letters were conveyed
in organized society, and many other circum-
stances in common life, as we enjoy it, which
seemed entirely eradicated from his memory,
and which excited his wonder and delight. It
was yet found, that some particular scenes and
circumstances were impressed on his mind so
vividly, that they might be said to be painted
there indelibly, and were described by him in
language sometimes uncouth, but always stri-
king and accurate, uttered with grace and
energy. He remembered the ship in which
he had sailed from Europe, the garden of his
father's house at San Antonio, when filled by

THE STOLEN BOY. 147
gay company on his birthday; and particularly
his mother's dress, on which he dwelt with
that fond enthusiasm which accompanied all
his feelings for her and his father. He was
also fond of her maid, who had accompanied
him from Europe, but he could recollect the
name of no other servant; nor had he any re-
membrance of his former friends, his usual play-
mates, occupations, or books. It appeared as
if some things were completely eradicated from
the tablets of memory, that others might be
engraven there the deeper.
With respect to all later transactions, his
recollection was so vivid, that in recounting the
circumstances of his long and melancholy jour-
ney, which had lasted thirteen days (if the last
is included), he appeared to live it over again,
with all its fears in the first part, and its suf-
ferings in the latter. The circumstance of
finding an empty village did not surprise Mr.
Osborne in the least, as there are times when
the inhabitants of each settlement go out in a
body to the woods, or the harvest; but he did
not the less feel for the poor disappointed boy,

148 THE STOLEN BOY.
and thought it a wonder that he did not there
end the hardships of his long wanderings. It
is probable that the circumstance of being near
the end of his labours, sustained him for the
last three days; but it was the opinion of his
friends, that he could not have lived through
another night, at the time when he reached
Nachitoches.
In recounting the history of his residence,
he necessarily mentioned the extraordinary cir-
cumstance of seeing a man in the woods, whom,
with the quick discernment of an Indian eye,
he had pronounced civilized, an opinion con-
firmed by several of the Cumanches. On hear-
ing this, that gentleman immediately exclaim-
ed—“I have no doubt but the person you saw
was my worthy friend, Audiebon; he is an
artist of great merit, who has devoted himself
to the study of birds, and in pursuit of his ob-
ject, with all the enthusiasm of genius, pene-
trates the deepest forests, encounters dangers
of every kind, and sacrifices every personal
comfort—yes, you have seen Audiebon, un-
doubtedly, and I wish he had seen you.”

THE STOLEN BOY. 149
The time came, at length, when it was con-
venient for Mr. Osborne to set out; and as he
preferred going by water, for the way by land
was full of Indians, many of whom were of
the worst description, he looked out for a ves-
sel about to fall down to the Mississippi, from
whence he knew he could proceed without dif-
ficulty.
Whilst making his bargain, he was accosted
by one of those persons who had returned from
their expedition up the Red River, desiring to
know, “if a report he had just heard were
true, that a boy was under his care, who had
come from a Cumanche settlement, and of
whom Tustanuggi, a chief of that nation, was
in search?”
Mr. Osborne answered, that he had seen
such a boy certainly, but was too busy to talk
on the matter at present ; and on leaving the
man, he hastened home, and in the course of
an hour, himself, Manuel, the horse, and his
own son, were on board. He had already pro-
mised the latter this journey, as a high treat;
and as he expected to do business at Savan-
o 3

I50 THE STOLEN BOY.
nah, he wished in some measure to initiate his
son, and introduce him to their future corres-
pondents.
The voyage was found highly beneficial to
the health of Manuel, so that he throve much
better than he had done on land; and when
they reached the shores of Georgia, his figure
was that of a tall, handsome lad, above the
usual height for his age, and singularly mus-
cular and agile. The bad condition of his hair,
which had been formerly shaven on the sides,
and left thick in the middle, was hidden by
his cap; and his open countenance, quick eye,
and changing colour, gave an expression of
sensibility and animation, which interested all
who saw him. It was yet certain that it was
his kind attention to Henry, who had been
very ill during the voyage, and who was lean-
ing upon his arm, that, more than his personal
appearance, struck those who saw them land,
several of whom remarked, that they would
answer for it the taller of those boys was of a
good disposition, and—“ he is exceedingly like
” said one of them,
>
a gentleman I know,

THE STOLEN BOY. 151
“Do you know Don Manuel del Perez?”
said Mr. Osborne, somewhat quickly: “ can
you tell me where he lives?”
“I can,” said the gentleman; “his house lies
to the left, among those lime-trees; you may
see a part of the verandah here; but you will
not see him to-day; it is a day of mourning in
his family.”
Mr. Osborne, as it was still early, did not
therefore despair, although it was not very ma-
terial if he waited for the morrow; but after
landing his luggage, breakfasting at an inn,
and arranging his dress, and that of the boys,
he proceeded towards the place of Don Ma-
nuel's residence, glad in his own mind, that by
conversation with Manuel, he had renewed his
knowledge of the Spanish language, yet feeling
at a loss how to find words for the approaching
occasion.
He found the dwelling situated in a beauti-
ful pleasure-ground, indicating the residence
of a man of wealth, and surrounded with those
elegancies and conveniences, so desirable in
warm countries. Directing the boys to seat

152 THE STOLEN BOY.
themselves under the shade of the verandah,
he proceeded to the house, and inquired if Don
Manuel were at home, at the same time say-
ing—“I am aware that your master does not
in general see company to-day, but my busi-
mess is of a very particular nature.”
“It is not to-day, but to-morron,” replied
the man, at the same time speaking to another
servant, who in a short time ushered Mr. Os-
borne into the room, where Don Manuel, his
wife, and daughter, were sitting; but the lat-
ter, on his entrance, rose to depart.
* Pardon me, madam,” said Mr. Osborne,
with great respect, but considerable emotion,
“if I request you to remain; my business is of
such a nature, that if Don Manuel had not
been within, it would have been my duty to
have seen you upon it.”
“ Me, sir! I am too ill to be spoken with.”
* Pardon me! a mother can endure much,
when the subject is her child—when she is
seeking even a painful conviction on a dubious
point.”
Donna Seraphina sank into her chair, pale

THE STOLEN BOY. 153
as ashes, but utterly unable to speak; whilst
Don Manuel, eagerly rising, exclaimed—“For
Heaven's sake, sir, if you have any news to
give us of our poor lost boy, speak quickly-
but do not dare to trifle with our feelings; and
I beseech you, deal delicately with a wife and
mother, whose weakness you must perceive.”
* Sir,” said Mr. Osborne, “I am myself a
father, and a widowed husband. I can feel
for you sincerely, or I should not have come
all the way from Nachitoches to bring you in-
formation which was improper to reveal, or
unworthy of attention.”
“Speak on, sir, I beseech you.”
“About two months since, a Spanish boy,
escaped from a settlement of the Cumanches,
arrived in Nachitoches, after passing through
an uninhabited country, about four hundred
miles. I need not tell you he was on the point
of perishing with hunger, and that it was some
time before he could inform us who he was,
and how he came in this condition ; but when
he could speak, he said, that he was stolen
from San Antonio, at the same time with your
son and your servant Diego.”

154 THE STOLEN BOY.
“Does he say Manuel is dead?” cried the
mother.
“ On the contrary, he spoke of him as
growing very fast, and being expert at all In-
dian exercises.”
“ He lives! he lives 1" cried the mother, and
instantly sunk fainting on the floor.
The more immediate attention of Don Ma-
nuel was now called to his wife, whom, when
she was restored, he now earnestly desired to
withdraw ; but she declared—“ that since she
knew her son was alive, she could bear any
thing ;” and she entreated Mr. Osborne to
proceed with his narrative.
* Alas!” observed Don Manuel, “to us it
must be painful, even if true; if these wild
people have rendered our child one of them-
selves, he is as much lost to us as if the grave
had closed on him ; so young—so very young,
he could be modelled to any thing; and if I
had the power to compel his return, no doubt
he would fly to his old haunts, and render us
more wretched than ever.”
“But this boy declares that Manuel pines
after his parents, whom he loves most tenderly;

THE STOLEN BOY. 155
that the cruelty of the Indians was so abhor-
rent to his nature, as to disgust him entirely,
and induce him, at the utmost risk of life, to
return to them. I must not, however, disguise
from you, that this boy is thought by many an
impostor, though I could pledge myself for his
truth.”
“Alas! I fear you are deceived; for it is
certain we should have heard if any such boy
had been taken with our own: it is true, our
servants believed the tale told by the Indian
was false: can this boy account for our son's
clothes being sent back to us?”
“Very easily: Tustanuggi, who had taken
him captive, and, unquestionably, conceived for
him a great affection, by this means sought to
divert you from pursuit. My informer says,
that after he saw Manuel dressed as an In-
dian, he never found any vestige of his former
clothing.”
* Does he seem to know any thing of
Diego?”
* Yes; he speaks of him with great affec-
tion, and was with him when he died in the
woods, from the bite of a rattlesnake.”

156 THE STOLEN BOY.
“How strange —had he any knowledge of
me, or any of my household?”
“ He knew you well, for he described you
to me exactly; also your house and garden at
San Antonio. He told me also, that on the
day when your son completed his ninth year,
which is some time in this season, Donna Se-
raphina wore a lemon-coloured dress, trimmed
with white bugles, and a veil, most richly
embroidered.”
“ So I did; the poor boy is right; un-
doubtedly he is no impostor. Our own sor-
rows absorbed us so much, we knew not of our
neighbour's loss.”
* We will atone for it now,” said Don
Manuel; “I will take upon me henceforward
the fortunes of this poor boy. He shall be
restored to his friends at San Antonio, and all
his wants provided for.”
* Ah, sir! let us see this boy instantly.
Why—why did he leave my Manuel? How
much must he suffer from the loss of his com-
panion If one escaped from the Indians, why
could not two P’’

THE STOLEN BOY. 157
* This boy obtained a horse of extraordinary
qualities, as you shall convince yourself, ma-
dam, by and by: but I am anxious fully to
convince you that the child I am about to pre-
sent to you is indeed no impostor. I presume
every circumstance of that memorable birth-
day is faithfully registered in your mind?”
* Yes; indeed I remember them too well.”
“In descending the stairs from your dress-
ing-room, you made a false step, in consequence
of which a string of pearls round your neck
was broken; and this boy declares that he
tied the beads with his own hands.”
* Mother mother " cried the lovely girl,
who had hitherto stood in silent astonishment,
gazing on Mr. Osborne, “it was Manuel who
tied the string, and I gathered the beads.
Eulalia will remember it, for she was follow-
ing you down stairs.”
“I remember—I remember all,” gasped the
trembling mother; “it is my child—my own
first-born child, of whom you speak. May God
so deal with you and yours as you have dealt
with him But where—where is he?”
P

158 THE STOLEN BOY.
As Donna Seraphina spoke she rose, as if to
fly to her long-lost son; but her trembling
limbs refused to sustain her ; and her wild
glances conveyed almost the idea that she was
seized with sudden madness. At this mo-
ment, however, the violence of her emotions
were arrested, and happily transferred to her
husband, who burst into a passion of tears,
and sobbed aloud.
Such an uncontrollable transport, in a per-
son of his description, was an event that had
the effect of alarming all around him ; for al-
though a man of the deepest feeling, it was so
controlled by reason and religion, that any
ebullition of passion seemed foreign to his
nature. At this awful and extatic moment,
however, his joy and gratitude to Heaven
agitated him in the same manner as some per-
sons feel the effects of sudden misfortune.
He had listened with intense expectation and
doubt ; he had perceived, from the manners
of the speaker, that he at least believed
Manuel in a state of safety; but it was not
till the affair of the necklace was mentioned,

THE STOLEN BOY. 159
that he durst allow his trembling heart to
admit the full tide of joy that overwhelmed it.
Mr. Osborne having (with even female
tenderness) taken off his neckcloth, suffered
his feelings to take their natural vent, happy
to see that in her momentary alarm for her
beloved husband, Donna Seraphina's agitation
on her son's account was suspended. When
some degree of composure was restored, he
told them, that if they could now bear the
sight of his impostor, he would bring him in,
and submit him to their inspection; but he
added—“ I must beg you, on his part, to
remember, that although, from long habit, he
has attained much self-command, and may not,
in the first instance, exhibit that intense affec-
tion or extravagant joy which would be na-
tural in most children, he is yet a boy of acute
feeling, and even now in too delicate a state to
have it severely exercised.”
With these words Mr. Osborne quitted the
apartment, and went out to the place where
he had left his son and Manuel; but, to his
great astonishment, found only the former.

160 THE STOLEN BOY.
“Where is Manuel gone to?” said he, in
alarm.
“Oh, papa, half an hour since a woman
came into the house, having the air of a per-
son who belonged to it. On seeing us, she
gave such a loud scream, (I wonder you did
not hear it), and flung her arms round Manuel,
as if she would have hugged him to death.
Then there came several servants, some of
whom remembered him perfectly well; and
they all joined to carry him away somewhere,
and lock him up; for they said if his mother
saw him, she would die upon the spot.”
“ His father, however, in my opinion, would
have been the more likely to do it,” said Mr.
Osborne; “ but I now trust both are prepared
to see him ; so we will follow, and make in-
quiries.”
It was found that all the family were as-
sembled in the most distant room, where Eu-
lalia and Juan, who, with the unfortunate
Diego, had formed their European attendants,
were descanting to the rest on all that had
passed in their minds on the subject of Manu-

THE STOLEN BOY. 161
el's captivity, declaring in the same moment,
“ that he was so grown, and so altered, no-
body could believe he was their own dear
Signor Manuel, and that they could have
owned him amongst ten thousand.” One mo-
ment they bemoaned over him, as the most
injured and ill-used of all the human race;
and the next protested “ that he looked quite
charmingly; and that after all which could be
said, the Indians were very respectable people,
and had behaved exceedingly well to him.”
Mr. Osborne broke up this coterie, by enter-
ing, and desiring Manuel to accompany him
to his parents and sister; for he was not con-
scious that the latter had followed him, and
was at this time slyly, but fondly gazing on
her brother. He found Manuel standing si-
lently and abstractedly in the midst of the
party, looking pale and forlorn, and by no
means wearing the joyous face of one returned
from long travel and many hardships to his
father's mansion.
* Come, come, my good fellow, your pa.
rents are impatient to receive you.”
P 3

162 THE STOLEN BOY.
At this moment Manuel darted through the
crowd, and throwing himself on Mr. Osborne's
bosom, he cried long and bitterly.
“Why, how is this?” said his kind bene-
factor: “ surely these are tears of joy; yet
they seem like those of sorrow.”
“Oh, sir!” said the poor boy, at length
raising his head, “ you have been so long—so
very long, in persuading my parents to receive
me, that never since the day when I was taken
from them, did I suffer so much as I have done
in the last hour. I am sure that Tustanuggi
and Moscogi would receive me more speedily
than they have dome. Perhaps they think me
that thing some of the people of Nachitoches
called me P”
Mr. Osborne hastened to assure him it was
rather on account of his own fears that they
would be injured by their overwhelming joy,
than any doubt on the part of his parents
which had occasioned the delay; and when he
assured him that even then his father was
weeping with delight, the boy exclaimed with
transport—“ Ah! then I am sure he loves me
THE STOLEN BOY. 163
yet, for he is as little likely to weep as a red
warrior.”
To poor Mr. Osborne it was a mortification
to usher his protegé into the presence of his
parents with red eyes and disordered hair;
but the recognition of the servants had effec-
tually paved the way for that of the parents.
Indeed, the likeness of the father in Manuel's
person was only rendered the more striking,
from the recent agitation both had experienced;
and not a shadow could exist in the minds of
any person who beheld them, on the subject of
the stolen boy's identity.
How the mother gazed upon him, pressed
him to her bosom, traced every lineament of
his features—how with streaming eyes she
thanked God for this unexpected and inesti-
mable gift, every one will imagine. They
will conceive what was the delight of the
father, when he found that even in the wilder-
mess, his son had retained a lively sense of
affection to him, a degree of observance of the
rites of his religion, and a deep feeling of
humanity, Nor can any one doubt the un-


164 THE STOLEN BOY.
bounded gratitude they experienced towards
that kind friend whose hand had been held out
“ to save him when he was ready to perish.”
No! often would Donna Seraphina turn to
Mr. Osborne and declare, “ that never man
had shewn such sympathy in another's feelings
as he had done, and that but for him, she
never could have sustained the joy with which
her spirit was loaded.”
As all parties by degrees became more com-
posed, Mr. Osborne begged to know, “if the
following day, which he understood was con-
secrated to mourning in the family, had any
thing to do with Manuel's return.”
* Every thing,” said Don Manuel, “ for
this is his birthday—he is now twelve years
old; and to-morrow, the day on which he was
torn from us three years ago. We will now
hold it as a day of solemn thanks and re-
joicings; the poor shall be comforted—the
hungry fed.”
Manuel turned his eyes full upon Henry,
who was a fair handsome boy of pleasant
countenance, but who had not hitherto ob-

THE STOLEN BOY, 1.65
tained due attention.—“ My dear child, I
read your wishes–be assured I can fully esti-
mate our boundless obligation to Mr. Osborne,
and your friendship for his son—these are
matters for a future consideration; but if there
is any kind of present you wish either to
receive, or to give, on this eventful day, speak
your wishes—they are not likely to be re-
fused.”
Manuel looked for some time very thought-
ful, and then said—º I wish you, father, to
send for Antonio, and let him be taken very
good care of; indeed, I shall be very glad to
attend to him myself—he was my friend when
I had nºne beside in the wide, wide world.”
* Be he who he may, he shall share my
house and my table, whilst I have one.”
“It is my horse, father, that I mean; not
indeed that he is mine, but I was forced to
take him.”
* Be assured he will be no small favourite
here—is there any thing else in your mind?”
* Yes, when Mr. Osborne returns, I wish
to send blankets, a gun and powder to Tusta-
166 THE STOLEN BOY.
nuggi, and several useful things to Moscogi,
and little Scrogonori. I think I shall be much
happier when I have sent these things, not
merely as payment for the horse, but because
it will shew that I can forgive what is past,
and remember them all with good will; and
I will also send Uswega a knife, in token that
I have forgiven him also, though he is an un-
feeling boy.”
How many questions arose as to the re-
spective merits of these parties—how many
tears were shed over circumstances on which
Manuel slightly touched—we must leave to
the imagination of our readers. It is certain,
however, that Mr. Osborne's description of the
state in which he found Manuel, though much
softened, was the most affecting of any thing
that was offered to his hearers.
Happy was Don Manuel to find that it was
in his power, as a man of large property and
connection, sº tº assist this gentleman in
his commºn
-
- - -
ºiews, and render his voyage
- - -
as prosperºus ºs it was considerate ºne-
volent. To his son Henry he offered a home


THE STOLEN BOY. 167
in his house, that he might finish his educa-
tion under the eye of a clever tutor, whom he
procured for Manuel—an arrangement equally
delightful to the son, and satisfactory to the
father; and it was unquestionably of the great-
est utility to Manuel, whose studies were
rendered more agreeable by so dear a com-
panion.
It is now between eight and nine years
since Manuel entered Nachitoches, in the de-
plorable condition we have related, and there-
fore he is by this time a young man of two or
three and twenty; and we sincerely hope is
now by his good conduct rewarding his parents
for their care and anxiety, and proving that
the life so wonderfully preserved, was spared
to good purpose. We shall only observe fur-
ther, that when Mr. Osborne took leave of
Don Manuel's family on his return to Nachi-
toches, he was loaded with marks of the grati-
tude he had so justly excited, and was the
bearer of a present to Tustanuggi, which he
sent up the Red River the following season.
It consisted of every thing which could con-

168 THE STOLEN BOY.
tribute to the comfort of an Indian wigwam,
more especially in those articles calculated for
female use; for so thankful was Donna Sera-
phina to the people who had caused her so
much misery, because they had not rendered it
more complete by destroying her son, that she
thought she could not reward them sufficiently.
Happily her health returned with her peace of
mind; and being a woman of highly cultivated
mind, she applied herself diligently to assisting
her son’s education; and left no means untried
to strengthen the principles, enlighten the un-
derstanding, and confirm the affections of her
long-lost, stolen boy.
FINIs.
London—Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall Street.
NEW PUBLICATIONS,
For the Instruction & Amusement of Youth,
sold ºr A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
LONDON.
Abbot's History of London. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Adelaide and her Children . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Alicia and her Aunt, 1829 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Esop's Fables in Verse, by M. A. Davis, 2d edition. . . . . . . .
At School and at Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Bamfylde Moore Carew, elegant plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Beckencroft's Conversations on Moral and Religious Subjects.
Biography of a Spaniel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Book of Trades, illustrated by 17 plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Botanical Rambles, plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
| Bravo of Venice, 8th edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cabinet Makers' and Upholsterers’ Guide, coloured plates . .
Children's Fireside, 12mo, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Clairmont Castle, 2 vols. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Compendious History of England, wood cuts . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cottage Stories, new edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Economy of Human Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Elm Grove, new edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Emily and her Cousins, by Mrs. Baker . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
England's Historical Diary, 1848 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fairy Tales, by Miss Selwyn, 40 cuts, 1829. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Falconer's Shipwreck, 18mo: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fashionable Letter-Writer, elegant plates, 1829 . . . . . . . . . .
Florian's National Romances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gay's Fables, new edition, roam . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Genii, or Adventures of Abou Mirza . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Goldsmith's System of Natural History, by Macloc, embel-
lished with 400 engravings, 5th edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
England, abridged, and continued by John
Dymock, with Exercises, &c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Half-holiday Task book, 200 cuts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Q
|
|
º
()
º


NEW PUBLICATIONS.
- --
Hays's (Mary) Historical Dialogues for young People, 3 vols...10
Henrietta and her Mamma, 1829. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Horwood's (Miss) Original Poetry for Children.......... 2
Hofland's (Mrs.) Affectionate Brothers, new edition, 1829.... 2
— Barbadoes Girl, new edition ... . . . . . . . . . 2
--------- Blind Farmer, new edition, 1829 ........ 2
Clergyman's Widow, new edition . . . . . . . . 2
———- Daughter-in-Law, new edition, 1829 . . . . . . 2
--- Good Grandmother and her Offspring, 2d edit. 2
Merchant's Widow, new edition. . . . . . . . . . 2
— Panorama of Europe, new edition, 1828. ... 2
--- Sisters, new edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
——-— Stolen Boy, 1830 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
———--- William and his Uncle Ben, 1829 . . . . . . . . 2
— Young Northern Traveller, uew edition, 1829 2
— Young Crusoe, or the Shipwrecked Boy, 1829 2
Hugh Latimer, or School Boys' Friendship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Hunter's Receipts in Modern Cookery, new edition. . . . . . . .
Imperial and Royal Cook, by Nutt, 12mo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Improving Tales, new edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In School and Out of School
-
-
-
5
5
2
2
Keepsake Guineas, or Best Use of Money . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Keleth, or the Gatherer, a Miscellamy for Vacant Minutes. ... 2
Little Prisoner, or Passion and Patience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
London Minstrel, a Collection of Songs set to Music, plates .. 2
Man, or Anecdotes National and Individual. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.
Minor Morals, by Charlotte Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Modern Domestic Cookery, 6th edition, plates. . . . . . . . . . . . 4.
National Prejudice, or French Prisoner of War . . . . . . . . . . 2
Parkins's Universal Fortune Teller, cuts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Planter's Daughter and her Slave 2
Poetical Piece Book, 8th edition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Return of the Fairies, 9 plates... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.
- coloured... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Spartacus, a Roman Story, elegant plates. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *
Tales of the Academy, 2 vols. 4 plates 5
Teachwell's Monosyllables, cuts ... . . . . . 1.
Whimwhams, by Four of Us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3
Wisdom in Miniature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- -
d



-
-
-
- -
- -
- -
-
-
-
-
-
- -
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
- -
- -
-
- -
-
- -
-
- -
-
- -
-
-
- -
-
- -
- -
-
-
- -
-
-
-
-
-
-
_ __


WILLIAMLCLEMENTS
LIBRARY OF
| AMERICAN HISTORY
| UNIVERSITY/MICHIGAN