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THE 
 
 WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH 
 
 BY JAMES HALL, 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE WEST, BORDER TALES, SKETCHES OF THE WEST, 
 NOTES ON THE WESTERN STATES, ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 JOHN WILEY, 161 BROADWAY, 
 
 AND 13 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. 
 1849. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Black Steed of the Prairies, 
 
 The War Belt, a Legend of North Bend, . 
 
 The New Moon, a Tradition of the Omawhaws, 
 
 The Red Sky of the Morning 
 
 The Capuchin, . 
 
 The Dark Maid of Illinois, 
 
 The Indian Hater, . 
 
 Pete Featherton, 
 
 Appendix, .... 
 
 PAOK 
 
 1 
 
 32 
 43 
 83 
 112 
 117 
 138 
 152 
 169 
 
 MI88I0 
 
THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 
 
 A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The life of the American Indian is not so destitute of the in- 
 terest created by variety of incident, as might be supposed by a 
 casual observation of the habits of this singular race. It is true 
 that the simple structure of their communities, and the sameness 
 of their occupations, limit the Savage within a narrow sphere of 
 thought and action. Without commerce, agriculture, learning, or 
 the arts, and confined to the employments of war and hunting, 
 the general tenour of his life must be monotonous. His journies 
 through the unpeopled wilderness, furnish him with no informa- 
 tion as to the modes of existence of other nations, nor any sub- 
 jects for reflection, but those which nature supplies, and with 
 which he has been familiar from childhood. Beyond his own 
 tribe, his intercourse extends onl}^ to savages as ignorant as him- 
 self, and to traders but little elevated above his own moral stand- 
 ard. 
 
 But there are, even in savage life, seasons of great excitement, 
 and instances often occur in which individuals are drawn into 
 adventures of the most singular and perilous description. The 
 state of war is prolific of those chances and changes which call 
 forth the energies of individual character ; and the chase, when 
 pursued not merely for spot, but as a serious occupation, in wilds 
 frequented for the same purpose by hostile bands, becomes really 
 what the poet has described it, 
 
 « Mimicry of noble war." 
 2 
 
THE V^LDERNESS iVND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 The following legend exemplifies some of the accidents of this 
 singular mode of existence, and shows the training, by which the 
 Indian youth are prepared to encounter dangers, and achieve ex- 
 ploits, which would seem incredible to those who are unacquainted 
 witii the habits of that remarkable race. 
 
 Our scene lies in a region seldom visited by civilized men, and 
 only known to us through the reports of the adventurous trappers 
 who seek there the solitary haunts of the beaver, and of a few 
 travellers of the more intelligent class, who have been led thither 
 by scientific curiosity or missionary zeal. We stand upon the 
 Eastern declivity of the Rocky Mountains, and see stretched be- 
 fore us the Great Plain, which extends thence to the frontier set- 
 tlements of the United States. Around us are immense bulwarks 
 of rock, towering towards the sky in all the gigantic magnificence 
 of mountain scenery, while we see below us, in beautiful contrast, 
 an interminable carpet of verdure, extending to the distant hori- 
 zon. The rays of the morning sun have lighted up the mountain 
 sides, and are reflected from peaks covered with snow, while the 
 mists of the dawn are reposing upon the prairie, whose rich pas- 
 tures display the luxuriance of the summer vegetation. 
 
 The Flatheads of the Rocky Mountains were encamped in 
 one of the gorges of the Eastern declivity of that Ridge. The 
 spot was v/ild and secluded, indicating the cautious habhs of the 
 people who had thus concealed their temporary residence in one 
 of the most inaccessible spots of that inhospitable wilderness. It 
 was a deep ravine, bounded on either side by parapets of solid 
 rock, whose rugged peaks towering upward to an immense height, 
 concealed and shaded the narrow glen, so as to wrap it in per- 
 petual gloom. A strip of ground margining a small rivulet that 
 leaped in a succession of cascades down the gorge, afforded a 
 pathvr'ay accessible in most places for but a single horseman, 
 but sometimes spreading out to a width sufficient to accommodate 
 a small encampment. 
 
 In one of those nooks, which might have suited the ascetic 
 fancy of a misanthrope who desired to separate himself from his 
 species, the Flatheads had pitched the skin lodges, that formed 
 their only habitation throughout the year. It was the village 
 of a migratory people, habituated to sudden changes of residence, 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 3 
 
 and always ready to move at a moment's warning, with all their 
 population and property. Their horses, whose rough coats show- 
 ed continual exposure to the weather, were browsing upon the 
 scanty herbage that grew along the banks of the rivulet ; senti- 
 nels were posted in the defiles leading to the village and by which 
 alone it could be approached, while a watchman perched like an 
 eagle upon one of the tallest peaks, but concealed in the shadows 
 of the grey rock, looked abroad upon the neighbouring plain, and 
 upon the mountain passes, to give due notice of any approaching 
 danger. Even the children, as they dabbled in the brook or 
 climbed the precipices, seemed instinctively jealous of danger, 
 throwing up their dark eyes, and silently exchanging glances, if 
 an owl hooted, or a vulture sailing aloft threw his shadow in the 
 glen ; and the dogs, with slouched tails, pointed ears, and wild 
 eyes, skulked about with the stealthy pace of the wolf. 
 
 These appearances, indicating a quick sense of surrounding 
 danger, were characteristic of the habitual watchfulness of this 
 band, who lived in continual terror of the Blackfeet, a tribe much 
 more numerous than themselves, and noted as well for their pred- 
 atory habits, as for the ruthless ferocity which marked their con- 
 duct towards their enemies. To the Flatheads especially they 
 bore an irreconcilable hatred, which was indulged in an unremit- 
 ting and unsparing warfare. There was a great disparity in 
 numbers between the two tribes, the Flatheads being a very small 
 band, while the Blackfeet were numerous, so that they never met 
 on equal terms, and although their battles were often desperate, 
 they were usually unsought by the weaker party. Both were 
 wandering tribes, having no fixed boundaries or settled habitations, 
 and deriving a precarious subsistence from the chase ; but the 
 Blackfeet were the banditti of the mountain country, a fighting, 
 thieving, cut-throat nation, who made themselves formidable to all 
 who fell in their way, and observed no rule of justice unless it 
 was that of plundering alike the white man and the Indian, and 
 being terrible equally to friend and foe — while the Flatheads 
 were a fugitive people, pursued continually by their relentless 
 enemies, whom they had no hope of escaping but by cunning and 
 swiftness of foot. 
 
 The Flatheads are in many respects an interesting people. 
 
THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 Though inclined to peace, they are brave, and well trained in all 
 the arts of war and the chase, and when compelled to turn upon 
 their enemies, they fight with the desperation of men who expect 
 no quarter, and often succeed in beating off a force greatly su- 
 perior to their own. Few of the savage tribes exhibit such sim- 
 plicity of character. Wretchedly poor — with no property but 
 their horses and their arms, both of which are often lost in their 
 sudden flights — and having no means of subsistence but the chase, 
 which, precarious as it always is, is rendered more so, by the 
 persecutions of their enemie'^. they are yet a hospitable people. 
 The stranger always finds a welcome in their camp, and a share of 
 their pittance of food. They are considered honest and inoffen- 
 sive. The grasp of poverty, which often renders the heart cal- 
 lous, not only to the generous sympathies of our nature, but also 
 to the simple obligations of good faith, has exerted no sinister in- 
 fluence upon the character of this tribe ; nor has their unhappy 
 state of peril, and watchfulness, and flight, rendered them mean 
 or cruel. In all the moral qualities they rather excel than fall 
 below the standard of savage character, and compare well w ith 
 the tribes around them, in every thing but power. Perhaps if 
 they were stronger they might be less virtuous. 
 
 The Arab and his graceful courser, are not more constant com- 
 panions than the Flathead and his steed, in whose services lie 
 finds safety as well as convenience. " Snuffing the approach of 
 danger in every tainted breeze," he throws himself upon the back 
 of his horse, on the slightest alarm, and flies with the speed of the 
 wild antelope of the prairies. He is fearless in his horsemanship, 
 and manages that noble animal with surpassing grace and skill, 
 even without the aid of rein or saddle, which he uses for conve- 
 nience rather than necessity. 
 
 Among the exercises with which these Indians while away the 
 few and far distant intervals of security, which may be devoted 
 to manly sports, feats of horsemanship hold the highest rank. On 
 such occasions it is not uncommon for a young Indian to exhibit 
 his address, by mounting an untamed steed, just captured upon 
 the plains where these noble animals run wild. The horse, per- 
 haps the noble-spirited leader of a herd, whose strength and speed 
 has long enabled him to set all pursuit at defiance, is brought to 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 5 
 
 the starting place properly bound, but without saddle or bridle. 
 The rider mounts upon the bare smooth back of the sleek and 
 nervous animal, holding in one hand a small flag attached to a 
 short staff, and in the other a hoop covered with a dried skin, 
 somewhat in the fashion of a tamborine. When firmly seated, 
 the animal is turned loose, and dashing off, endeavours, by desper- 
 ate plunges, to disengage himself from the resolute savage, who, 
 clinging by his legs to the furious steed, retains his place in spite 
 of every effort of the enraged animal to dislodge him. If in this 
 contest of physical activity, the horse seems likely to gain the ad- 
 vantage, the rider throws the flag over his eyes, and tames his 
 spirit by depriving him of light, at the same time terrifying the 
 blinded animal, by striking him on the head with the sonorous 
 hoop. With the latter also he changes the course of the horse 
 by striking one side of the head or the other, and by a skilful 
 use of both these simple aids, the subdued animal is brought back 
 to the starting place, and again made to traverse the plain in any 
 desired direction, until, worn down by fatigue and terror, he sub- 
 mits to the weaker but more intelligent being, who is destined to 
 become his master. 
 
 Such is the tribe to whom the pale-faced stranger, in his pride, 
 has given a name, not known to those who bear it, nor descriptive 
 of any personal peculiarity existing among them, for the heads of 
 the Flatheads are not flatter than those of their neighbours ; 
 neither have the Blackfeet, blacker feet than other Indians. We 
 use these names, however, as we find them. 
 
 On the morning to which we have alluded, a party composed 
 of the most effective men of the Flatheads, were preparing to hunt 
 the buffalo upon the prairies. Their best horses having been se- 
 lected, they were getting every thing in readiness for an expedi- 
 tion which might be extended to several weeks. The remainder 
 of the band, with all the women and children, were in the mean- 
 while to retire still further into the recesses of the mountain, to 
 remain concealed in its solitary glens, subsisting upon roots and 
 herbage, and such small game as chance might throw in their 
 way. 
 
 A curious observer of the workings of the hUman mind might 
 have found rich materials for reflection, in the cheerfulness with 
 
6 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 which all parties to tliis proceeding prepared for the approaching 
 separation. It was probable that many of tiiose who thus parted 
 would meet no more. The noble sport of hunting the buffalo is 
 not a thing to be done in a corner. The herd must be sought in the 
 broad pastures, where the game is won by the fleet-footed horse, 
 and the swift arrow. All concealment was to be thrown aside ; 
 the secret paths of the mountain, its nooks and hiding places, were 
 to be abandoned, and the hunters were to ride forth in the light of 
 day, upon a plain broad and level as the ocean. Like a little 
 fleet of defenceless merchantmen, venturing upon a sea swarming 
 with hostile cruisers, their best chance of escape lay in the possi- 
 bility of passing unnoticed. Should they meet any of the numer- 
 ous bands of the Blackfeet, who roved over the same plains, they 
 must fly with scarcely a hope that all would escape, or fight with 
 the certainty of being overmatched by superior numbers. 
 
 Nor was there more safety for those who remained in the 
 mountains. Although so poor as to possess nothing to tempt the 
 spoiler, their enemies pursued them with an eagerness for which 
 it would be difficult to assign an adequate motive, to those who 
 are unacquainted with the savage character, and who could 
 scarcely understand how the mere lust of carnage, whetted by 
 continual indulgence, becomes a master passion of the soul, irre- 
 spective of any desire for plunder or conquest, or of any present 
 or prospective advantage. Neither infancy, nor imbecility, nor 
 sex, afTords any protection ; as man bruises the head of the ser- 
 pent, so does the Indian crush the offspring of his enemy ; and the 
 absence of the warrior only entices the brutal destroyer to seek 
 his prey with redoubled diligence. 
 
 Yet with such perils lowering on every side, the Flatheads 
 were apparently free from care. If they thought of the casual- 
 ties which might sever the dearest ties, the reflection had lost the 
 freshness, which gives poignancy to sorrow, and had become fa- 
 miliar by frequent contemplation. The men were pointing their 
 arrows, or decorating their persons with paints and feathers ; and 
 the women were attending to their domestic employments, with 
 as much tranquillity as if they, with their sons and husbands, had 
 already passed through the dark valley of the shadow of death, 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 7 
 
 and were now resting in the happy hunting grounds of the spirif 
 land. 
 
 Having made these explanations for the benefit of such of our 
 readers as may not be familiar with the society and manners of 
 the Aborigines, we proceed to the business of our story. At a 
 spot where the waters of the rivulet had collected into a transpa- 
 rent pool, stood a young girl, who had just filled a skin with wa- 
 ter, and was about to return with her burthen — for the young fe- 
 males of this nation, like the Hebrew maids of old, are employed 
 in all the various offices of domestic labour, and strange as it m.ay 
 seem, to introduce a heroine thus engaged, our regard for the sa- 
 cred obligations of truth, obliges us to state the fact, as we find it. 
 It was Bachitucky, or the White Cherry Blossom, the daughter 
 of the Peace Chief, the personage having the highest place of au- 
 thority within the precincts of the village, and she excelled all the 
 maidens of the village in stature and beauty. The superiority 
 of her charms were universally admitted, and what was equally 
 remarkable she understood her own advantages quite as well as 
 others, and improved them by an attention to neatness and coi- 
 tume which was not usual even in the best circles of the Fiat- 
 heads. As she turned from the pool, a youth stood before her, 
 armed, but not painted, nor wearing any of the ornaments appro- 
 priate to the Indian warrior. He evidently sought an interviev^', 
 which the girl did not seem to avoid, and both stood for a moment 
 in silence. It was an awkward situation, as any gentleman will 
 testify, who has found himself in the presence of his lady love, 
 having something special to say, but wanting boldness to say it. 
 She was the first to break silence, and laughed coquettishly, as 
 she inquired : 
 
 " Why does Ishtakka stand in the way — has he anything to 
 say to the White Cherry Blossom V 
 
 " Not much," replied the youth, in the brief and pointed style 
 of his people. " I have sought you in marriage and have been 
 refused. For three days I hunted on the great plain, and at last 
 killed a fine antelope, which I carried last night, as soon as it was 
 dark, to the lodge of the Peace Chief. I laid it on the ground be- 
 fore the lodge, and retired a short distance, and seated myself on 
 the ground, to watch v/hether my present would be accepted. 
 
8 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 Bachitucky's mother passed out of the tent, and returned, but took 
 no notice of the antelope. Then I knew that Ishtakka was con- 
 sidered as a dog, who was not worthy to marry the daughter of 
 the Peace Chief." 
 
 " The Peace Chief does not know Ishtakka," rejoined the girl. 
 " He has never seen him among the braves in the buffalo hunt, 
 nor heard him recount his deeds at the war pole." 
 
 " I understand," replied the youth sarcastically — " Bachitucky 
 is very beautiful, and her mother would marry her to a great 
 chief. She is a wise mother." 
 
 " Ishtakka is a fool," said the girl ; " every mother wishes her 
 daughter to marry a man who can protect her, and hunt for her." 
 
 " I am as able to hunt as others," exclaimed Ishtakka vehe- 
 mently. " There is not a brave in the nation that can ride better 
 than I, unless it be Incillo, the war chief, who surpasses all men. 
 I am not a coward. Whose fault is it that I have not struck an 
 enemy ? They say I am too young, and will not let me ride with 
 the braves." 
 
 *' If Ishtakka is too young to go to war, he is not old enough to 
 marry." 
 
 " Very well ; I will go to war. I vv'ill hang the scalp of a 
 Blackfoot upon the war pole in the village. I will kill a buffalo, 
 and bring the meat and the skin to the lodge of the Peace Chief, 
 Then I will ask him aojain for his daughter." 
 
 " Now you speak wisely," replied the girl. " When you are 
 mounted on a fine horse, with your face painted, your neck hung 
 with the claws of the grisly bear, and your head dressed with the 
 feathers of the war eagle, then the White Cherry Blossom will be 
 glad. She will say the Master of Life has given Ishtakka a bold 
 heart." 
 
 " And will you listen to me when I am counted among the 
 braves ?" 
 
 " I have no cars to listen to young men, when they speak of 
 marriage," said the maiden, and then taking the knife from the 
 belt of her suitor, she plucked a lock of her raven hair, and tying 
 it firmly round the hilt, added, " When Ishtakka goes into bat- 
 tle, let him look at that lock of hair, and it will make him strong. 
 The White Cherry Blossom cannot promise to be his wife, be- 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 cause she is the daughter of a chief who will give her to whora 
 he pleases, but she will not marry willingly, until Ishtakka 
 comes to claim her." 
 
 So saying, the maiden passed on, and Ishtakka went to seek 
 the chief, Incillo. Now Incillo was the general, or war chief, of 
 his nation, and in consequence of his abilities, and popularity, was 
 in fact the ruler, whose word was law, though the Peace Chief 
 who was an old man, presided in the council, and was also called 
 Father. 
 
 This leader having ascended to a commanding eminence, stood 
 gazing over the plain that lay extended to the eastward of his re- 
 treat, scanning with practised eye, every dark spot, and every ob- 
 ject that seemed to move upon the verdant surface. He was a 
 man whose appearance would have pointed him out to a casual 
 observer, as a ruling chief. Not tall, but muscular, his round 
 compact form, and well-shaped limbs, exhibited those just propor- 
 tions which combine strength with activity, and his bearing was 
 that of the warrior. His countenance wore that expression of 
 simplicity and benevolence, that so often characterizes the physiog- 
 nomy of a man of superior intelligence, whose sagacity has ele- 
 vated him above the prejudices of his time and country. Neither 
 fear, nor hatred, nor any bad passion, was depicted upon his fea- 
 tures, whose frank, but sedate and quiet character, was touched 
 with a reflective cast, that indicated habits of thought, and the 
 consciousness of responsibility. However reckless his followers 
 might be, he was evidently one whose well-balanced mind was 
 awake to the duties and circumstances of his station. The patri- 
 arch of his people, he discharged the office with the kindness and 
 vigilance of the parent, tempered with the severe authority of the 
 chief He was a hospitable man, and such was the frankness of 
 his manners, that the stranger was at once impressed with confi- 
 dence in his good faith ; while his cheerfulness, his fondness for 
 the athletic sports of his people, and his intelligence, made him an 
 agreeable companion. 
 
 Retired from his people, the chief was reconnoitering the sur- 
 rounding country, and revolving in his mind the plan of the pro- 
 jected march, when Ishtakka stood before him — a tall, lad who 
 
 2* 
 
10 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 had attained the height of manhood, while his form and address 
 were those of the boy. 
 
 The chief briefly asked the purport of his visit. 
 
 " I am no longer a boy," was the reply, " I wish to go with the 
 braves to hunt the buffalo." 
 
 " Those who go to hunt on the great plain," replied the chief, 
 " may chance to fall in with the Blackfeet, and instead of killing 
 buffalo, will be obliged to fight in defence of their lives." 
 
 " It is well," replied the youth, " Lshtakka is not afraid." 
 
 " I should hope that lshtakka does not know what it is to be 
 afraid. But there is something more than courage required, to 
 make a hunter and a brave." 
 
 " I can ride the wild horse that has just been caught," replied 
 the youth, " and when at full speed I can hit the antelope with my 
 arrow." 
 
 " That is well," said the chief, " but the brave who follows In- 
 cillo, must be wise and very prudent. He must be cunning and 
 quick-sighted, expert in watching the arts of the enemy, and skil- 
 ful in devising schemes to defeat them." 
 
 lshtakka remained silent for a moment, and then said modest- 
 ly, " These things I expect to learn from seeing them practised. 
 If I follow the Great Chief, will I not be instructed by his exam- 
 ple — for who is so wise as Incillo ?" 
 
 The chief replied, " My son speaks wisely ; it is a good way for 
 the young men to learn by observing their elder brothers ; but we 
 do not trust any one to take upon himself the character of a brave 
 until he has proved himself worthy. What has lshtakka ever 
 done? Has he ever struck a Blackfoot ? Has he taken their 
 horses ? Have their women, when busied about the camp fire, 
 heard his war-whoop breaking suddenly upon their ears, like the 
 thunder of the great Manito ?" 
 
 lshtakka was abashed, and knew not what to reply to the great 
 chief. After a pause, he said, " It is this that makes me ashamed. 
 I have hitherto been a boy, and have associated only with chil- 
 dren and women ; I now feel strong, and wish to earn a name. 
 I am willing to be tried. If my father will allow me to follow 
 the braves to the great plain, he shall see whether I can use my 
 arms like a man." 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 11 
 
 "It is well," replied the chief: ''go, young man, and get 
 ready." 
 
 Two days afterwards, the band of hunters, led by Incillo, were 
 encamped upon the prairie, far from the place at which they had 
 left their tribe, who had also removed in an opposite direction. 
 The spot chosen for their hunting camp had little to recommend 
 it. A small stream trickling along a ravine, and a copse, scarce- 
 ly visible above the level of the plain, furnished water for the 
 jaded horses, and a covert for temporary concealment, should 
 danger appear in the distant perspective. At present, not an ob- 
 ject was seen moving on the broad expanse — neither buffalo nor 
 Blackfeet Indians. The hunters were occupied much after the 
 fashion of any party of sportsmen, who find a poor lodging after a 
 hard day's travel : some snored on the grass, some were examiu- 
 ing the galled backs of their steeds, some repairing their weapons, 
 a few were chewing some wretched remnants of jerked meat, and 
 the remainder, though they uttered no complaints, exhibited in 
 their looks the impatience and dejection of hungry men. 
 
 The chief, calling Ishtakka to him, walked apart from the band, 
 and then addressed him as follows :* 
 
 " It is necessary for a youth to prove his manhood, before he 
 can be permitted to associate with braves. He must show that 
 he may be trusted, and that he is wise to contrive the means to 
 do things that are difBcult. I require of you a small matter ; see 
 that it be well done. To-night, when all are sleeping, separate 
 yourself from the band, and return to the camp of our people. 
 Enter it secretly, so that no one shall discover you. In the lodge 
 of the Peace Chief, directly over the entrance, hangs a knife which 
 he values highly as a present from Sublette, the great while 
 trader; at the other end of the lodge is usually placed the pipe 
 which the Peace Chief uses, when he invites his friends to a feast. 
 Bring the knife and the pipe to me ; and remember that all this 
 must be done so secretly, that even the owl who looks out from 
 his hiding place in the night, shall not see a form move, nor hear 
 the sound of a footstep." 
 
 "But if I should be discovered — " 
 
 * See Appendix, No. I 
 
12 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 " Then you will have failed in what you undertook. The 
 braves, if they suspect the truth, will laugh at you for attempting 
 the exploit of a man, while you are yet a boy ; if they do not find 
 out that you returned by my permission, they will despise you as 
 one who deserted a hunting party, that he might return home to 
 steal — the Peace Chief will beat you for seeking to rob his lodge, 
 the women will call upon you to carry their burthens, and the 
 boys will say, there is one who is too lazy to hunt, and not smart 
 enough to steal.'' 
 
 " And this my father calls a small matter." 
 " It is so, for one who has a bold heart, and a light foot." 
 " I will bring the knife and the pipe," said Ishtakka, " or else 
 the great chief shall never see me again." 
 
 That night Ishtakka left the camp secretly, and took up his 
 solitary journey towards the mountains. When he arrived within 
 a few miles of the place where the tribe had been encamped, he 
 abandoned his horse, and v/ent forward with stealthy steps towards 
 the camp ground, thinking it possible that their departure might 
 have been delayed. As he approached the spot with cautious 
 steps, warily listening to catch any sound that might float on the 
 air, and throwing watchful glances in every direction, he espied 
 the fresh mark of a horse's foot upon the ground. He stopped, 
 and looked around with intense anxiety, not daring to move lest 
 the echo of his own footstep should betray him. All was still. 
 He advanced a few steps, carefully examining the ground, which 
 was hard and stony, and was enabled by his native cunning and 
 keen eye, to ascertain that several horses had passed recently to- 
 wards the place of encampment. Uncertain what course to pur- 
 sue, he paused to consider. TliC tracks might be those of stray 
 animals seeking their former home, or of stragglers from his own 
 tribe, or of enemies pursuing the Flatheads to their new retreat. 
 In the latter case there was danger to the tribe, while he stood 
 personally in immediate and imminent peril. Even at that mo- 
 ment, the keen eye of a Blackfoot scout might be resting upon 
 him, the bow might be bent to send an arrow to his heart ; which- 
 ever way he turned, he might step into an ambush prepared for 
 him. But he scorned to retreat, and the idea of abandoning the 
 adventure entered not his head. Another step brought him to a 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 13 
 
 projecting angle of the rock, which concealed the site of the late 
 camp, and peeping cautiously from behind this buttress, he discover- 
 ed that his people had deserted the spot. Not a vestige of the village 
 remained ; but as his eye scanned the scene, in search of some 
 object which might convey intelligence on the subject now upper- 
 most in his thoughts, it fell suddenly on a group whose appear- 
 ance chilled him to the heart. Under the shadow of the same 
 projection against which he leaned, and but a i'ew yards distant 
 from him, sat half a dozen Blackfoot warriors, decorated with war 
 paint, and fully armed, while their jaded horses, with heads and 
 tails drooped, stood panting around them. They looked like men 
 who had performed a forced march, upon some secret enterprise, 
 and whose thoughts were even now intent upon striking a sudden 
 blow. 
 
 One glance satisfied the shuddering youth, who shrunk back, 
 and began to retire silently from a spot fraught with dangers so 
 appalling. Regulating his flight with caution and presence of 
 mind, he stepped so lightly that not an echo rose from his stealthy 
 tread. He soon began to breathe more freely. His courage rose, 
 and while he reflected upon the most prudent means to avoid the 
 danger that threatened himself, he began also to think whether 
 he might not turn this accident to advantage, by averting the 
 blow which threatened his tribe. He resolved to make the at- 
 tempt, and being intimately acquainted with the passes of the 
 mountain, in that neighbourhood, began to ascend the precipice. 
 It was not difficult for one so young and active, to gain the height, 
 and he soon was perched upon an overhanging crag, immediate- 
 ly over the spot where the Blackfeet were seated, watching their 
 motions, and longing with all the avidity of his race for some 
 means to annoy or alarm them. While thus situated, he chanced 
 to place his foot upon a large fragment of rock, which yielded to 
 the pressure ; a sudden thought struck him, and stooping down, 
 he succeeded in shoving it from its place. Down went the mass, 
 rebounding from crag to crag, crushing the bushes that impeded 
 its way, and falling in the valley with a loud crash. Upon the 
 first alarm, the Indian warriors started up, and sprung upon their 
 horses ; at the same instant, terrific yells assailed their ears, from 
 various directions, for Ishtakka had no sooner despatched his mis- 
 
14 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 sile, than he uttered a succession of loud and long whoops, which 
 repeated by a hundred echos, fell upon the valley like the battle 
 cry of a host. The enemy waited not to ascertain the cause, or 
 the magnitude of the danger, but urging their horses to full speed, 
 scampered down the valley in the greatest panic. 
 
 Ish-tak-ka laughed at the discomfiture of the Blackfoot warri- 
 ors, and considered this happy relief from a danger so threatening, 
 an omen of the most auspicious promise ; for the Indian believes 
 the result of every adventure to depend as much on good fortune, 
 as on good conduct, and is applauded for success, without much 
 regard to the means by which it is obtained. And he went for- 
 ward rejoicing in the conviction that he was a lucky man. 
 
 Again he resumed his solitary way up the glen, in search of his 
 people, seeking for their trail upon the ground, and using every pos- 
 sible vigilance to conceal himself from any stragglers who might be 
 loitering in the valley, as well as from the watchmen that should 
 be posted on the heights. His progress was slow and painful, but 
 patience and perseverance are cardinal virtues in the Indian 
 code of honour, and he felt while thus creeping stealthily upon 
 the haunt of his people, an assurance of the distinction that 
 awaited his success, as firm as that of the warrior when preparing 
 for battle, and that gave a pleasing glow of excitement to his toil. 
 
 After several days of weary travel, and nights of brief slum- 
 ber, he found himself in the neighbourhood of the camp, about 
 which he hovered while daylight lasted, making such observa- 
 tions as might be necessary for his purpose, and when night threw 
 over the wilderness, the curtain which usually affords security to 
 guilt, while it sometimes lends a shield to valour, the young In- 
 dian prepared to intrude himself by stealth into the guarded re- 
 treat of his own people. Having ascertained, during the day, the 
 positions of the watchmen, it was not difficult for the active and 
 ardent youth to avoid them ; and at the midnight hour he stood in 
 the midst of the camp. 
 
 Wayworn and hungry, a less determined individual might have 
 lingered to repose, or to procure the means of satisfying the pain- 
 ful cravings of appetite. But Ishtakka dared not yield to the 
 temptation. All his hopes of success and reputation were at 
 stake ; every thing he held dear in life depended on the steadiness 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 15 
 
 of pui-pose, with which he should complete an enterprise, prose- 
 cuted thus far with vigour. He had doubtless received previous 
 lessons in the art of self-denial, for the earliest maxims inculca- 
 ted upon the Indian mind are those which teach implicit obedience 
 to their superiors, and to the laws of the tribe, and a rigid subjec- 
 tion of their passions. It is this discipline which produces the 
 forbearance that passes with casual observers for apathy of tem- 
 perament ; for when the restraints which cause it are removed, 
 the savage gives way to rage, to appetite, or to indolence, not 
 only like other men, but often to a degree unknown in other forms 
 of society. Ishtakka, therefore, like the Spartan boy who carried 
 the fox in his bosom, bore the gnawings of hunger and the pangs 
 of fatigue, without a murmur, and moved steadily on to the 
 achievement of his purpose. 
 
 He stood in the camp of a fierce clan, who were surrounded 
 by all the guards that experience and caution could suggest, and 
 who slept with arms upon their persons, ready to start up on the 
 slightest alarm. Accustomed to frequent and sudden attacks, 
 they slept lightly. The bark of a dog, the neigh of a horse, the 
 cracking of a dried twig, under the foot of the intruder, reaching 
 some watchful ear, would startle the whole band, and expose him 
 either to instant death, or a disgraceful discovery. Darkness 
 and the silence of the grave were around him, and as he stole 
 with noiseless steps, from lodge to lodge, more than one watch- 
 dog crept stealthily towards him, and then scenting a friend, re- 
 turned to his lair. 
 
 It was not long before he discovered the lodge of the Peace 
 Chief, and after pausing a moment to satisfy himself that the in- 
 mates slumbered, he entered it. All was dark and silent. By 
 the faint light of a few expiring embers, th'at glimmered in the 
 fire-place in the centre of the lodge, he discovered the Peace 
 Chief and his family, lying with their feet towards the fire, all 
 buried in slumber. The chief roused himself for a moment, and 
 turned his face towards the intruder, who carelessly threw him- 
 self on the ground, as if to sleep, and was taken for one of the 
 family. While thus reclining, the youth surveyed the interior of 
 the lodge, and marked the exact position of the articles he was 
 seeking to purloin, and then again approached the fire, which he 
 
16 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 carefully covered up. As he moved, hov/ever, for this purpose, 
 he accidentally touched the foot of the chief's daughter — the very 
 one whose hand he sought in marriage — and she, not dreaming 
 that any other than one of her own family had thus trespassed on 
 her repose, gave unconsciously a slight kick, — we will not say a 
 graceful one, — which lighted full upon the shoulder of the intru- 
 der, as he stooped over the embers, and almost threw him off of 
 his centre ; indeed, it well nigh upset his gravity in more than 
 one sense, for he could with difficulty restrain himself from burst- 
 ing into a paroxysm of laughter. Resolving to take advantage 
 of this incident, and, as our party politicians say, make capital 
 out of it, he gently seized the foot of the sleeping girl, and drew 
 from it the moccasin, which he secured in his girdle. Pausing 
 again until all was quiet, he then stepped lightly but quickly to 
 the spots where the articles he sought were deposited, and having 
 secured them, made his escape. 
 
 A week afterwards Ishtakka, having returned to the spot where 
 he had left the Flathead band of hunters, and thence followed 
 the trail of their subsequent wanderings, presented himself before 
 Incillo. He modestly recounted his adventures, and in confirma- 
 tion of his success, produced the knife and the pipe of the Peace 
 Chief, which he delivered to his leader. 
 
 " I will take them and return them to the Peace Chief," said 
 Incillo. " He will be glad that one of our young men has shown 
 himself so worthy." 
 
 " I have done something more," added the youth, smiling arch- 
 ly, and showing the girl's moccasin, " 1 took this from the foot of 
 the Peace Chief's daughter, as she slept, and brought it with me, 
 to show my father that he had given me an easy task, and that 
 I was willing to do mOre than he commanded." 
 
 " My son has done well," rejoined the chief. " He speaks wise- 
 ly also when he says he has done but little. But I am satisfied, 
 for he who does small things well, may be trusted with greater 
 matters. Go now and rest until to-morrow ; I will then employ 
 you in something that will require more manhood, than taking a 
 pipe from the lodge of a peaceable old man, or a moccasin from 
 the foot of a sleeping girl." 
 
 Ishtakka felt somewhat humbled, at the slight commendation 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 17 
 
 which had been accorded to his exploit, and as he retired to seek 
 the repose which he needed, pondered on the words of his chief. 
 
 Being now in the neighbourhood of large herds of buffalo, the 
 whole band rode forth early the next morning upon a grand hunt. 
 They soon reached a commanding point, from whence they could 
 see the plain covered for miles with these animals, thousands and 
 tens of thousands of which grazed quietly upon the vast natural 
 meadow. The Indians had been careful to approach from the 
 leeward, so that the sagacious herd had not scented them upon 
 the tainted breeze ; and they now sat upon their horses gazing upon 
 the rich scene, for a brief space, while they divided their force to 
 attack the game to the best advantage. Ishtakka looked upon 
 the inspiring prospect with delight, and longed for the commence- 
 ment of the sport, when the hunters who were now silently surround- 
 ing a portion of the herd, would be seen rushing upon them at full 
 speed, from various directions, when all the energy and action of 
 man and horse would be exerted, and the most prodigious feats of 
 horsemanship and archery would be displayed by these eager 
 sportsmen. He panted to be among them, and was wondering to 
 which of the various parties that were filing off, he would be as- 
 signed, when Incillo, who, having given his orders, was quietly 
 looking on, called him to him, and turning his back on the scene 
 of the proposed hunt, rode slowly off in the opposite direction. 
 
 " Let Ishtakka listen," said the chief, as they rode side by 
 side. 
 
 The youth signified attention, by the utterance of a single sylla- 
 ble, well known to those who have mingled in the society of the 
 Rocky Mountains. 
 
 " Many days journey from here, and in. that direction," con- 
 tinued the chief, pointing with his hand, " there is a camp of our 
 mortal enemies the Blackfeet. Among them is a war chief, who 
 is called the ' Killer of men,' on account of his numerous victo- 
 ries, and his own personal success in battle. He is also cele- 
 brated as the owner of the ' Black Steed of the Prairies,'* a re- 
 markably fleet, strong and beautiful horse, of a deep sable, with- 
 out spot or blemish. This noble animal was taken wild upon the 
 
 * See Appendix, No. II. 
 
18 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 plains, where he was the leader of a herd, and by his fine form 
 and carriage had attracted the attention of all the hunters. There 
 was not a brave who did not long to possess this fine steed, who, 
 as he swept gracefully over the plain, outstripped his fellows in 
 swiftness, as much as he excelled them in beauty ; and many 
 attempts were made to catch him, but all in vain, until he fell into 
 the hands of his present master, who soon rendered him perfectly 
 manageable.". 
 
 " Ishtakka has an eye, and knows a good horse when he sees 
 him. He cannot mistake any other for the Black Steed of the 
 Prairies. Should he see him among a thousand, he will remark 
 his small head carried high above all others, his slender ear point- 
 ed forwards, his large eye full of fire and courage, his fine limbs, 
 and a tail that trails like that of the fox. Now listen to my 
 words : Ishtakka would be ranked among the braves. Let him 
 show that his heart is bold, that his hand is quick, and that his 
 foot is so light that even the dry leaves do not rustle as he walks. 
 My son must bring me the horse of the Blackfoot chief. I have 
 no more to say," 
 
 " Incillo has spoken," was the brief reply of the youth, who, 
 perplexed by the difficulty of the enterprise allotted him, remained 
 lost in reflection, while the chief dashed off* at full speed towards 
 his people, and was soon engaged in the animating chase of the 
 buffaloes, who were now flying in every direction.* 
 
 No light adventure was that which our young hero had under- 
 taken. It was not merely the fire of youthful courage, burning 
 for distinction, nor the audacity of inexperienced valour, under- 
 rating the danger of the enterprise, nor yet the brazen front that 
 would look down opposition by seeming to despise it, that could 
 ensure success in such an exploit. The sage Incillo knew well 
 that courage is the common possession of all who are bred in the 
 habits of a military people, and that the more valilable qualities 
 of coolness and sagacity, are to be implanted and cultivated by 
 discipline — by that experience and self-reliance, which renders 
 the warrior alert, vigilant, and fertile of expedient. He imposed, 
 therefore, upon the youth, a task which would bring into exercise 
 
 * See Appendix, No. III. 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 19 
 
 all his mental and physical resources, and which, instead of giv- 
 ing play to an impetuous courage, would require caution, pa- 
 tience, and self-control. The adventurer must travel alone over 
 a vast tract of wilderness, providing subsistence for himself and 
 his horse without unnecessary exposure, and eluding any parties 
 of the enemy he might chance to meet. He must find the village 
 of the Blackfeet, and if that tribe should have moved, or the chief 
 he sought to despoil be absent, must follow their trail over the 
 boundless prairie, or through the defiles of the mountain, exposed 
 continually to capture and death. He must enter by stealth the 
 well-guarded camp of a hostile people, seize and remove his in- 
 tended prize, and at last, effect his escape from the inevitable pur- 
 suit of a numerous and well-mounted band, expert in all the 
 strategy of savage warfare. 
 
 The motives of human action, and all the springs of thought, 
 are so dependent upon the modifications of society, that it is 
 scarcely possible to reason confidently upon the one, where we 
 are not familiar with the other. It would be difficult therefore to 
 convey to any sentimental or romantic reader, — supposing that 
 reader to be a civilized man or maiden, — any adequate idea of 
 the feelings of a young savage, pricking forth like an errant 
 knight upon his first adventure, with a vast field of unknown 
 perils before him, and lady-love at home, who was waiting to be 
 made happy by his success, or wretched by his failure. 
 
 We may suppose, however, that Ishtakka went forward upon 
 his almost hopeless journey, with feelings such as usually accom- 
 pany the youth upon his first battle-field — with a trepidation al- 
 layed by the reflection, that as thousands have passed harmless 
 through the same danger, he would probably be equally fortunate, 
 though he could scarcely imagine the possibility of escaping the 
 natural result of such perils — with a hope, that as laurels had 
 been gathered upon such fields, he too would gain the proudest 
 honours, though wholly ignorant how they should be won. Thus 
 are the visions of youth gladdened by the happy faculty of turn- 
 ing the eye from gloomy realities to bright illusions — of fixing the 
 gaze upon a distant and alluring object, while the obstacles that 
 lie near are overlooked. And thus Ishtakka went boldly for- 
 ward, hoping and believing he should win, though he scarcely 
 
20 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 knew how or where to seek the prize, and had matured no plan 
 to guide his steps. He depended on his luck, and where is the 
 light-hearted youth, who ever doubted his own good fortune ? 
 
 Passing over many long days of tedious travel, and nights of 
 solitary repose, varied chiefly by storm and sunshine, by hunger 
 and repletion, behold our hero in the vicinity of the enemy's 
 camp. He has abandoned his horse, and is lurking about in 
 holes and hiding places, watching the Blackfeet, who are riding 
 to and fro over the plain. When they approach him he creeps 
 into a ravine, or conceals himself in a thicket until they pass, — 
 then he looks out again and watches every passer with a keen and 
 anxious eye. Happily their dogs have not scented him, fbr if dis- 
 covered, speedy and sorrowful would be the end of his adventure. 
 
 Among those who rode near the place of his concealment, was 
 the owner of the Black Steed, and Ishtakka trembled with ex- 
 citement as he beheld the object for which he had made so bold a , 
 venture. He marked the noble animal, graceful and full of fire, 
 whose hoofs seemed to rebound with an elastic spring, as they 
 touched the ground, and the rider, a fine warlike man, of large 
 frame and stern countenance, whose bearing was that of a mighty 
 chief. Great would seem the disparity between that proud war- 
 rior, and the weary and squalid boy, who dared to come as a 
 spoiler to his dwelling. 
 
 That night as Ishtakka sat, viewing the expiring fires of the 
 camp, and pondering in his mind how to effect an entrance, a 
 number of women, carrying burthens, passed along the path near 
 which he was sitting. Instantly forming his plan, he seized a 
 small log that lay near, wrapped it in his blanket, and threw it 
 over his back, in a manner to resemble the loads borne by the 
 women. Bending his body forward, he slyly joined the company; 
 the tired and heavy-laden women not noticing the addition to their 
 numbers. Adroitly placing himself in the rear, where he would 
 attract least notice, he entered the village with them, and as they 
 separated to go to their respective lodges, he went apart, and sat 
 down by the trunk of a large tree. 
 
 Soon all was silent, and he began to wander about the village 
 in search of the Black Steed. Here and there he met persons, 
 wrapped in their blankets, and moving with noiseless steps : he 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 21 
 
 did not stop to inquire their business, and they, imitating his good 
 manners, or equally willing to avoid recognition, suffered him to 
 pass unchallenged. He found several places where groups of 
 horses were secured, but without discovering the one he sought ; 
 and fearing to excite attention by too minute a scrutiny, he was 
 about to abandon the village for the night, when he perceived a 
 horse standing before one of the lodges. Walking boldly up, he 
 discovered, to his great joy, that it was the one he was seeking ; 
 the colour, as nearly as he could tell by the murky starlight, was 
 black, the hair, unlike that of most of the Indian horses, was 
 smooth and silky to ihe touch, and the form was not to be mista- 
 ken. The entrance of the lodge was unclosed, and as he stooped 
 down to seek the end of the halter for the purpose of unloosing it; 
 he discovered, to his surprise, that it was held in the hand of a 
 sleeping man. 
 
 It was no doubt the bold and wary chief, the Killer of many 
 men, who, in consequence of previous attempts to steal so valua- 
 ble an animal, had adopted this singular plan of securing him. 
 He paused to consider how he should separate the halter from the 
 hand that graspea it firmly even in sleep ; and now when about 
 to succeed or to fail, in the scheme which had been prosecuted 
 through such peril and fatigue, and when a single movement of 
 his body, would consign him to immediate death, or gain a trophy 
 which would place him high in honour among the braves of his 
 nation, a nervous tremour shook his frame, and for a moment 
 rendered him incapable of action. As he paused, to regain com- 
 posure, the tempting thought occurred, of enhancing the brilliancy 
 of the exploit, by the death of the chief. A new vigour braced 
 his nerves. He grasped his knife ; his finger touched the lock 
 of hair placed there to remind him of the prize he sought ; a step 
 brought him within striking distance ; he stooped over the tall 
 form of the slumberer, and with a rapid blow buried his knife in 
 the heart of his victim. Thrice did he repeat the blow, in quick 
 succession, while he grasped the dying man so as to suppress the 
 sound of his voice. In a moment all was over. He took the 
 scalp from the slaughtered chief, and disengaging the halter from the 
 now powerless hand, led away his prize. There was less difficul- 
 
22 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 ty in leaving the encampment ; all were asleep but the watch- 
 men, and these made no question of one passing outwards. 
 
 When Ishtakka returned to his people, several weeks had elaps- 
 ed since his departure, and the place of encampment had again 
 been changed. But he traced them from place to place, and 
 when he rode into the village mounted on the Black Steed, many 
 looked at him, and exchanged glances, but no one asked him any 
 question. He alighted at the lodge of his mother, who, without 
 speaking, led away the horse. Entering the lodge, he sat down, 
 without noticing any one, threw aside his arms and remained si- 
 lent until his mother placed food before him, which he devoured 
 greedily, for he had not eaten any thing for several days. Then 
 raising his head, he spoke to one and another of the family, as if 
 he had been absent but a few hours, and then, gradually, in reply 
 to their questions, detailed some of the prominent events that had 
 occurred to him. Such is the custom of the American Indian. 
 
 Presently he saw that the chiefs and principal men had seated 
 themselves round the war pole, and he went and took his seat 
 among them. Incillo lighted a pipe, and it was passed round. 
 Then the chief said, 
 
 "Ishtakka has taken the Black Steed of the Prairies." 
 
 " He has also struck the Killer of Men," added the youth, dis- 
 playing the scalp. 
 
 He then narrated his adventures, which so delighted his audi- 
 tors, that they danced the war dance, and Ishtakka was declared 
 worthy to go to war with the braves. He offered the black horse 
 to Incillo, but the chief insisted on his retaining the steed, which 
 he had won with such persevering courage. 
 
 And now Ishtakka, mounted on the Black Steed of the Prairies, 
 rode gallantly among the braves of his nation, exciting universal 
 envy and admiration, for no man was so well mounted, and the 
 grace and dexterity of his horsemanship could not be excelled. 
 It was a noble sight to see him in the chase, overtaking the buf- 
 falo with perfect ease, and riding fearlessly abreast of the fiercest 
 bull, guiding his horse by the inclination of his own body, and the 
 pressure of his heel, and discharging his arrows with fatal cer- 
 tainty. In vain did the enraged animal turn suddenly upon his 
 pursuer, with a fury that in most cases would have hurled horse 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 23 
 
 and rider upon the plain, for the Black Steed, with an instinct 
 equal to his spirit, would evade the attack by nimbly springing 
 aside, and by a few vigorous bounds would again place himself 
 in a position from which Ishtakka could discharge his arrows. 
 
 In the pursuit of an enemy, in battle or in flight, the young 
 warrior was equally fortunate ; his sagacious steed seemed on 
 every occasion to catch the spirit of his rider, or to possess a na- 
 tive sagacity and courage, which bore him into the thickest of the 
 battle and carried him triumphantly through every danger; 
 showing, in servitude, tlie same pride, which had marked him as 
 the noblest of his race, when he roved through his native pastures 
 as the leader of his herd. 
 
 After several successful expeditions, Ishtakka returned to the 
 village with his head ornamented by three feathers of the war 
 eagle, indicating the number of foes he had slain. So greatly 
 did the Flatheads pride themselves upon the precocious destruc- 
 tiveness of the young brave, that Incillo, the war chief, caused 
 several of his fattest dogs to be killed, and made a great feast, at 
 which they gave Ishtakka a new name of no less than fifty sylla- 
 bles, which signified, when interpreted, " He that stole the horse 
 of horses, and killed the killer of many men" — which name, how- 
 ever, on account of its inconvenient length, we shall not attempt 
 to use in this narrative, but adhere to that with which the reader 
 has become familiar. 
 
 These fine doings made a wonderful stir in the Flathead village, 
 and were not unobserved by the Peace Chief and his wife. 
 
 " We were very foolish," said she, " in not giving our daugh- 
 ter to Ishtakka. He is a fine young man ; what were you think- 
 ing of not to see it ? I always thought well of him." 
 
 " It was very foolish of you, sure enough," replied the hus- 
 band, " to refuse so good an offer. You know you always have 
 your own way." 
 
 So they both were satisfied with their own sagacity, and each 
 was vexed that the other had not been gifted with the power of 
 foreknowledge. But although the course of true love had, as 
 usual, not run smooth, the stream was neither exhausted nor divert- 
 ed from its destined channel, but was now rippling gayly along, 
 margined by flowers, and sparkling in the sunbeams of success. 
 
24 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 In the fulness of time the young brave renewed his suit, and was 
 accepted, and the marriage was solemnized immediately. 
 
 At a feast given on that occasion, several of the warriors re- 
 lated anecdotes of their adventures. Among others an old man 
 rose, and delivered a speech to the following effect :* 
 
 " Chiefs and braves ! I am an old man — my head is white — 
 I am like a tree blasted by lightning from the hand of the Master 
 of Life. But I was not always withered as I am now. Young 
 sprouts were nourished under my protection — they will show what 
 I was. It is not of myself that I am going to speak, but of one 
 that I nourished when he was a little child. 
 
 " Chiefs and brothers, listen ! Here stands our brother that 
 stole the horse of horses, and killed the killer of many men. 
 Listen ! 
 
 " He that speaks to you was once a young brave. He could 
 strike the enemy — the scalps of the Blackfeet were hung up in his 
 lodge — but his heart was soft — he had pity on a little boy. The 
 Master of Life put it in his heart to spare a small child from 
 death. Listen ! 
 
 " Fathers and brothers, listen ! We had struck the Blackfeet, 
 and they were not able to stand against us. We rushed into their 
 camp, in the night, and they fled. One bold woman having drop- 
 ped her child, turned back, and fought over it like a she-wolf. 
 She was knocked down, and left among the dead. I seized the 
 child, and was about to bury my knife in his body, when a good 
 bird whispered in my ear not to kill him. The good bird said, 
 He will surely become a great brave — the Great Spirit loves him, 
 and will make him an honour to the Flatheads. Then I listened 
 to that good bird, and brought the boy home, and gave him to our 
 brother the Arrow, who had lost a son. 
 
 " Fathers and brothers, I have not much more to say — listen ! 
 He that speaks to you told the Arrow what the good bird said ; so 
 he adopted the boy and brought him up as his own. The Arrow 
 is no more. His bones are white — his spirit is gone to the happy 
 land. His widow is alone, but the Great Spirit took pity on her. 
 That little boy that she took to be her son, has grown up to be a 
 great brave. There he stands ! 
 
 * See Appendix, No. IV. 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 25 
 
 *< Grey-headed fathers, and you too, my brothers, listen ! That 
 good bird did not lie. The boy has become a man. The Black- 
 feet have felt the weight of his war-club — his vv-ar-whoop has 
 made them tremble. He has taken the horse of horses from the 
 hand of their chief, and killed the killer of many men. I have 
 no more to say." 
 
 So it appeared that Ishtakka was by birth a Blackfoot. This 
 fact had been well known to all the Flatheads, yet they neither 
 loved nor trusted him the less ; nor was there any reason for want 
 of confidence, for he was as faithful to them as if he had been a 
 native. There is no feature in the savage character more singu- 
 lar than this. Hostile tribes hate each other with an excessive 
 rancour, which is cherished and handed down from one genera- 
 tion to another. Every art is used by the leaders to increase and 
 perpetuate this aversion ; and such is the antipathy existing be- 
 tween many tribes, that individuals have professed to know an 
 enemy in the dark, by the scent, or the touch, and to shrink from 
 each other's presence with a loathing, like that which some per- 
 sons feel towards a noxious reptile. They murder women and 
 children as men crush serpents, not from a sense of present dan- 
 ger, but out of hatred for the race. But if in a moment of ca- 
 price they resolve to spare the detested offspring of an enemy, it 
 becomes at once an object of fondness. The stain of birth is in- 
 stantly removed. The young stranger is so unreservedly adopt- 
 ed, as to become completely identified with the stock into which 
 he is engrafted. If Ishtakka knew his own origin, it is not prob- 
 able that the knowledge ever cost him a moment of uneasiness, 
 nor perhaps a moment of serious thought. 
 
 A few months only had elapsed after the events last narrated, 
 when the Flathead village was thrown into a panic, one morning, 
 by the news that the Black Steed was missing. He had been 
 secured in the very centre of the village, around which sentinels 
 watched in every direction ; yet he had been taken away, and no 
 trail was found to indicate the direction pursued by the spoiler. 
 Some shook their heads mysteriously, and whispered to each other 
 their suspicions that the Black Steed was a medicine — a spirit — 
 a manito, who had tarried with the Flatheads just as long as was 
 perfectly convenient and agreeable to himself, and had then van- 
 
 3 
 
26 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 ished, or transformed himself into some other shape. He might 
 be lurking near, in some den, in the form of a great rattlesnake, 
 or hovering over their heads in that of a vulture, or grinning at 
 them through the teeth of a raccoon, from an overhanging ledge 
 of rock. The old women thought it prudent to speak of him but 
 briefly, and in terms of marked respect. Several braves were 
 now ready to testify what had not been suggested before — that 
 they had often, when following the Black Steed, looked for his 
 tracks, but had uniformly been disappointed ; this wonderful 
 horse having the faculty of passing over the ground with the 
 swiftness of the wind, without leaving the print of his footsteps. 
 There were some veteran warriors, who could have told, had they 
 chosen, how horses had been taken with such adroitness as to 
 leave no mark nor sign to betray the hand of the marauder ; and 
 Tshtakka himself had no doubt that the Blackfeet, mortified by 
 the disgrace of having so noted an animal taken audaciously from 
 the midst of their encampment, had redeemed the character of 
 their nation by a recapture equally expert. But the medicine 
 men, and all the women, hooted at the idea of any human agency 
 in so mysterious an event, and the braves, whether convinced or 
 not, acquiesced in silence, as the men usually do every where 
 when the doctors and the women unite in opinion. 
 
 Ishtakka was a sorry man. He had lost the trophy of a val- 
 orous exploit — the talisman of a brilliant career. He was like the 
 shorn Sampson, who went to sleep a man of mighty strength, and 
 awoke from the lap of Delilah to a sense of comparative insignifi- 
 cance. He wandered about moodily for several days. He had 
 the best reasons in the world for believing the horse to be flesh 
 and blood, for he had fed and rode him, and almost lived in his 
 company, for several months, and he knew that the events which 
 had placed the animal in his possession, were quite as singular as 
 that which had caused so much wonder. But Indians are prone 
 to superstition, and when he recalled all the circumstances, his 
 convictions at times became unsettled, and he doubted whether he 
 might not have been the sport of some mischievous manito. 
 Finally he resolved to go in pursuit of the Black Steed ; and as 
 he was impressed with the idea that the proposed enterprise would 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 27 
 
 be difficult and dangerous, he determined to seek the protection of 
 the Great Spirit by prayer and abstinence. 
 
 Having admonished his wife of his intention, he laid aside all 
 his ornaments, blacked his face as one mourning under calamity, 
 and retired to a solitary place, where he remained three days 
 without food. A part of this time he spent in prayer to the Mas- 
 ter of Life, and in various incantations to disarm the malice of 
 evil manitos, and during the intervals between these exercises he 
 sate in silence, banishing sleep by torturing his flesh with thorns, 
 and by other cruel devices. Morning and evening he bathed, and 
 afterwards blacked his face, smeared his body with earth, placed 
 earth upon his head, and called upon the Master of Life to take 
 pity on him, and to drive away the bad manitos who had planned 
 his destruction. 
 
 On the morning of the fourth day he washed himself, and hav- 
 ing returned to his lodge, directed his wife to kill a dog and in- 
 vite his friends to a feast. A crier was accordingly sent out into 
 the village, who proclaimed that certain persons, whom he named, 
 were invited to the lodge of Ishtakka to partake of a feast which was 
 now ready, and advising them to come soon, and to bring their own 
 bowls and spoons. The guests were quickly assembled, and Ish- 
 takka appeared before them with a cheerful countenance, freshly 
 anointed with bear's oil, painted with vermilion, and adorned 
 with war feathers and trinkets. The canine feast was consumed, 
 but the entertainer said nothing of his design ; and when they had 
 smoked, the guests thanked him for the comfortable cheer they 
 had enjoyed, wished him good luck, and all dispersed to their own 
 lodges. The next morning Ishtakka was absent ; no one knew 
 whither he had gone, but all guessed that he was upori some dan- 
 gerous adventure. 
 
 Various are the perils that beset the solitary traveller in the 
 wilderness, and many there are who perish in the great forests 
 and upon the vast plains of Western America, though the greater 
 number of those who traverse them, avoid or escape the dangers 
 which would seem insurmountable to civilized men. When the 
 earth is covered v/ith snow, or parched by drought, those ani- 
 mals which furnish game to the hunter are no longer to be seen r 
 while at other times, even when surrounded by plenty, the loss 
 
28 THE WILDERNE»5S AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 of his weapons, or any injury which renders them Tiseless, de- 
 prives the lone travellerof the wilderness of the meart of subsist- 
 ence. 
 
 Ishtakka had his full share of difficulties. There were some 
 evil spirits who delighted to torment him, and at every step he ex- 
 perienced their malign influence. After travelling a few days 
 over verdant prairies, he came to a region of parched sand, that 
 was destitute of herbage, affording no food for man or beast. Two 
 vultures, who were probably malignant spirits in that shape, pur- 
 sued him for several days, hovering in the air above him by day, 
 and perching near him at night, awaiting the hour when they 
 might gorge themselves with the flesh of the worn-out traveller. 
 When he slept, these horrid creatures flapped their wings over 
 his head, and when he awoke it was to see their eyes gloating 
 upon him in hungry desire. His mouth was parched by thirst, 
 and his limbs emaciated by want of sustenance. His starved 
 horse became lame and galled, and at last sunk under him, and 
 then, leaving the expiring beast a prey to the vultures, Ishtakka 
 tottered along on foot. 
 
 Worn down and famished, the youth arrives at last at the 
 former camping ground of the Blackfeet, and finds the place de- 
 serted. He crawls about in search of some cast-off fragment of 
 food, or of some living or creeping thing that might be devoured, 
 and sustain for the present the life that was fast ebbing, but with- 
 out success. A gaunt dog, that ran howling away at the sight 
 of a rival tenant of the solitude, had gleaned the miserable leav- 
 ings of the departed horde. 
 
 At a distance he perceived a pole standing upright, with a 
 bunch of feathers waving at the top ; and creeping towards it, he 
 found it to be erected on a small, newly-made mound of earth, 
 indicating the grave of some distinguished person. He could go 
 no further ; and retiring into a thicket which might shelter him 
 from the night breeze, he laid down to sleep, and perhaps to die. 
 
 The sun had gone down, and the mellowed hues of twilight 
 were gathered over the landscape ; — the wind was hushed — not 
 a foot nor a wing stirred on the broad prairie, and all was still. 
 The tramp of men was heard — a party of Blackfoot braves slowly 
 approached, and arranging themselves around the grave, stood in 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 29 
 
 silence. At that moment a bird perched upon a neighbouring 
 tree, began to pour out the rich and full melody of his song; and 
 they who stood alwut the sepulchre listened in sadness, as if they 
 recognised a voice that sympathized in their grief. Then Ish- 
 takka knew that the grave was that of a great warrior ; that 
 the braves who had followed him in battle were gathered around 
 the spot where his remains were deposited, to do honour to his 
 memory, and that his spirit, in the shape of a bird, was speaking 
 to them, and showing how grateful was that homage from his 
 friends, and telling them he was happy in the land of the blessed.* 
 
 The mourners retired. One figure only remained ; it was a 
 woman who sate by the grave and wept bitterly. Ishtakka, re- 
 freshed a little by the cool breeze of the evening, crawled from 
 his hiding-place and sat down near her. Bodily anguish had 
 softened his heart, and he was touched by the sorrows of this poor 
 woman. She raised her head and looked for a moment towards 
 the intruder, and then resumed her wailing. After a while she said, 
 
 " Why do you sit there watching me ? Is it strange to see a 
 woman mourning by the grave of her husband ?" 
 
 " I am a stranger — a poor famished traveller — the sun and the 
 moon have risen and gone down several times since I have tasted 
 ,food — I am dying of thirst, and am too much exhausted to seek 
 for water." 
 
 " I pity you, but 1 cannot help you. I have crawled here to 
 die by the bones of the great chief, the Killer of many men.'' 
 
 " What name was that ?" inquired the youth with a broken 
 voice. 
 
 "Are you a Flathead, that his name makes you tremble?" 
 
 " I am a Flathead ; but the name you mention does not scare 
 me. I never feared a Blackfoot, living or dead. Iflhadthe 
 strength which once belonged to me, I would dance over the 
 bones of the Killer of Men, and laugh at the anger of his spirit ; 
 but it is not with me now as it once was, and I desire to lie down 
 in peace by the bones of my enemy." 
 
 " Vagabond and outcast ! how dare you speak thus of the 
 dead ! Get thee away from this place — hide thyself in the bushes, 
 
 * See Appendix, No. V. 
 
30 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 and die like a dog in a secret place. Do not stay here — are you 
 not afraid, villain of a Flathead, that his spirit will rise up and 
 crush you ?" 
 
 " Why should I fear him ?" retorted the youth ; " is a spirit to 
 be feared more than a living man ? Did he not fall by the hand 
 of a Flathead?" 
 
 "No one knows by whose hand he fell," said the woman an- 
 grily ; " some thieves crawled into our camp at night, stole away 
 his horse, and murdered the great chief. They were not men, 
 not braves, but cowardly thieves. They stabbed him while he 
 slept. But it was like the Flatheads — they do not face men in 
 open day. Once before — many years ago — they broke into our 
 hunting camp and seized upon my child — I had only one, a little 
 boy — I snatched up a club and fought by the side of my husband-— 
 there were but us two, and they were many ; but the Killer of 
 Men was very strong and beat them off — they ran away like 
 cowards, carrying our child, to murder him in cold blood, at 
 their leisure." 
 
 " And you never heard any more of the child ?" 
 
 "No, never." 
 
 A pause ensued. The woman again spoke, 
 
 " They were not allowed to keep the Black Steed — that is som* 
 comfort — our young men pursued the thieves, and brought back 
 the horse. It was determined that no one else should ever ride 
 him. He was killed and buried here* — the bones of the chief 
 were deposited in the same place — and this mound was raised over 
 them. The horse and rider are now together in the happy hunt- 
 ing grpunds." 
 "The woman ceased speaking. 
 
 After a pause the youth inquired, 
 
 " Had that child a remarkable scar on the left foot ?" 
 
 " Yes, he was badly scalded on tliat foot." 
 
 Then Ishtakka said, " Listen to me, I have something to say 
 before I die. It almost kills me to say it. I am too young to re- 
 member it, but this is what the Flatheads say. — Twenty years ago, 
 a Blackfoot woman stood over her child, with a war-club in her 
 
 * See Appendix, No. VI. 
 
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES. 31 
 
 liand, beating off the Flatheais, that sought to kill it. She was 
 struck down and left for dead, and the little boy was taken pris- 
 oner. A Flathead woman put him to her breast, and he knew no 
 other mother. He grew up among them, and became a bravo. I 
 am that boy." 
 
 The woman started. Her eyes were riveted on the expiring 
 youth, in an eager effort to ascertain the truth of his disclosure, 
 by tracing out on his features some mark of the lineage he as- 
 serted. 
 
 "Do not claim mc as your son," continued the young man, 
 " until you hear the name I bear among the Flatheads. Would 
 that the Great Spirit had crushed me under his heel, before I won 
 that dreadful name ! They call me, Him wlw stole the horse of 
 horses and killed the killer of many me?!." 
 
 " Dog of a Flathead !" exclaimed the woman, springing at him 
 with the ferocity of an enraged wolf, " do you dare to acknowl- 
 edge yourself as the murderer of hhn, and claim to be his son !" 
 
 The hapless Ishtakka spoke no more. His head v/as sunk 
 upon his father's grave, and he was breathing his last. 
 
 The wretched mother gazed upon her expiring son with min- 
 gled emotions of wonder, resentment, and pity. The long smoth- 
 ered fire of maternal love burst out anew. " Who shall blame 
 him ?" she exclaimed. " He was nursed in a den of serpents, who 
 gave him the poison that stung his father. - I will go with my son 
 to the land of spirits, and ask his father to forgive him !" 
 
 They who came to visit the grave the next day tound the dead 
 bodies of the mother and son clasped together, and although none 
 knew why they should be thus united in death, a suspicion of the 
 truth, induced the surviving relatives of the deceased to bujy the 
 bones of the deceased in the mound they had reared over the war- 
 like chief It was observed that the bird sang no more over that 
 lone grave in the wilderness. 
 
32 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 THE WAH BELT. 
 
 A LEGEND OF NORTH BEND 
 
 In the year 1786, there stood upon the margin of the Ohio, near 
 the mouth of the Miami, a small fortress, over which waved the 
 flag of the United States. The banner was that of a confederacy 
 which had just emerged from a successful struggle with one of 
 the most powerful nations of the world, and over which the illus- 
 trious Washington presided as Chief Magistrate. In the eye of 
 a military engineer, the fort v/ould not have deserved that name, 
 as it was a temporary structure, intended only to protect its small 
 garrison against a sudden attack by an Indian force. It was 
 composed of a series of log houses, opening upon an interior area, 
 while the outer sides, closely connected, formed a quadrangular 
 rampart, without apertures, except a single entrance, and a few 
 loop-holes from which to discharge fire-arms. The whole present- 
 ed the appearance of a single edifice, receiving light from the cen- 
 tre, and forming barracks for the garrison, as well as breast- 
 works against the foe. The forest was cleared away for some 
 hundreds of yards around, leaving an open vista, which extended 
 to the water's edge ; and a few acres inclosed in a rude fence, 
 and planted with corn and vegetables, for the use of the soldiers, 
 exhibited the first attempt at agriculture in that wild and beauti- 
 ful region. 
 
 It will be recollected, that when the shores of the Ohio were 
 first explored by the adventurous pioneers, no villages were found 
 upon them ; not a solitary lodge was seen along its secluded wa- 
 ters. The numerous and warlike tribes, whose battle-cry was often 
 
 * See Appendix, No. VII. 
 
THE WAR BELT. 33 
 
 heard on the frontier, inhabited the tributary branches of the 
 Ohio, leaving the immediate shores of that river an untenanted 
 wilderness, rich in the glorious productions of nature, and anima- 
 ted only by the brute and the wild bird, by the lurking hunter 
 and the stealthy war party. It seemed as if man had been ex- 
 pelled from this blooming paradise, and only invaded its flowery 
 precincts at intervals, to war upon his fellow. man, or to ravage 
 the pastures of the deer and the buffalo. Historians are not agreed 
 as to the reasons of this curious arrangement ; but we suppose 
 that the Manito of the Red man had reserved this loveliest of val- 
 lies to be the happy hunting-ground of the blessed, and that 
 though living forms were seldom seen within it, the spirits of war- 
 riors lingered here, to mourn the destiny of their race, and curse 
 the coming of the white man. 
 
 A few adventurous pioneers from Pennsylvania, Virginia, and 
 North Carolina, had crossed the Alleghanies and settled at differ- 
 ent places, far distant from each other ; but these also were in- 
 land as respected the great river ; the civilized man avoiding its 
 dangerous shores on the one side, from an instinct similar to that 
 whicli induced the Indian to shun a residence upon them on the 
 other. 
 
 All the tribes inhabiting the country north of the Ohio, were at 
 that time hostile to the American people, and beheld with great 
 jealousy these migrations into the west, that indicated an intention 
 to plant a civilized population on this side of the mountains. The 
 agents also of a foreign power, which saw with dissatisfaction the 
 growing prosperity of the United States, deemed this a favourable 
 moment to unite the savage tribes against our young republic, 
 and they were accordingly instructed to address such arguments 
 to the chiefs as would be likely to effect that object. Councils 
 were accordingly held, and arms and trinkets distributed by those 
 unprincipled emissaries. In consequence of these eflx)rts, the 
 hostile feelings of the savages, already sufliciently bitter, became 
 greatly excited ; and at the period of which we write, a war with 
 the combined forces of the north-western tribes seemed inevitable. 
 The policy of the American government was pacific. They 
 did not aim at conquest. They desired to extend to the savages 
 within their borders the same justice by which their foreign rela- 
 
 3^ 
 
34 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 tions were intended to be governed. Difficult as this proposition 
 might seem, it was not deemed impracticable. That the enterpri- 
 sing and intelligent population of the United States would spread out 
 from the seaboard over the wilderness ; that the savage must re- 
 tire before civilized man ; that the desert must be reclaimed from 
 a state of nature, and be subjected to the hand of art, were prop- 
 ositions too evident to be concealed or denied. Had the govern- 
 ment been disposed to perpetuate the reign of barbarism over the 
 fairest portion of our country, it could not have enforced its de- 
 cree for a purpose so inconsistent v/ith the interests of the people, 
 and the spirit of the age. But it never was intended that the In- 
 dian should be driven from his hunting grounds by violence ; and 
 while a necessity, strong as the law of nature, decreed the expul- 
 sion of the mere hunter, and gave dominion to art, industry, and 
 religion, it was always proposed that the savage should be re- 
 moved by negociation, and a just price given for the relinquish- 
 ment of his possessory title. 
 
 Had these counsels prevailed, humanity would have been spa- 
 red the anguish and humiliation of blushing for acts of deception, 
 and weeping over scenes of bloodshed. They did not prevail : 
 the magnanimous policy of the government remained unaltered ; 
 but many individuals have committed deep v/rongs against the 
 savages, while the latter, misled to their ruin by foreign interfe- 
 rence, spurned at the offers of conciliation, the acceptance of 
 which would have insured to them the strong protection of the 
 nation. 
 
 Such was the posture of affairs, when tlie little fortress alluded 
 to was established, at the outlet of tlie fertile valley of the ]\Iiami, 
 and near the track by which the war parties approached the Ohio, 
 in their incursions into Kentucky. The position was also that se- 
 lected by Judge Symmes and others, the purchasers from Con- 
 gress of a large tract of country, as the site of a future city ; 
 though a trivial accident afterward changed tnc locality, and 
 placed the Queen City of the West at a point twenty miles far- 
 ther up the Ohio. It was near the head of that great bend of the 
 Ohio, now widely known as North Bend, — a spot which has be- 
 come classic ground to the American, as the residence of that 
 excellent man, and distinguishe:i statesman and soldier, the vene- 
 
THE WAR BELT. 35 
 
 rated and lamented Harrison. The fort was garrisoned by a 
 small party of soldiers, commanded by a captain, who was almost 
 as much insulated from the rest of the world as Alexander Selkirk 
 in the island of Juan Fernandez. 
 
 At this sequestered spot, a treaty was to be held by commis- 
 sioners appointed by the President, with the Shawanoes, a migra- 
 tory and gallant nation, which had fought from South Carolina to 
 Pennsylvania, along the whole line of the •western frontier, and 
 whose eventful history, unless it has been lately collected by an 
 ingenious writer who is about to publish a life of Tecumthe, re- 
 mains to be written. It is enough to say of them here, that no 
 western tribe has produced so many distinguished individuals, or 
 carried on so constant a series of daring enterprises. 
 
 For several days previous to that appointed for holding the 
 council, parties of Indian warriors were seen arriving and erecting 
 their temporary lodges at a short distance from the fort. An un- 
 wonted bustle disturbed the silence which usually reigned at this 
 retired spot. Groups of savages, surrounding their camp-fires, 
 passed the hours in conversation and in feasting ; the tramp of 
 horses and the barking of dogs were heard in every direction. 
 The number of Indians assembled was much greater than was 
 necessary, or was expected ; and their disposition seemed to bo 
 anything but pacific. Irritated by recent events, and puffed up 
 by delusive promises of support, they wore an offended and inso- 
 lent air. Their glances were vindictive, and their thirst for ven- 
 geance scarcely concealed. No one acquainted with the savage 
 character could doubt their intentions, or hesitate for a moment 
 to believe they only waited to ripen their plan of treachery, and 
 at a moment which should be most favourable to their purposes; 
 to butcher every white man in their power. 
 
 The situation of the garrison was very precarious. The fort 
 was a slight work, which might be readily set on fire, and tlie 
 number of Americans was too small to afford the slightest chance 
 of success in open fight against the numerous force of the Shaw- 
 anoes. The only hope for safety was in keeping them at a dis- 
 tance ; but this was inconsistent with the purposes of meeting 
 them in council, to treat for peace. 
 
 Both parties held separate councils on the day previous to that 
 
36 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 appointed for the treaty. That of the Indians was declamatory 
 and boisterous. The caution with whicii they usually feel their 
 way, and the secrecy that attends all their measures, seems to 
 have been abandoned. They had probably decided on their 
 course, and deeming their enemy too weak to oppose any serious 
 opposition, were declaiming upon their wrongs, for the purpose of 
 lashing each other into that state of fury which would give relish 
 for the horrid banquei at hand, by whetting the appetite for blood. 
 The American commissioners saw with gloomy forebodings these 
 inauspicious movements, and hesitated as to the proper course to 
 be pursued. To treat with savages thus numerically superior, 
 bent on treachery, and intoxicated with an expected triumph, 
 seemed to be madness. To meet them in council, would be to 
 place themselves at the mercy of ruthless barbarians, whose sys- 
 tem of warfare justified and inculcated every species of stratagem, 
 however disingenuous. To close the gate of the fortress, and 
 break up the negociation, would be at the same time a declaration 
 of war, and an acknowledgment of weakness, which would pro- 
 duce immediate hostilities. In either case, this little band of 
 Americans stood alone, dependent on their own courage and sa- 
 gacity only, and cut off from all hope of support. They were far 
 beyond the reach of communication with any American post or 
 settlement. Under these circumstances, it was proposed to post- 
 pone the treaty, upon some plausible pretence, and to endeavour 
 to amuse the Indians, while the utmost diligence should be used 
 in preparing the fort for a siege : and in this opinion all concurred 
 save one ; and happily that one was a master spirit, the Promethe- 
 an fire of whose genius seldom failed to kindle up in other bosoms 
 the courage that glowed in his own. That man was Colonel 
 Geoiige Rogers Clarke.* 
 
 Clarke was a Virginian, of high spirit, and of consummate 
 skill as a military leader. A series of daring exploits, evincing 
 a brilliant genius in their conception, executed with accuracy and 
 energy, and terminating in successful results, had placed his 
 name in the first class of our revolutionary heroes. It was said 
 of him, by one who had followed him in battle, " He was the 
 
 * See Appendix, No. VIII. 
 
THE WAR BELT. 37 
 
 bravest man I ever knew ; his courage was governed by a wis- 
 dom that bore him through whatever he undertook, in security 
 and in triumph; and one could only see after the event, that it 
 partook not of rashness nor presumption, although it bore that ap- 
 pearance." The truth was, that this remarkable man, to the gal- 
 lant spirit that belonged to him as a native of Virginia, added a 
 knowledge of human nature, that enabled him to read and con- 
 trol the minds around him, and a promptness and energy of pur- 
 pose, that no ordmary obstacle could obstruct. 
 
 Whatever might have been the real opinion of Colonel Clarke 
 on this occasion, he treated the idea of danger with ridicule, and 
 insisted, calmly, cheerfully, even playfully, and in a way that 
 disarmed all opposition from his colleagues, that the negociation 
 should go forward. 
 
 An apartment in the fort was prepared as a council-room, and 
 at the appointed hour, the doors were thrown open. At the head 
 of the table sat Clarke, a soldier-like and majestic man, whose 
 complexion, eyes, and hair, all indicated a sanguine and mercu- 
 rial temperament. The brow was high and capacious, the fea- 
 tures were prominent and manly ; and the expression, which was 
 keen, reflective, and ordinarily cheerful and agreeable, was now 
 grave, almost to sternness. 
 
 The Indians, being a military people, have a deep respect for 
 martial virtue. To other estimable or shining qualities they turn 
 a careless eye, or pay at best but a passing tribute, while they 
 bow in profound veneration before a successful warrior. The 
 name of Clarke was familiar to them : several brilliant expedi- 
 tions into their country had spread the terror of his arms through- 
 out their villages, and carried the fame of his exploits to every 
 council-fire in the West. Their high appreciation of his charac- 
 ter was exemplified in a striking as well as an amusing manner, 
 on another occasion, when a council was held with several tribes. 
 The celebrated Delaware chief, Buckinghelas, on entering the 
 council-room, without noticing any other person, walked up to 
 Clarke, and as he shook hands cordially with him, exclaimed, " It 
 is a happy day when two such men as Colonel Clarke and Buck- 
 inghelas meet together !"* 
 
 * See Appendix, No. IX. 
 
38 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 Such was the remarkable man who now presided at the council 
 table. On his right hand sat Colonel Richard Butler, a brave of- 
 ficer of the revolution, who soon after fell, with the rank of brig- 
 adier-general, in the disastrous campaign of Saint Clair. On the 
 other side was Samuel H. Parsons, a lawyer from New England, 
 who afterwards became a judge in the north-western territory. 
 At the same table sat the secretaries, while the interpreters, sev- 
 eral officers, and a few soldiers, stood around. 
 
 An Indian council is one of the most imposing spectacles in 
 savage life. It is one of the few occasions in which the warrior 
 exercises his right of suffrage, his influence and his talents, in a 
 civil capacity, and the meeting is conducted with all the gravity, 
 and all the ceremonious ostentation, with which it is possible to 
 invest it. The matter to be considered, as well as all the details, 
 are well digested beforehand, so that the utmost decorum shall 
 prevail, and the decision be unanimous. The chiefs and sages — 
 the leaders and orators — occupy the most conspicuous seats ; 
 behind them are arranged the younger braves, and still farther in 
 the rear appear the women and youth, as spectators. All are 
 equally attentive. A dead silence reigns throughout the assem- 
 blage. The great pipe, gaudily adorned with paint and feathers, 
 is lighted, and passed from mouth to mouth, commencing with the 
 chief highest in rank, and proceeding by regular gradation to the 
 inferior order of braves. If two or three nations be represented, 
 the pipe is passed from one party to the other, and salutations are 
 courteously exchanged, before the business of the council is 
 opened by the respective speakers. Whatever jealousy or party 
 spirit may exist in the tribe, it is carefully excluded from this 
 dignified assemblage, whose orderly conduct, and close attention 
 to the proper subject before them, might be imitated with profit by 
 some of the most enlightened bodies in Christendom. 
 
 It was an alarming evidence of the temper now prevailing 
 among them, and of the brooding storm that filled their minds, 
 that no propriety of demeanour marked the entrance of the sava- 
 ges into the council-room. The usual formalities were forgot- 
 ten, or purposely dispensed with, and an insulting levity substitu- 
 led in their place. — The chiefs and braves stalked in, with an 
 appearance of light regard, and seated themselves promiscuously 
 
THE WAR BELT. 39 
 
 on the floor, in front of the commissioners. An air of insolence 
 marked all their movements, and showed an intention to dictate 
 terms, or to fix a quarrel upon the Americans. 
 
 A dead silence rested over the group ; it was the silence of 
 dread, distrust, and watchfulness; not of respect. The eyes of 
 the savage band gloated upon the banquet of blood that seemed 
 already spread out before them ; the pillage of the fort, and the 
 bleeding scalps of the Americans, were almost within their grasp; 
 while that gallant little band saw the portentous nature of the 
 crisis, and stood ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. 
 
 The commissioners, without noticing the disorderly conduct of 
 the other party, or appearing to have discovered their meditated 
 treachery, opened the council in due form. They lighted the 
 peace-pipe, and after drawing a few whiffs, passed it to the chiefs, 
 who received it. Colonel Clarke then rose to explain the purpose 
 for which the treaty was ordered. With an unembarrassed air, 
 with the tone of one accustomed to command, and the easy assu- 
 rance of perfect security and self-possession, he stated that the 
 commissioners had been sent to offer peace to the Shawanoes ; 
 that the President had no wish to continue the war ; he had no 
 resentment to gratify ; and, that if the red men desired peace, 
 they could have it on liberal terms. " If such be the v/ill of the 
 Shawanoes," he concluded, " let some of their wise men speak." 
 
 A chief arose, drew up his tall person to its full height, and 
 assuming a haughty attitude, threw his eye contemptuously over 
 the commissioners and their small retinue, as if to measure their 
 insignificance, in comparison with his own numerous train, and 
 then stalking up to the table, threw upon it two belts of wampum, 
 of different colours — the war and the peace belt. 
 
 " We come here," he exclaimed, " to offer you two pieces of 
 wampum ; they are of different colours ; you know what they 
 mean : you can take which you like !" And turning upon his 
 heel, he resumed his seat. 
 
 The chiefs drew themselves up, in the consciousness of having 
 hurled defiance in the teeth of the white men. They had offered 
 an insult to the renowned leader of the Long Knives, to which 
 they knew it would be hard for him to submit, while they did not 
 suppose he would dare to resent it. The council-pipe was laid 
 
40 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 aside, and those fierce wild men gazed intently on Clarke. The 
 Americans saw that the crisis had arrived : they could no longer 
 doubt that the Indians understood the advantage they possessed, 
 and were disposed to use it; and a common sense of danger 
 caused each eye to be turned on the leading commissioner. He 
 sat undisturbed, and apparently careless, until the chief who had 
 thrown the belts on the table had taken his seat: then, with a 
 small cane which he held in his hand, he reached, as if playfully, 
 toward the war-belt, entangled the end of the stick in it, drew it 
 toward him, and then with a twitch of the cane, threw the belt 
 into the midst of the chiefs. The effect was electric. — Every 
 man in council, of each party, sprang to his feet ; the savages, 
 with a loud exclamation of astonishment, " Hugh !" the Ameri- 
 cans in expectation of a hopeless conflict, against overwhelming 
 numbers. Every hand grasped a weapon. 
 
 Clarke alone was unawed. The expression of his countenance 
 changed to a ferocious sternness, and his eye flashed, but other- 
 wise he was unmoved. A bitter smile was slightly perceptible 
 upon his compressed lips, as he gazed upon that savage band, 
 whose hundred eyes were bent fiercely and in horrid exultation 
 upon him, as they stood like a pack of wolves at bay, thirsting for 
 blood, and ready to rush upon him, whenever one bolder than the 
 rest should commence the attack. It was one of those moments 
 of indecision, when the slightest weight thrown into either scale 
 will make it preponderate ; a moment in which a bold man, con- 
 versant with the secret springs of human action, may seize upon 
 the minds of all around him, and sway them at his will. Such a 
 man was the intrepid Virginian. He spoke, and there was no 
 man bold enough to gainsay him — none that could return the fierce 
 glance of his eye. Raising his arm and waving his hand toward 
 the door, he exclaimed : " Dogs f you may go .'" The Indians 
 hesitated for a moment, and then rushed tumultuously out of the 
 council-room. 
 
 The decision of Clarke, on that occasion, saved himself and his 
 companions from massacre. The plan of the savages had been 
 artfully laid : he had read it in their features and conduct, as 
 plainly as if it had been written upon a scroll before him. He 
 met it in a manner which was unexpected ; the crisis was brought 
 
THE WAR BELT. 41 
 
 on sooner than was intended ; and upon a principle similar to 
 that by which, when a line of battle is broken, the dismayed 
 troops fly, before order can be restored, the new and sudden lurn 
 given to these proceedings by the energy of Clarke, confounded 
 the Indians, and before the broken thread of their scheme of 
 treachery could be reunited, they were panic-struck. They had 
 come prepared to brow-beat, to humble, and then to destroy ; they 
 looked for remonstrance, and altercation; for the luxury of draw- 
 ing the toils gradually around their victims; of beholding their 
 agony and degradation, and of bringing on the final catastrophe 
 by an appointed signal, when the scheme should be ripe. They 
 expected to see on our part great caution, a skilful playing off, 
 and an unwillingness to take offence, which were to be gradually 
 goaded into alarm, irritation, and submission. The cool contempt 
 with which their first insult was thrown back in their teeth sur- 
 prised them, and they were foiled by the self-possession of one 
 man. They had no Tecumthe among them, no master-spirit to 
 change the plan, so as to adapt it to a new exigency ; and those 
 braves, who in many a battle had shown themselves to be men of 
 true valour, quailed before the moral superiority which assumed 
 the vantage ground of a position they could not comprehend, and 
 therefore feared to assail. 
 
 The Indians met immediately around their own council fire, 
 and engaged in an animated discussion. Accustomed to a cau- 
 tious warfare, they did not suppose a man of Colonel Clarke's 
 known sagacity would venture upon a display of mere gascon- 
 ade, or assume any ground that he was not able to maintain ; and 
 they therefore attributed his conduct to a consciousness of strength. 
 They knew him to be a consummate warrior ; gave him the credit 
 of having judiciously measured his own power with that of his 
 adversary ; and suspected that a powerful reinforcement was at 
 hand. Perhaps at that moment, when intent upon their own 
 scheme, and thrown off their guard by imagined security, they 
 had neglected the ordinary precautions that form a prominent fea- 
 ture in their system of tactics ; they might be surrounded by a 
 concealed force, ready to rush upon them at a signal from the 
 fort. In their eagerness to entrap a foe, they might have blindly 
 become entangled in a snare set for themselves. So fully were 
 
42 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 they convinced that such was the relative position of the two par- 
 ties, and so urgent did they consider the necessity for immediate 
 conciliation, that they appointed a delegation to wait on Clarke, 
 and express their willingness to accept peace on such terms as 
 might be agreeable to him. The council reassembled, and a 
 treaty was signed, under the dictation of the American commission- 
 ers. Such was the remarkable result of the intrepidity and pres- 
 ence of mind of George Rogers Clarke. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 43 
 
 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 A TRADITION OF THE OMAWHAWS. 
 
 Far up the Missouri River, where the shores of that turbid 
 stream are bounded by interminable prairies, the traveller sees 
 the remains of a village of the Maha Indians.* The former in- 
 habitants, obeying a law of their erratic nature, have removed to 
 some spot still more distant from the habitations of the white men, 
 and better supplied with game. Nothing remains of them, but 
 those vestiges which man, however poor or savage, always leaves 
 behind him, to attest his superiority, even in his simplest state, 
 over the brute of the forest. 
 
 The ruin is extensive, and of recent date. The naked poles, 
 that once supported the frail lodges, are still standing scattered 
 over the plain, and the blackened embers lie in heaps upon the 
 deserted fire-places. The area which was once trodden hard by 
 human feet, is now covered with a beautiful carpet of short, lux- 
 uriant blue grass, a sort of demi-civilized variety of grass, that 
 will not grow in the wilderness where only brutes do congregate, 
 but ever springs up near the habitations of man, flourishes round 
 his ruined mansion long after his departure, and clothes with ver- 
 dure the grave in which his body reposes. 
 
 The council house, where the warriors met to recount their vic- 
 tories, or to plan their hostile excursions, where the agent from the 
 great nation of whites opened his budget, and the trader displayed 
 his wares, where the preacher and the pedlar were alike hospita- 
 bly smoked and welcomed — is entirely destroyed, and its remains 
 are only distinguished from those of the other lodges, by their 
 larger dimensions and central situation. Here too is seen crumb- 
 
 * See Appendix, No. X. 
 
44 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 ling to decay, the war-post, around which the braves danced, in 
 all the glory of paint and feathers — where the war-song was sung 
 — where the buffalo dance has frequently been witnessed — and 
 where masques and dramas have been performed, which were as 
 fashionable in their day and generation, and quite as edifying, as 
 the Italian opera, or the lecture on newly-invented sciences, of 
 more refined communities. This was the scene of degradation 
 and suffering to many an unhappy prisoner, where the most se- 
 vere tortures that ingenious hatred could invent, were endured 
 with the patience of the martyr, and the exulting captive dispatch- 
 ed to the spirit-land, in the most placid conviction of his own man- 
 hood, and of having earned a clear title to a good name in this 
 world, and a blissful existence in the happy hunting grounds of 
 the world to come. 
 
 The village was bounded on one side by the Missouri, whose 
 bold surface, discoloured by the earthy substances with which it 
 loads itself in its violent career, swept along the base of the bluff 
 bank ; and on another, by a deep lagoon, an expanse of clear 
 water, fed by a creek, and filled with aquatic plants, which shot 
 up luxuriantly from its oozy bottom, spreading their broad leaves 
 over the placid pool, and decorating the scene with flowers of ex- 
 quisite hue and perl\mie. In front, an illimitable prairie, cover- 
 ed with its verdant and flowery carpet, presented a long undula- 
 ting line of horizon to the eye. The whole town was surrounded 
 by a palisade, now entirely destroyed, beyond \\hich were the 
 corn-fields, where the women practised their rude agriculture, and 
 which furnished a scanty subsistence to this improvident people 
 during the gloom of winter. 
 
 The spot has been some time deserted, though hundreds of 
 miles still intervene between it and the most advanced settlement 
 of the white people. For the blight of the white man often pre- 
 cedes him, and the Indian recoils instinctively, even before he 
 has actually sutFered by contact with the race which has disturbed 
 his fathers. The shadow of the white man fiills before him, and 
 the Indian, chilled by his approach, sorrowfully abandons the 
 graves of his fathers, and seeks a new home in some wilderness 
 less accessible to the footstep of the stranger. 
 
 The traveller pauses at such a placo. to indulge that pensive 
 
I'HE NEW MOON. 45 
 
 train of thought, which is always awakened by the sight of the 
 deserted habitations of man. How sacred is the spot which a hu- 
 man being has consecrated by making it his home ! With what 
 awe do we tread over the deserted threshold, and gaze upon the 
 dilapidated wall ! The feeling is the same in kind, however it 
 may differ in degree, whether we survey the crumbling ruins of 
 a castle, or the miserable relics of a hamlet. The imagination 
 loves to people the desolated scene, to picture the deeds of its for- 
 mer inhabitants, to revive the employments of those who now 
 slumber in the tomb. The hearth-stone which once glowed with 
 heat, is now cold, and the silence of death is brooding over that 
 spot which was once the seat of festivity — the scene of life and 
 action. Here the warrior trod, in the pride of manhood, arrayed 
 in martial panoply, and bent on schemes of plunder and revenge. 
 Here stood the orator and the hoary seer. Here were witnessed 
 the sports of youth, and the gossip of old age. The maiden was 
 here in the modest garb of youthful loveliness, listening with af- 
 fected indifference, to the voice of adulation, or laughing away the 
 hours with the careless joy of young hilarity ; the wife was sur- 
 rounded by the maternal cares, and the burthens of domestic life ; 
 and the child sported in boisterous mirth. Yes — it is the same 
 feeling ; few and simple as are the incidents of savage life, hum- 
 ble and sordid as his employments may seem, the wretched wig- 
 wam of the poor Indian is as much his home, as the palace of the 
 Roman senator ; and though the ruins of the one, from their supe- 
 rior magnificence, may excite more curiosity than the relics of 
 the other, the shadow that rests upon the heart, as we linger among 
 either, is equally induced by sympathy for the fallen fortunes of 
 those who once flourished and are now fallen. It is difficult to 
 analyze the sentiment of awe, with which we see the evidences 
 of desolation, and repeat of a strange people, that " the places which 
 knew them once, know them no more forever." Men are callous 
 to the sufferings of the living, but few tread with indifference over 
 the ashes of the dead, or view with insensibility the relics of an- 
 cient days. 
 
 All are gone. Some are banished, and others, as the Scripture 
 beautifully expresses it, are not ; the graves of the dead may be 
 faintly discerned in the neglected fields, but the foot-prints of those 
 
46 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 who have fled to other lands, have long since vanished from the 
 green sward, and tlie deserted streets. It is thus with Nineveh 
 and Babylon ; it is thus with the strong castles of feudal Europe. 
 The record of wliat they once were, lives in song and history ; ro- 
 mance has gathered a few fragments, and entwined about them 
 the fabulous creations of genius ; but the eye of the spectator, 
 seeking the traces of a vanished reality, finds only the ruins of 
 mouldered edifices, and the bones of the unconscious dead. 
 
 Although we may find in such scenes little to satisfy a lauda- 
 ble curiosity, we still linger among them with mournful pleasure. 
 There is something remarkably exciting m the contrast between 
 the past and the present. Nothing seizes the imagination more 
 suddenly, or more strongly, than a vivid exhibition of death or 
 desolation, contrasted with possession, and life, and loveliness. 
 All that once was, is gone, or is changed. We repose secure, 
 surrounded by solitude and peace, where the warrior once stood 
 at bay, and where danger beat against the ramparts, as the waves 
 dash against the rock-bound shore. Where there was life once, 
 we stand in the midst of death. The abodes of those who once 
 lived are deserted, and an awful silence prevails. The reptile 
 and the wild beast have taken possession of the spot formerly oc- 
 cupied by the social circle. The weed and tiie brier cover the 
 dilapidated hearth-stone, and conceal the long- forgotten grave. 
 
 As we gaze at these things a feeling of sympathy is awakened 
 in favour of the departed inhabitant ; however unamiable his char- 
 acter, however fierce or wicked he may have been, the blast of 
 desolation has passed over him, and the heart spontaneously yields 
 ils forgiveness to those sins and errors that have been punished, 
 and the consequences of which sleep in the tomb with aggressor 
 and the victim. We think of ourselves, and of those who are 
 dear to us. We too shall sleep — our habitations shall be given 
 to the stranger, or be swept away by the hand of time, our bod- 
 ies shall be dust, and our spirits vanish from the sphere of hu- 
 man life. 
 
 We are growing serious. Let us return to the village, and tell 
 our tale, lest the reader think us prosy. It was, in days past, a 
 pleasant spot, to those who could find pleasure in the savage 
 state. The Mahas dwelt here for fij e months in the year, which 
 
THE NEW MOON. 47 
 
 the men spent agreeably enough in eating and sleejiing, and the 
 women in cultivating corn and beans for their subsistence in the 
 winter, and in dressing the skins of beasts taken in the chase. 
 The girls followed their mothers to the field, while the boys were 
 trained to manly deeds by racing, fighting each other, and trans- 
 fixing birds, bull-frogs, and small quadrupeds. During the rest 
 of the year they wandered over those wide plains where the buf- 
 falo grazes, and the deer and elk are found ; spending the whole 
 time in hunting and feasting when the game was abundant, and in 
 toil and starvation when it was not plentiful. 
 
 They were often engaged in war. The Saukies, a warlike 
 tribe, were their enemies, and the fierce Sioux bands often har- 
 assed them. But they continued for years to elude their foes, 
 during the hunting season, by vigilance, by rapid marches, and 
 painful retreats ; and to defend the village from assault, by their 
 watchfulness in discovering the approach of danger, or their 
 courage in repelling it, during the short interval of repose allowed 
 them, while their corn was growing. 
 
 Many miles below the town, at a very conspicuous point on the 
 shore of the Missouri, is a small mound which covers the mortal 
 remains of Washinggasaba, or the Blackbird, a celebrated chief, 
 who died some years ago, at this spot, on his way home. Ac- 
 cording to his own wish, he was interred, in a sitting posture, on 
 his favourite horse, upon the summit of a high bluff bank of the 
 Missouri, " that he might continue to see the pale faces ascend- 
 ing the river to trade with the Omawhaws." A hillock of earth 
 was raised over the grave, on which food was regularly placed 
 for several years afterwards, by his obedient people. But this 
 rite has been discontinued. We know not how long a spirit re- 
 quires to be fed : but it seems that there is a limit, beyond which 
 it is not necessary for the living to furnish aliment to the dead. 
 A staff, supporting a white flag, that marked to the eye of the 
 traveller the site of this solitary tomb, and called for a tribute of 
 respect to the memory of one whom his people delighted to honour, 
 stood here a notable land-mark for some years, but is no longer in 
 existence.* 
 
 The Blackbird was a person of singular capacity, and tlie 
 * See Appendix, No. XI. 
 
48 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 greatest man of his tribe. He liad an intellect, and an energy 
 of will, which obtained for him the mastery of other minds, and 
 gave him absolute power over those around him. They honour- 
 ed his talents, not his virtues. Though an able, he was a repul- 
 sive man. He possessed an extraordinary genius, which enabled 
 him to sway the multitude, and gain them over to his purposes, 
 but not to enlist their affections. They clung to him with devo- 
 ted fidelity — followed, served, and obeyed, with a superstitious obe- 
 dience, which bound them to his person, but which was not love. 
 
 He ruled his tribe with arbitrary power, and permitted none to 
 share, or to dispute, his authority. He had acquired the reputa- 
 tion of a great medicine man, who was supposed to wield a mys- 
 terious influence over the lives of others, and the nation stood in 
 awe of him, as the supreme arbiter of their fate. Whenever he 
 prophesied the death of an individual, the event ensued with un- 
 erring certainty; and those who counteracted his views, who dis- 
 obeye'd his counsel, or in any manner incurred his displeasure, 
 w^ere removed agreeably to his predictions, and apparently by the 
 operation of his spells. No absolute monarch ever swayed a 
 more potent sceptre. Fie possessed the power that the tyrant of 
 imperial Rome could only wish for. 
 
 Such a mysterious, dreadful influence, quelled the wild spirit 
 of the Maha warrior, who stood submissive, awed into silent rev- 
 erence, in the presence of the despotic chief, and trembled even 
 in his absence, if a rebellious thought spontaneously swelled his 
 bosom. He was regarded as the friend of the Great Spirit ; and 
 it was thought that the Omawhaws were particularly honoured in 
 having so remarkable a personage placed at the helm of their 
 affairs. Many were the victims of his ambition. Whenever his 
 keen dark eye fell in displeasure on one of his subjects, and the 
 blighting prophesy was uttered, the unhappy victim from that in- 
 stant bore a charmed life ; he sickened, withered away, and sunk 
 rapidly to the grave. But the power of the chief continued un- 
 diminished to the last ; and the white people alone believed that 
 they had discovered the dreadful secret of his influence over life 
 and mind — a secret which even they dared scarcely whisper to 
 each other. Such is arbitrary power — gained by long years of 
 toil, and held up by painful watchfulness and sanguinary rule, 
 
THE NEVv^ MOO.V. 49 
 
 its harvest is distrust and hatred. Who would be great on such 
 terms ! 
 
 To the American traders, who were induced by the enterpris- 
 ing spirit of traffic to visit that remote region, the crafty chief 
 was probably indebted for his dangerous power. It is supposed 
 that they supplied him secretly with the most subtle drugs, which 
 he used so artfully, that even they who furnished them, and thus 
 courted his favour, by a sacrifice of principle most incredibly 
 atrocious, remained uncertain whether he administered them di- 
 rectly as poisons, or employed them in the horrid rites of magic. 
 Certain it is, that although capricious towards all others, he pro- 
 tected and countenanced the traders with unwavering friendship. 
 He was true to them, and to the white people in general, under 
 all changes of fortune or of temper ; and there is always reason 
 to suspect that a mutual kindness of long continuance, between 
 parties so politic and selfish, is produced only by recipjsocal ad- 
 vantage. It is said that while he compelled the traders to yield 
 up to him gratuitously a portion of their goods, he obliged his 
 people to purchase the remainder at exorbitant prices, so that the 
 trader lost nothing by his rapacity. The Blackbird was a savage, 
 who did not pretend to any civilization whatever, yet he seems 
 to have made commendable advances in social refinement, and to 
 have imitated very closely the most polished nations, in his polit- 
 ical economy. 
 
 He delighted in the display of his power, and seemed on some 
 occasions to exert authority for no other purpose than to show that 
 he possessed it. One day, during a great national hunt in which 
 all the tribe engaged, and which was conducted vWth the disci- 
 pline of a warlike expedition, they arrived, fatigued and thirsty, 
 at the brink of a flowing stream. • They had been travelling over 
 plains exposed to the sun, and destitute of water ; and the sight 
 of a clear rivulet of refreshing coolness filled the party with joy. 
 But, although all were parched with thirst, the chief, to their as- 
 tonishment, permitted none to drink but a white man, who hap- 
 pened to be in their company. He gave no reason for his con- 
 duct — a cold, peremptory mandate announced his will, and a 
 sullen, though implicit obedience, attested the despotic nature of 
 his cbnunand over his submissive followers. The painted braves, 
 
 4 
 
50 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 fierce, wild, and untamed as they were, neither hesitated nor 
 murmured at an unjust order, which, although it seemed the re- 
 sult of caprice, was probably intended to try their discipline, and 
 to accustom them to obey without question. 
 
 There was one that loved him, and towards whom his stern 
 features sometimes relaxed into a smile of kindness. One of our 
 most popular writers — a lady whose own affections are so pure 
 and refined as to enable her to describe with peculiar grace and 
 felicity the gentler emotions of the heart — has drawn so true a 
 picture of the love of a father for a daughter, that I shall not ven- 
 ture to dwell on "this development of affection," Even the cal- 
 lous savage felt it. He who had no tear nor smile for any other 
 human being, was softened into a feeling akin to love, towards 
 one gentle creature. He had a daughter called Menae, or the 
 Neiv Moon, who was the most beautiful woman of the tribe. The 
 Indian women are usually short and ungraceful. It is with re- 
 luctance, of course, that we give our testimony against them ; 
 the use of bear's oil as an unguent, and the eccentric habit of 
 riding astride, may have prejudiced us, so that we do them in- 
 justice ; but historical truth requires us to say that we think 
 them far from attractive. Our heroine was an exception. She 
 had a face and figure of which any European lady might have 
 been vain. She was taller and fairer than the rest of the Omaw- 
 haw maidens, and towered above them as her father did above 
 the men. • Her complexion was so light as to be nearly pure, 
 and the blush glowed on her cheek when she spoke. Her figure 
 was beautifully rounded, and her limbs of exquisite proportion. 
 But her superiority was that only of stature and womanly grace ; 
 she claimed no observance as a tribute to rank, nor made any 
 ostentatious display of her beauty. Her appropriate and eupho- 
 nious name was given, not merely on account of the mild bril- 
 liancy of her charms, but in reference also to the sweetness of 
 disposition which rendered her an universal favourite, and caused 
 her to be received at all times, and in every company, with a 
 complacency similar to that with which we welcome the first ap- 
 pearance of the luminary of the night. 
 
 Beauty always exerts an influence, for good or evil, upon the 
 softer sex. No woman growls to maturity unconscious of a pos- 
 
THE NEW MOON. 51 
 
 session, which if rightly used, is her richest treasure. It is that 
 which raises her above her own sex, and gives her a transcendent 
 mastery over the affections of man. A beautiful woman pos- 
 sesses a power, which, combined with an amiable deportment, and 
 directed by honourable piinciple, is more efficient than wealth or 
 genius. No man was ever formed with a heart so callous as to 
 be insensible to its magic influence. It is a talisman as potent as 
 the lamp of Aladdin, in the hands of one who uses it with modesty 
 and spirit ; but a deadly curse in the possession of a weak or 
 vicious woman. 
 
 The destiny of a beautiful girl, is usually coloured by the 
 possession of this fascinating treasure. It makes her the centre 
 of a sphere, and creates an atmosphere around her. It has a 
 controlling influence upon the formation of her character, which 
 elevates her above, or sinks her below, her companions. The 
 heartless beauty who lives for conquest, becomes the most insensi- 
 ble of her sex. Neglecting the appropriate graces, and solid 
 accomplishments, which throw so many pure and hallowed fasci- 
 nations around the sweet companion of man, she soon learns to 
 feel the want, and to supply the absence, of womanly attractions, 
 by artificial blandishments. Almost unconsciously she becomes 
 artful, stoops to the meanest artifices of cunning and malice, and 
 lives in a corrupted atmosphere of deception. The time soon 
 arrives when the beautiful flower which attracted admiration 
 withers, — and the stem which bore it is found to be composed of 
 a common and worthless material. 
 
 But where the mind is sound, and the heart pure, beauty ele- 
 vates the character of the woman. The admiration which she 
 receives, even in childhood, softens her affections, stimulates her 
 latent ambition, and gives her the dignity of self-approbation. 
 The glance and the tone of gallantry, with which she is addressed, 
 awakens the responsive sentiment, gives tone and grace to her 
 manners, and brings out the energy of her mind. She feels her 
 power, and assumes the dignity of her sex. A womanly tender- 
 ness and grace is seen in all her actions. Accustomed to admi- 
 ration, she realizes that homage which poets feign as the heritage 
 of her sex ; and her brain is not turned by the idle breath of 
 unmeaning compliment. Confident in her powers of pleasing, she 
 
52 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 rises above the little stratagems, and sordid jealousies which ap- 
 pertain to the maiden state, and scorns to use any allurement to 
 extort those attentions to which she feels she is entitled. Thus it 
 is that beauty gives power to vice, and strength and gracefulness 
 to virtue. 
 
 It is also true, that the possession of beauty is apt to improve 
 those exterior graces, which are so important in women as to be 
 almost virtues, though in fact they seem to involve but little moral 
 responsibility. Neatness, affability, and politeness are indispen- 
 sable requisites in the female cliaracter. The knowledge that we 
 possess an enviable quality stimulates to its improvement. The 
 woman who discovers in herself the power of pleasing, is apt to 
 cultivate that which produces an effect so gratifying to herself, 
 and so agreeable to others. Her ingenuity is quickened by en- 
 couragement. As the man who has a capital to build upon, is 
 more apt to husband his resources, and to aim at great wealth, 
 than he who having nothing to begin with has no expectation of 
 accumulating a fortune — so the beauty has a capital, which en- 
 courages her to look forward to a desirable position in society, 
 and induces her to study neatness, grace, and propriety. 
 
 I know not whether this philosophy holds good among the belles 
 and beauties of the Maha tribe ; I am sure that as things go in 
 our own land, I am not far from the orthodox creed in respect to 
 this delicate matter. Of one thing, however, there is no doubt : 
 Menae was not only the most beautiful of the Omawhaws, but 
 she seemed to feel the consciousness of her advantage, and to 
 improve it with a skill, of which the unenlightened heathen 
 around her had no idea. It might have been because she was the 
 daughter of the head chief — or because she inherited a portion of 
 her father's talents — but I am inclined to think it was because she 
 was remarkably handsome. It will be perceived that I am high 
 church in my principles as regards beauty. For one or all of 
 these reasons, she was more neat in her dress, more graceful in 
 her carriage, more sedate and modest in her conduct, more dig- 
 nified and altogether more lady-like, after the manner of the 
 Omawhaws, than any other young lady of that primitive nation — 
 all which I am ready to verify. 
 
 Among the western Indians, girls are usually betrothed at a 
 
THE NEW MOON. 53 
 
 tender age, but the daughter of Blackbird had remained free from 
 any engagement. Great men sometimes disregard national usages 
 which interfere with their personal convenience, and the politic 
 chief of the Mahas might have kept his daughter free from any 
 engagement, in order to be at full liberty to make for her the best 
 match which his situation might command. And it is not unlikely 
 that the awe in which the chief v/as held, by the general belief 
 in his supernatural power, may have kept the other fathers of the 
 tribe at a distance, or have induced a doubt in their minds 
 whether a near alliance with their dreaded leader was desirable. 
 Such, however, was the fact ; she grew to womanhood as free as 
 the antelope of her native prairie. 
 
 Menae had now reached her sixteenth year, and the young 
 braves began to look towards her as an object of peculiar attrac- 
 tion. In her presence they reined up their horses, involuntarily 
 seeking to display the action of their steeds, and their own horse- 
 manship — or urged their canoes over the eddying waves of the 
 Missouri, v/ith redoubled vigour. Some of them improved vastly 
 in the labours of the toilet, adorned their faces with an unusual 
 quantity of red paint, and their necks with the claws of bears — 
 and hung all sorts of glittering and gristly ornaments about their 
 persons. Others exhibited the scalps of their enemies slain in 
 battle, with more than ordinary ostentation ; and the trophies torn 
 from slaughtered foes became quite the fashion. They did not 
 get to the exquisite refinement of wearing beards and mustaches 
 — for the Mahas are a barbarous people, and the beautiful art of 
 transforming the human face into the resemblance of those of the 
 bear and the billy-goat, had not yet travelled so far West. They 
 did all they could, to look fierce, and captivating — but all in vain. 
 The New Moon moved gracefully in her orbit, shedding her 
 beams alike on all, and not distinguishing any with particular 
 marks of her approbation. 
 
 More than a year previous to the time at which our tale com- 
 mences, a young trader had arrived at the Maha village. Nat- 
 urally sagacious and expert in business, he soon became acquaint- 
 ed with the customs of the tribe, and acquired the confidence of 
 the people. His appearance was prepossessing, his look was bold 
 and manly, his speech prompt and frank, yet cautious and re- 
 
64 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 spectful. The women called him the handsome white man, but 
 the more discriminating braves designated him as the wise stranger. 
 He was one of the very numerous and successful class, who 
 are chiefly distinguished for their faculty for getting along in the 
 world, but who, in consequence of the possession of this one qual- 
 ity, receive credit for many others. Calm, mild, with an agree- 
 able smile always playing over his features, Mr. Bolingbroke was 
 universally considered a young gentleman of excellent heart ; 
 when the truth was, that the heart had nothing to do with the 
 blandness of his manners. The secret of that uniform self-pos- 
 session and civility consisted simply in the absence of passion ; 
 the heart never concerned itself in Mr. Bolingbroke's business. 
 He was even-tempered, because he took no interest in anything 
 but his own personal advancement ; and as long as his affairs 
 went on prosperously, there was no reason why a perpetual sun- 
 shine should not play over his features. He was courteous from 
 policy, because men are managed more easily by kindness and 
 stratagem, than by force.; because it was more natural to him 
 to smile than to frown, and because — it cost nothing. The 
 world gave him credit for a great deal of feeling, simply because 
 he had very little ; for the less sensibility a man has the more he 
 affects. He was ardent and energetic in his business, earnest in 
 the pursuit of pleasure, and gay in company ; but the observer, 
 who had watched him closely, w^ould have found that the only 
 chords in his bosom which were ever touched, were those of self- 
 gratification and self-interest. 
 
 The judicious conduct of Mr. Bolingbroke met its usual re- 
 ward, and he was prosperous in trade. But as time rolled on, 
 other traders came to the village, competition reduced his gains, 
 and he began to see the necessity of adopting some expedient 
 which should give him an advantage over his rivals. This was 
 a matter of too much importance to be settled in a moment ; there- 
 fore he studied it over for several months, smiling and showing 
 his white teeth all the while, and banishing every shadow of care 
 from his fine open countenance. He even squeezed the hands of 
 his competitors more warmly than usual, strolled often to their 
 wqgwams, laughed with glee at their jokes, and seemed really to 
 love them, and to take an interest in their prosperity. The result 
 
THE NEW MOON. 55 
 
 of his cogitations was a conviction, that the most feasible plan for 
 rising above competition would be that of wedlock — that of graft- 
 ing himself upon a native stock, identifying himself with the 
 tribe, enlisting their affections, and securing the influence of pow- 
 erful friends by a marriage with the daughter of some leading 
 person ; nor did he iiesitate long in selecting as the happy lady, 
 the beauty of the tribe, the New Moon, the only and beloved 
 daughter of the ruling chief 
 
 The young merchant had more than once looked with a de- 
 lighted eye at the graceful form of Menae, had spoken to her 
 kindly when they met, and had paid her the homage of gallant 
 courtesy, which beauty always exacts. She had received his at- 
 tentions with civility, but without any appearance of being flat- 
 tered by them. But now her quick apprehension discovered, that 
 there was something in his manner altogether different from his 
 ordinary politeness. When he met this brightest of all the stars 
 in the galaxy of Omawhaw beauty, his eye rested upon her with 
 a peculiar meaning ; and he more than once stopped as if he 
 would have spoken. How quick-sighted is woman in the affairs 
 of the heart ! She saw that the white stranger was smitten ; and 
 the conviction afforded her that mischievous satisfaction, which a 
 pretty girl always feels, on witnessing the havoc made by her 
 charms, when her own affections remain untouched. The v.'hite 
 stranger had as yet made no impression on her heart. Some 
 presents, of greater value than those which he had been in the 
 habit of giving to the Indian maidens, convinced her of that 
 which she had begun to suspect ; and she whispered to herself in 
 the exultation of a girl over the first conquest in which her feel- 
 ings are interested, " The handsome white man loves the New- 
 Moon !" 
 
 Just at this crisis arrived the season for the grand hunt, when 
 the corn having been weeded, the whole tribe abandon the village, 
 and proceed to the great plains, where the buffaloes graze in vast 
 herds — so vast that the novelist v/ould be considered as giving the 
 rein to his fancy, if he were to attempt to convey an idea of their 
 number, which I leave therefore to be stated by the traveller, 
 whose business it is to risk his reputation as a man of truth, for 
 the instruction of the public. This is an occasion of great re- 
 
56 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 joicing. For several days previous to the departure of the tribe, 
 feasts were lield, and councils assembled to deliberate on ihe route, 
 to devise the plan of the hunt, and to suggest the necessary pre- 
 cautions to avoid the snares of their enemies. The elders 
 of the tribe repeated tlie results of their experience, the ora- 
 tors embraced the occasion to win new trophies of applause, and 
 v/hile some v/cre successful in these ambitious attempts, and gain- 
 ed the popular applause so much coveted by the stump-speaker, 
 whether civilized or savage, there were many who 
 
 " In that innavigable stream were drowned." 
 
 The traders were consulted in reference to supply of guns and 
 ammunition ; and the hunters made their contracts individually, 
 for sufficient supplies of guns, gunpowder, and other articles, to 
 be paid for in furs and peltry, at the close of the hunting season. 
 Bows and arrows, and spears, were also fabricated by those who 
 preferred the ancient weapons of their people. 
 
 It was on such occasions, that Bolingbroke had heretofore dis- 
 covered his influence to be at the greatest height among his savage 
 customers ; who treated his suggestions with deference, in proper, 
 tion to the amount of the favours which they solicited at their 
 hands. In the wilderness, as in the marts of civilized life, people 
 are never so kind to each other as at the moment when the rela- 
 tion of debtor and creditor is about to be created, and never less 
 cordial than during the existence of that relation. Bolingbroke 
 had found himself at one season, worshipped as the idol of the 
 tribe, and at another, feared as its master ; but by being alter- 
 nately an indulgent creditor, and an unassuming friend, had re- 
 tained its confidence. It was, therefore, with no small degree of 
 chagrin that he saw his business about to be shared, and his in- * 
 fluence divided with others. His convictions, as to the propriety 
 of entering upon the honourable state of matrimony, became greatly 
 strengthened by this new evidence of tlie evanescent nature of his 
 popularity ; and his love to the New Moon increased to a steady 
 flame, as the propitious influence which this bright luminary 
 might shed over his fortunes became clearly developed. 
 
 The councils continued to be held, and while the chief men 
 were employed in maturing the weighty affairs of their little 
 
THE NEW MOON. 57 
 
 state, the common people rejoiced exceedingly, and every leisure 
 hour was filled with sport and feasting. The men amused them- 
 selves with various pastimes, such as gambling, dancing, foot- 
 ball, and racing. The young braves were painted with more than 
 ordinary care, and freshly anointed with the fat of the bear, from 
 the crown of the head to the soles of the feet. Some gave them- 
 selves up to the affairs of courtship and gallantry — some showed 
 off their horses and their horsemanship — others did honour to the 
 chiefs and distinguished braves, by dancing before the doors of 
 their respective lodges — while a few, ludicrously apparelled, 
 moved about the village, exciting laughter by the performance of 
 coarse feats of buffoonery. Men were seen wrapped in the skins 
 of wild beasts, equipped with horns and tails, bellowing in imita- 
 tion of the animals they represented, and proving that men and 
 brutes are separated by a step as brief as that which divides the 
 sublime from the ridiculous. 
 
 The criers passed through the streets, inviting individuals by 
 name, in a loud voice, to feasts given by their friends, charging 
 them at the same time to be careful to bring their own bowls and 
 spoons ; and again proclaiming on the part of the guests, that the 
 entertainments were over, praising the liospitality of the hosts, and 
 the goodness of the provisions; while others, again, published the 
 resolves of the council, and admonished the people to hasten their 
 preparations for departure. 
 
 At length, every requisite arrangement being complete, the 
 women, to whom the prospect of such a journey is always gratify- 
 ing, were seen rapidly moving about, assiduously occupied in 
 packing up, and loading upon the horses, all their household goods, 
 and personal chattels — pots, kettles, and children — provisions, tents, 
 trinkets, and trumpery. It was obvious that they felt their own im- 
 portance ; their active motions, busy faces, evinced that, for the mo- 
 ment, they had broken through all the salutary restraints of disci- 
 pline, and assumed the reins of government ; and they even ven- 
 tured to rate their husbands, and other unfortunate men who fell 
 in their way, severely, foi real or supp 'sed trespasses, upon what 
 they considered their peculiar provi? ce — as we are assured the 
 ladies of another people, which shall '^e nameless, are accustomed 
 to do, on certain privileged days, or when their liege lords intrude 
 
58 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 upon them while in the performance of any household solemnities 
 which they regard as inviolate. From all which it may be safely 
 inferred, that the ingenious writer who had discovered that there 
 is a great deal of human nature in man, might have added, " and 
 in women." 
 
 The march of the tribe from the village presented a picturesque 
 and beautiful scene. It was a bright summer morning. The sun 
 was just rising over the rounded bluffs, and throwing his beams 
 obliquely along the surface of the turbid Missouri. The prairie 
 was clad in its richest apparel. The young grass covered it with 
 a thick sward, which still preserved the living freshness and 
 grateful verdure of spring, while flowers infinite in number, and 
 diversified in hue, reared their heads to the surface of the grassy 
 carpet, and reposed upon it, like colours upon the canvass of the 
 painter. The whole plain displayed a series of graceful undula- 
 tions — not hills and vales — but gentle swells and depressions, 
 which, at this early hour of the day, received the sunlight at such 
 a variety of angles, as to afford an endless diversity of light and 
 shade, while it heightened the effect of the perspective, by throw- 
 ing up a few points into prominent relief, and casting others, whose 
 features were as distinctly visible, into an imaginary back-ground. 
 
 As the cavalcade commenced its march, a long train of war- 
 riors, on horseback, were beheld issuing from the village, arrayed 
 in all the pomp, and all the dignity, of Indian display. Their 
 faces were carefully painted in the best style, some gaily with a 
 profusion of crimson, others lowering in the gloomy ferocity of 
 black, while their bodies were adorned with the trappings of sav- 
 age magnificence, and their heads arrayed in feathers of a variety 
 of gaudy hues. 
 
 They were armed with the numerous implements of war and 
 hunting — with guns, bows, war-clubs, tomahawks, and knives — 
 and mounted upon active horses, with vicious eyes and untamed 
 spirits, that evinced submission to the power of their riders, but 
 not affection for their persons. Some rode without stirrups, some 
 without saddles, and some with saddles richly ornamented. Their 
 bridle-bits were of every variety, from the plainest snaffle, to the 
 most powerful curb. The bridles of many were decorated with 
 gaudy-coloured ribbon, tape, or tinsel, or with bits of tin, or pieces 
 
THE NEW MOON. 59 
 
 of dressed deer-skin cut into fringe, or rolled into tassels ; and 
 many had adorned the manes and tails of their horses, while not 
 a few rode ragged steeds barebacked, and guided them with hal- 
 ters. 
 
 Although in the appearance of some of these native warriors, 
 the grotesque predominated, while extreme poverty was displayed 
 in the equipment of others, there was observable in each, the same 
 unconstrained air, and indescribable wildness, peculiar to this 
 original people ; and there were a few braves mounted on fine 
 horses, well clad, completely armed and appointed, of sedate car- 
 riage, and military bearing, and whose whole conduct bore the 
 decisive stamp of dignity. 
 
 They moved slowly ; but here and there might be seen a young 
 brave, urging his horse rapidly along the flank of the column, or 
 seeking to attract attention by dashing off from the line of march, 
 across the plain, at full speed, with his feet pressed in his 
 courser's sides, his body bent forward, his buffalo spear poised, 
 as if for striking, and his long plume of feathers streaming upon 
 the wind. Behind the main body of horsemen, followed the 
 women, the children, and the old men, a few of whom were 
 mounted on lean ponies, but the greater part were on foot, 
 trudging soberly along — except the younger ladies, who amused 
 themselves with jeering any of the junior warriors, who happened 
 to lag behind, or who was casually thrown among the non-com- 
 batants by the laming of a horse, or the loss of an indispensable 
 part of his armament. Under the charge of this body of women 
 and unsexed men, was a train of pack-horses, bearing the mats, 
 skin-lodges, and other moveables. On the packs might be seen 
 many a little urchin, too big to be carried on his mother's back," 
 yet too small to walk, who enjoyed the high privilege of being 
 lashed amono^ the ba^jgao-e, and treated as an article of furniture 
 — where he sat — comfortably enough, poking out his dark face 
 from among the packages, and staring with his little wild black 
 eyes, like a copper-headed snake. With this part of the caval- 
 cade, too, were the dogs, which, when not abroad on duty with 
 their masters, usually seek the society of the ladies, and the 
 agreeable atmosphere of the culinary department. Those in ques- 
 tion, were particularly given to these loafing habits, and forever 
 
60 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 stealing after tlie flesh-pots, and trying to curry favour with the 
 women, who, heartily despising the sycophants, gave them more 
 kicks than coppers. From their appearance one would not sup- 
 pose their company was desirable ; for the Indian's dog is a lean, 
 hungry, ferocious animal — a bad medium between the savage 
 wolf and the civilized dog — who is but little respected at home or 
 abroad, and sneaks about, with his bushy tail drooped, his pointed 
 ears erect, and his watchful eye gleaming with a thievish ex- 
 pression of mischief and distrust. Resembling the wolf in ap- 
 pearance and manners, he seems to be obedient from fear only, 
 and to have but little in common with the generous and affection- 
 ate animal who is the friend, as well as the servant, of civilized 
 man, and of whom the poet testified, when he said, " they are 
 honest creatures." 
 
 Leaving the village, the Indian train ascended a long gradual 
 sAvell, until they reached a beautifully rounded eminence, that 
 commanded an extensive view of the prairie, over which they 
 were about to travel. Nothing could be more striking than this 
 wild picture of native luxuriance, and aboriginal display. A 
 wide expanse of scenery was spread before the eye. The inter- 
 minable plain extended further than the vision reached, spreading 
 out a landscape which v/as bounded only by the dim sea-like 
 horizon ; and there was something peculiarly picturesque in the 
 march of the Omawhaws, whose long party-coloured line wound 
 and undulated among the slopes and mounds of the prairie, head- 
 ed by armed braves, and flanked by young horsemen, darting off 
 from the main body, to show the speed of their horses, and dis- 
 playing their own dexterity by a variety of evolutions. 
 
 When the party reached the most elevated point of the plain, 
 it halted, and many a glance was thrown back towards the desert- 
 ed wigwams. Not a living thing moved in the village, whose 
 lowly huts, untenanted, seemed to form a part of the natural 
 landscape. Beyond it flowed the broad and turbulent Missouri, 
 on its journey of a thousand leagues, and further towards the 
 East, was a range of low, pointed hills, whose sides were thinly 
 clothed with timber, while their bald summits were only covered 
 with a verdant carpet of grass. The newly risen sun had just 
 appeared beyond these hills, lighting up their peaked tops with 
 
THE NEW MOON. 61 
 
 the full effulgence of his splendour, and strongly marking the 
 characteristic horizon of this peculiar country. Over this scene 
 they gazed for a few moments with emotion, for some of them 
 might never return to the wigwams of their tribe, and those who 
 should survive might find their fields ravaged, and the graves of 
 their fathers desecrated. Even an Indian loves his home. Er- 
 ratic as are his habits, and little as he seems to understand or en- 
 joy domestic comfort, he acquires, unconsciously, an attachment 
 towards the spot on v/hich he resides, and a reverence for the as- 
 sociations by which it is surrounded. This attachment is weak 
 compared with that of the civilized man, but the savage feels it, 
 tliough in a modified form, and with but a slight reference to lo- 
 cality. There are dear and joyful recollections connected with 
 the fireside, however humble it may be, and the turf that covers 
 the remains of departed friends, is sacred eveu in the eyes of the 
 uneducated savage. 
 
 Bolingbroke was not a man to appreciate an interesting land- 
 scape, or to sympathize with a flow of tender feeling. He sat on 
 his horse, apart from the others, and was calculating the proba- 
 ble advantages of an union with the daughter of the chief of the 
 Mahas, and revolving in his mind the means by which he might 
 most speedily bring about so desirable an alliance, when the 
 Blackbird himself rode up beside him. 
 
 " Is the Wise Stranger sorrowful in spirit ?" said the chief, 
 " or does he mourn because the Omawhaws are quitting the 
 graves of their fathers ?" 
 
 " Neither," replied the politic trader ; " the Great Spirit has 
 not thrown any cloud over the heart of his white son, and the 
 graves that we are leaving are not those of mi/ fathers.'' 
 
 " Then why should the trader of the white people, be sad, 
 when his red brethren are going to hunt on the plains where the 
 buffaloes feed ?" 
 
 " I am thinking of something I had forgotten." 
 
 " Has the Master of Life told my friend in a dream, that he 
 has failed to do something that he ought to have done ?" 
 
 " Yes, my father; even thus has the Master of Life whispered 
 to my heart, while my eyes were sleeping. I have seen my 
 
62 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 fault. But I feel comforted by the reflection that the great chief 
 of the Omawhaws is my friend." 
 
 The chief directed a calm though penetrating glance of inqui- 
 ry towards his companion, but the countenance of the trader be- 
 trayed no emotion. It was evident that the offence was not one 
 of deep dye. His eye wandered back to the cavalcade, and rest 
 ed on the warrior train. The young trader resumed : 
 
 " My father has always been kind to me." 
 
 " The pale face has reason to believe that the Blackbird is his 
 friend," replied the chief composedly. 
 
 " I have endeavoured to convince the great chief that I desire 
 to serve him. I have no other pleasure than to make the Omaw- 
 haws happy, by supplying their wants." 
 
 " The white stranger has done his duty — I am satisfied." 
 
 Here a pause ensued, and these well-matched politicians gazed 
 along the line, which was now beginning to be again set in mo- 
 tion — each endeavouring stealthily to catch a glance at the coun- 
 tenance of the other. The young merchant was the first to renew 
 the conversation. 
 
 " In making my presents to the chiefs," he said, " I have endea- 
 voured to distinguish who were the most worthy, and who stood 
 highest in the estimation of the Mahas, by the value of the gifts 
 which I made them. But I fear that I did not sufficiently recol- 
 lect the high claims of Blackbird, who is elevated above all others 
 by his wisdom, his many victories, and his friendship for the 
 white people. I am a young man, and the Great Spirit has not 
 been pleased to give me that wisdom which he reserves for great 
 chiefs, whose business is to govern tribes." 
 
 As he said this he drew from his bosom an elegantly mounted 
 dirk, a favourite ornament and weapon of the Indian, and as he 
 presented it added : 
 
 " Will the head man of the Omawhaws accept this as a small 
 part of the atonement which my negligence imposes upon me, 
 and depend upon my word that in future I shall not forget the 
 distance between a great chief and his inferiors ?" 
 
 " The white stranger has been very properly called wise,'' said 
 the crafty chief, " and the head man of the Maha people knows 
 how to value his friends. I have looked back at our path — it is 
 
THE NEW MOON. 63 
 
 all white — there is no cloud upon it. The white trader may de- 
 pend hereafter, that I am his friend." 
 
 Thus saying, he eyed with complacency the beautiful weapon 
 that he had received, drew it, and examined the blade — passing 
 his eye along it with the keen scrutiny of one intimately versed 
 in the mechanism and use of military implements ; then having 
 arranged it upon his person, with the true savage love of finery, 
 in the most conspicuous manner, he rode away, muttering to him- 
 self, " What does the trader want in return for so fine a present ?" 
 He did dream that it was his daughter that was wanted. 
 
 In a few days they arrived at the pastures of the buffalo, and 
 beheld the plains covered with herds of wild cattle as far as the 
 eye could reach in every direction. It would seem that here 
 were " the cattle upon a thousand hills,^^ that were shadowed out 
 to the mind of the inspired poet. The animating scenes of the 
 hunt commenced. Parties of hunters mounted upon fleet horses 
 well trained to this sport, dashed in among the grazing herds. At 
 their approach the buffaloes fled in alarm ; the hunters pursued at 
 full speed, each horseman selecting his victim. The swiftness of 
 the horse soon outstripped the speed of the buffalo, and placed the 
 hunter by the side of his noble game ; when dropping the bridle, 
 while his trained steed, continued to bear him gallantly along, 
 maintaining his position side by side, with the buffalo, he dis- 
 charged his arrows, or his bullets, into the panting animal until 
 it fell mortally wounded. Then the hunter, quitting his prey, 
 dashed again into the affrighted herd to select another object of 
 pursuit. 
 
 It was an inspiring sight to behold the wide plain, — an immense 
 meadow, studded with ornamental groves, covered with numer- 
 ous herds, quietly grazing like droves of domestic cattle ; then to 
 see the Omawhaw bands, under the cover of some copse or swelling 
 ground, covertly approaching from the leeward, so that the timid 
 animals might not scent their approach in the tainted breeze ] and, 
 at last, to view the confusion occasioned by their sudden onset. 
 On discovering their enemies, the alarmed herd, following its 
 leaders, would attempt to move away rapidly in a solid phalanx ; 
 but the hunters, penetrating boldly into the heart of the retreating 
 body, dispersed it in every direction — and the maddened animals 
 
64 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 were seen flying towards all points of the compass, followed by 
 the fierce wild hunters. The vicissitudes of the chase were nu- 
 merous and diversified. Sometimes a horse fell, and the prostrate 
 rider was saluted with loud shouts of derision ; sometimes a large 
 bull turned suddenly upon his pursuer ; and burying his horns 
 deep in. the flanks of the steed, hurled him upon the plain: and 
 more than once the hunter, thus thrown, with difficulty escaped 
 being trodden to death by the furious herd. 
 
 Bolingbroke engaged with ardour in this sport. He was a 
 skilful and daring horseman ; and though at first awkward, from 
 his ignorance of the artifices of the chase, he soon became suffi- 
 ciently expert to be considered as an useful auxiliary by his com- 
 panions. The warriors began to treat him with increased re- 
 spect ; and even the squaws, whose favour he had heretofore con- 
 ciliated by timely presents, looked upon him with more compla- 
 cency, after witnessing these displays of his activity and courage. 
 
 A daring horseman gallops rapidly into a lady's affections. 
 The sex admire intrepidity, and give their suff'rages decidedly in 
 favour of a dashing fellow who combines boldness with grace and 
 skill. Bolingbroke found favour in the eyes of the New Moon ; 
 and, though she carefully concealed her sentiments in her own 
 bosom, he soon ceased to be an object of indifference. He was 
 her father's friend, and she began to discover that it was her duty 
 to admire his exploits, and approve his conduct. One day, as he 
 was returning to camp alone from a successful hunt, he overtook 
 the fair Menae, who was also separated accidentally from the 
 company. It was an opportunity too favourable to be lost. As 
 he joined her she threw her eyes upon the ground, and walked 
 silently forward. He dismounted, and throwing his bridle over 
 his arm, placed himself at the side of the Omawhaw beauty. 
 
 How awkward it is to begin a conversation under such circum- 
 stances ! Among us, a remark on the weather would have fur- 
 nished a theme for the lovers to begin upon ; but these meteoro- 
 logical discussions were not fashionable at the Omawhaw village. 
 One of Miss Edgeworth's heroes pulled a flower to pieces on a 
 similar occasion, before he could open his mouth ; but Bolingbroke 
 was a man of business, and came at once to the point. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 65 
 
 ■ " The daughter of Blackbird looks upon the ground," said he ; 
 "she does not seem pleased to see the white friend of her father." 
 
 " The white stranger is glad because he has had a good hunt," 
 replied the maiden, " and others seem to him to be sad, because 
 tiiey are not so joyful as himself." 
 
 " When I look at the New Moon," rejoined the lover, " my 
 heart is always filled with gladness, for she is very beautiful." 
 
 " I have often heard," replied Menae, " that the white men 
 have forked tongues, and do not mean what they say." 
 
 " Others may have lying lips, but mine are true. I have 
 never deceived the Omavvhaws. I speak truth, when I say that 
 I love the beautiful Menae, for she is handsomer than all the other 
 daughters of her tribe. If she will be my wife I will build a 
 wigwam in the village of the Omawhaws, and quit forever the 
 graves of my fathers, and the council-fires of the white people." 
 
 •' The wise stranger would send a cloud over his father's house. 
 How many of the girls of the pale faces are looking up the great 
 river, to see him return, as he promised them ?" inquired she 
 archly. 
 
 " Not one ! Not one ! You are the only woman I have ever 
 loved — I will never love another. Become my wife, and I prom- 
 ise you, here in the presence of the Master of Life, that I will 
 never seek the love of any other. Menae shall be the sole com- 
 panion, and dearest friend, of my life." 
 
 "I am the daughter of a great chief," replied the Indian maid. 
 
 " Ah ! I understand you — you are too proud to marry one who 
 is not of your nation." 
 
 *' The roaring of the buifalo has made the ear of the white 
 hunter dull. I am the daughter of a chief, and I may not give 
 myself away." 
 
 '• Lovely Menae !" exclaimed the trader, as he attempted to 
 seize her hand ; but she quietly folded her arms, and looked at 
 him with composure, assuming a dignity which effectually re- 
 pelled any further advance. She then addressed him with a 
 touching softness of voice. 
 
 " There is a path to my heart which is right ; it is a straight 
 path." She paused ; but her eye, which beamed softly upon her 
 lover, expressed all that he could have wished. She added, " If 
 
66 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH 
 
 the white trader is wise, as men say he is, he will not attempt to 
 gain a young maiden's affections by any crooked way." 
 
 So saying, she walked quietly away, while the politic trader, 
 who understood her meaning, respectfully withdrew, satisfied that 
 the lady would interpose no objection to his suit, if the consent of 
 a higher authority could be secured. 
 
 Having taken his resolution, he proceeded to the lodge of the 
 Blackbird, and endeavoured to conciliate the favour of both the 
 parents of Menae by liberal presents. He adverted artfully to 
 the advantages which would accrue to both parties by an alliance 
 between the chief and himself, avowed his love for their daughter, 
 and his decided wish to marry one of the Omawhaw tribe. He 
 promised, if they would transfer their daughter to him in mar- 
 riage, to treat her kindly, and to introduce no other wife into his 
 lodge. He suggested that he had now established a permanent 
 trading house at their village, where he should reside during the 
 greater part of the year, and where' he would be fully able to 
 protect and support, both his proposed wife, and her kindred, if 
 necessary. In return, he hoped the nation would give him the 
 preference in their trade, and consider him as one allied to them 
 in affection and interest. 
 
 To this very business-like harangue, which was sufficiently 
 sentimental for the ears to which it was addressed, the parents 
 made a suitable reply. They thanked him for his liberal offers, 
 and were gratified that he had taken pity on their daughter ; they 
 would not object to the connection, and hoped their daughter 
 would accept him. The mother added that Menae was stronger 
 than she looked, and could carry a great many skins ; and, 
 though she was not very expert at hoeing corn, she was young 
 enough to learn. The chief gave him the comfortable assurance 
 that it was quite indifferent to them how many wives he might 
 choose to have, provided he could support and govern them — for 
 his part, he had had his own trouble with one ; but he commended 
 the prudence of his young friend in confining himself to a single 
 squaw for the present, until he should become experienced in the 
 inequalities of the female temper, and have learned the difficult 
 art of ruling a household. 
 
 The parents retired, and opened the subject to their daughter, 
 
THE NEW MOON. 67 
 
 to whom they magnified the advantages of the proposed alliance, 
 with one who was, in their opinion, a greater man than any of 
 the Omawhaws. His wealth exceeded that of all the tribe ; his 
 store of guns, ammunition, trinkets, and clothing, seemed to be 
 inexhaustible ; and they earnestly requested her to secure her 
 own happiness, and advance the interests of her family, by ac- 
 cepting an offer so tempting. 
 
 The New Moon, though delighted with her conquest, thought 
 it proper, as young ladies are apt to think on such occasions, to 
 support her dignity by affecting some reluctance. In the first 
 place, the gentleman's complexion was against him, and she 
 would have given any thing — except himself — if it had been a 
 shade or two darker. Then his taste in dress was by no means 
 such as accorded with her ideas of manly beauty ; and she 
 regretted that he did not paint his handsome face, decorate his 
 hair with the feathers of the eagle, ornament his nasal protuber- 
 ance with rings, and cover his shoulders with the ample folds of a 
 Makinaw blanket. Above all, he had never struck an enemy in 
 battle ; not a single scalp attested his prowess as a warrior ; and 
 although he managed a horse with skill, and had wielded the rifle 
 successfully in the chase, he was as ignorant as a woman of the 
 use of a tomahawk, or a scalping knife. Notwithstanding all 
 this, she admitted that the white trader was wise — he was young, 
 had a good eye, and a stout arm, and might, in time, with proper 
 tuition, become worthy to be ranked among the head men of the 
 Omawhaws. Upon the whole, she expressed her own unworthi- 
 ness, her ignorance of what would be right on such an occasion, 
 her willingness to obey the wishes of her parents, and to advance 
 the interests of her nation ; and as it seemed to be their desire, 
 and her duty, she would marry the trader. 
 
 They were united accordingly, and the beautiful Menae en- 
 tered upon a new existence. Marriage always effects a decided 
 change upon the sentiments of those, who come within its sacred 
 pale under a proper sense of the responsibilities of the married 
 state. However delightful the intercourse of wedded hearts, 
 there is, to a well-regulated mind, something extremely solemn in 
 the duties imposed by this interesting relation. The reflection 
 that an existence which was separate and independent is ended, 
 
C8 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 and that all its hopes and interests are blended with those of an- 
 other soul, is deeply affecting, as it imposes the conviction that 
 every act which shall influence the happiness of the one, will 
 colour the destiny of the other. But when the union is that of 
 love, this feeling of dependance is one of the most delightful that 
 can be imagined. It annihilates the habit of selfish enjoyment, 
 and teaches the heart to delight in that which gives pleasure to 
 another. The affections become gradually enlarged, expanding 
 as the ties of relationship, and the duties of life, accumulate 
 around, until the individual, ceasing to know an isolated existence, 
 lives entirely for others, and for society. 
 
 But it is the generous and the virtuous alone, who thus enjoy 
 this agreeable relation. Some hearts there are too callous to 
 give nurture to a delicate sentiment. There are minds too nar- 
 row to give play to an expansive benevolence. A certain degree 
 of magnanimity is necessary to the existence of disinterested love 
 or friendship. 
 
 The beautiful Menae was of a noble, generous nature. She 
 had never been selfish ; and now that her affections had an ob- 
 ject on which to concentrate their warmth, her heart glowed with 
 disinterested emotion. With a native ingenuousness of soul that 
 had always induced her, even without reflection, to consult the 
 happiness of others in preference to her own, she had now an ob- 
 ject whose interests were so dear, that it was as delightful as it 
 was natural, to sacrifice to them all her own inclinations. From 
 the moment of her marriage, she began to adapt her conduct to 
 the taste of her husband. She adopted his opinions, imitated his 
 manners, and gradually exchanged the ornaments of her tribe for 
 tliose which accorded better with his fancy. It cost her not a 
 pang, nor a regret, to throw aside the costume which she had con- 
 sidered graceful, and had worn with pride in the meridian of her 
 beauty, and to invest her charms in a foreign drapery, which was 
 far less becoming in her own eyes. Whatever her husband ad- 
 mired became graceful in her estimation ; and that which ren- 
 dered her attractive to him, she wore with more than youthful 
 delight. A similar change took place in her domestic arrange- 
 ments. Instead of the rude wigwam of the Indian, Bolingbroke 
 had built a small, but. neat cottage, and had furnished it with 
 
THE NEW MOON. 69 
 
 some of the comforts, though few of the luxuries of his country; 
 and his wife eagerly endeavoured to gratify his wishes, by adapt- 
 ing herself to his habits of living. She learned to sit upon u 
 chair, to eat from a table, and to treat her husband as a companion, 
 rather than as a master. Hour after hour did she listen atten- 
 tively to his descriptions of the habits of his countrywomen ; and 
 carefully did she treasure up in her memory every hint wliich 
 might serve as a guide in her endeavour to render her own de- 
 portment pleasing to him to whom she had given an unreserved 
 affection. From him she had learned to attach a name, and an 
 endearing value, to the spot which he called his home ; and for 
 his sake she sought to throw every enchantment around the scene 
 of their domestic enjoyments. With all that wonderful facility 
 with which the female heart, when stimulated by the desire of 
 pleasing, can mould itself to the wishes of another, she caught his 
 opinions, and learned to understand his tastes — entwining her own 
 existence around his, as the ivy clings to the oak. Her cottage 
 soon became conspicuous for its neatness and beauty. She trans- 
 planted the wild rose and the honeysuckle from the woods, and 
 trained them over her door, in imitation of the bowers that he had 
 described to her. Her table was spread with the dainties which 
 he had taught her to prepare ; her furniture arranged in the or- 
 der which he dictated, and all her household duties directed with 
 the nicest regard to his feelings or prejudices. 
 
 And had she no prejudices to be respected — no habits to be 
 indulged — no wishes to be gratified ? None. She loved with the 
 pure devotion of a generous woman. She had a heart which 
 could sacrifice every selfish wish upon the altar of affection — a 
 mind so resolute in the performance of duty, that it could magnan- 
 imously stifle every desire that ran counter to its own high stand- 
 ard of rectitude. She possessed talent and feeling ; and to those 
 ideas of implicit obedience and profound respect for her husband, 
 which constitute nearly the whole code of ethics of an Indian fe- 
 male, she added a nice perception of propriety, and a tenderness 
 that filled her whole heart. She had no reserved rights. In giv- 
 ing herself to her husband she severed all other ties, and merged 
 her whole existence in his ; and the language of her heart was, 
 *' thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." Such 
 
70 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 is the hallowed principle of woman's love — such the pure senti- 
 ment, the deep devotion, the high-minded elevation of that passion, 
 when sanctioned by duty, in the bosom of a well-principled and 
 delicate female ! 
 
 The New Moon of the Omawhaws was a proud and happy wife. 
 Her young affections reposed sweetly in the luxury of a blame- 
 less attachment. She had married the man of her choice, who 
 had freely selected her from all her tribe. That man was greater 
 than those around him, and in her eyes, superior to most of his 
 sex. He had distinguished and honoured her. He had taken 
 her to his bosom, given her his confidence, surrounded her with 
 luxuries and marks of kindness. 
 
 Yet there were some thorns in her path ; and, in the midst of 
 all the brightness of her sunniest days, her dream of bliss was 
 sometimes chilled by clouds that threw their dim shadows over it. 
 Almost unconsciously to herself a sadness would rest for a mo- 
 ment upon her heart, and fly before she had time to inquire whence 
 it came. There was a dark spot in her destiny, of the existence 
 of which she was scarcely sensible, because she turned her eyes 
 away from it in fear or in pride. A chill sometimes crept over 
 her heart ; but without waiting to inquire its cause, she chased 
 it away, gazed again upon the bright vision of her wedded joy, 
 and forgot that an unpleasant image had been present. Was it 
 the occasional coldness of Bolingbroke, who, immersed in the 
 cares of business, or abstracted in the anticipations of a future af- 
 fluence, received the endearments of his wife with indifference ? 
 Or was it the estranged deportment of her tribe, who began to re- 
 gard her as an alien ? She knew not — she never permitted her- 
 self to doubt the love of her husband, and she prized the afTection 
 of others too little in comparison, to inquire into the ebb and flow 
 of its tide. 
 
 The time, however, arrived when Menae began to discover that 
 she had a difficult task to perform. Her husband was a trader, 
 bent on the accumulation of wealth, by catching every gale of 
 fortune that might chance to blow — her relatives and those by 
 whom she was surrounded, were fierce and crafty savages, igno- 
 rant of the principles of justice, and destitute of any fixed stand- 
 ard of moral right. His interests and theirs were often opposed ; 
 
THE NEW MOON. 71 
 
 and while he was always prepared to reap the spoil of their la- 
 bours, they were as ready to crush or to plunder him, whenever he 
 happened to cross their purposes, or to awaken their suspicion. 
 His popularity rose and fell with the changes of the season. A 
 new supply of goods rendered him the idol of the tribe — an ex- 
 hausted stock exposed him to insult and injustice. Previous to 
 the annual hunt, or to a warlike expedition, he was flattered and 
 obeyed by those improvident warriors, who, having made no prep- 
 arations fbr such an occasion, were dependent upon him for the 
 outfit which was necessary to enable them to take the field ; but 
 when the spoils of the chase or of battle came to be divided, and 
 the largest portion was claimed by the trader in payment of his 
 debts, he became for the moment an object of hatred ; and it re- 
 quired all the power of the chiefs, and all the cunning of his own 
 politic brain, to secure him from their vengeance. On such occa- 
 sions he found his wife an invaluable counsellor, and an efficient 
 friend. Her influence with the tribe was by no means contempti- 
 ble. Her own popularity, and her ready access to the ear of her 
 father, whom all others feared to approach, gave her a degree of 
 authority among the warriors which she seldom used, and never 
 exerted in vain. 
 
 But her influence was gradually diminishing. As Bolingbroke 
 grew rich, he became more and more rapacious. The other tra- 
 ders were practising every popular art to recommend themselves, 
 to destroy him, and to rise upon the ruins of his prosperity ; and 
 his vigilant wife more than once protected his life and property, 
 by discovering the designs of his enemies, and secretly appealing 
 to her father for protection. These things, however, did not dis- 
 turb her peace. Vigilant by nature — accustomed to danger from 
 childhood, and inured to all the vicissitudes of the savage mode 
 of life — she could watch with composure over a husband's safety, 
 and expose her own existence without fear. Perhaps, to one of 
 her habits, the excitement of such a life was agreeable ; and she 
 certainly felt a pride in becoming thus important to him who was 
 the sole object of her love. 
 
 But while she despised the machinations of her husband's foes, 
 with all the disdain of a proud woman, it was not without uneasi- 
 ness that she discovered a sensible diminution in the cordiality of 
 
72 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 her own friends. She had married one who was an alien to her 
 tribe, and such marriages always produce estrangement. They 
 saw her abandoning the customs of her country, and throwing 
 aside the dress of her people. She mingled but little with the 
 women of the Omawhaws ; and while she tacitly condemned some 
 of their practices by her own deportment, she withdrew her sane 
 tion from some of their ancient rites by her absence. Her im- 
 provements in domestic economy were regarded with ridicule and 
 jealousy. The young braves no longer regarded her with pride, 
 as the beauty of their nation, but considered her as one who had 
 apostatized from the customs of her fathers, and degraded herself 
 by linking her destiny with that of a stranger from a foreign land. 
 She felt that she, who had been the idol of the tribe, was sustain- 
 ed by the wealth of her husband and the power of her father, and 
 not by the affection of those around her. 
 
 It was the custom of Bolingbroke to descend the river annually 
 to St. Louis, for the purpose of renewing his stock of merchandise 
 — and he had been married but a few months when the first ab- 
 sence of this kind occurred. On his return, his young wife re- 
 ceived him with the utmost tenderness. He was charmed to hear 
 of the discretion with which she had conducted herself in his ab- 
 sence, and to perceive the many evidences of the manner in which 
 she had spent her time. He learned that she had lived a retired 
 life, engaging in none of the public festivals, and receiving few 
 visiters at her house. She had laboured incessantly in decorating 
 their dwelling, or in fabricating such articles of dress for her hus- 
 band as she thought would please his fancy ; while she had no- 
 ticed with careful attention the movements of the tribe, and gath- 
 ered up every rumour, the intelligence of which might be useful 
 to him in his mercantile concerns. 
 
 Another year came, and again he left her. His absence was 
 protracted during several months, and within this period she be- 
 came the mother of a daughter, which she nursed with the fondest 
 solicitude. Her love for her husband, and her anxiety for his re- 
 turn, seemed to increase after this event. With her infant in her 
 arms, she wandered out daily to a secluded spot on the bank of 
 the river, where she would sit for hours, following the downward 
 course of the river with eager eyes, to gain the earliest notice of 
 
THE NEW^ MOON. 73 
 
 his approacii. Estimating his feelings hy her own, she was im- 
 patient for the moment when she could place the interesting 
 stranger in his arms, and see him gaze with delight at that beau- 
 tiful miniature in which each might see the features of the other. 
 Nor was she disappointed. Bolingbroke caressed his child with 
 fondness, and she was the happiest of mothers — the proudest of 
 wives. 
 
 We must touch briefly upon the subsequent events of this nar- 
 rative. Another and another year rolled away, and Menae was 
 still the devoted wife, while Bolingbroke was become a cold, 
 though a civil husband : he bending all his energies to the acquisi- 
 tion of wealth, she bringing in her diurnal tribute of love, and 
 living only to promote his happiness. They had now two chil- 
 dren, and when the time approached for his annual visit to the 
 settlements of the white people, he proposed to carry the eldest 
 with him. The wife, always obedient, reluctantly consented, and 
 commanded her feelings so far as to behold their departure in 
 mute, suppressed affliction. But, although one charge remained, 
 upon which she might lavish her caresses, no sooner had her 
 husband commenced his voyage, than her maternal fondness over- 
 powered her, and she ran screaming along the shore of the river, 
 in pursuit of the boat, tearing out her long glossy tresses, and ap- 
 pearing almost bereft of reason. Unable to overtake the boat, she 
 returned disconsolate, and assumed the deepest mourning which 
 the customs of her tribe impose on the state of widowhood. She 
 cut off* her beautiful raven locks, gave away her ornaments, and 
 every thing that she had worn in her day of pride, and clothed 
 herself in humble attire. Confining herself to her own dwelling, 
 she refused the visits of her friends, and repelled their offers of 
 consolation. She said that she well knew that her daughter 
 would be better treated among the whites than she could be at 
 home, but she could not avoid regarding her own situation to be 
 the same as if the Wahcondah had taken away her offspring for- 
 ever. 
 
 By degrees her remaining child began to absorb the entire 
 current of her affections, and, on his account, she resumed the 
 performance of her household duties, though she would not throw 
 aside her mourning. One day, she had gone in company with 
 
 5 
 
74 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 some other females to the corn-fields, adjoining the village, and 
 was en^ao-ed in agricultural labours, her infant boy being secured, 
 after the Indian fashion, to a board, which she had carefully- 
 leaned against a tree. They were discovered by a lurking war 
 party of the Sioux, who rushed upon them suddenly, in the ex- 
 pectation of gratifying their vengeance by the massacre of the 
 whole party. An exclamation of terror, uttered by one of the 
 females, on discovering the enemy, caused the alarmed women 
 to fly precipitately ; and Menae, in the first moment of affright, 
 Wcis in the act of retreating with the others, when she recollected 
 her child. To save a life more precious than her own, she swift- 
 ly returned in the face of the Sioux warriors, snatched her child 
 from the tree, and bore him rapidly away. She was closely pur- 
 sued by one of the savages, who had nearly overtaken her, when 
 she arrived at a fence which separated the field from the enclo- 
 sure surrounding the trading-house. A moment's hesitation 
 would have been fatal — but, with a presence of mind which al- 
 ways distinguished her above other women, she gathered all her 
 streno-th, threw the child, with its board, into the enclosure, and 
 then, placing her hands on the fence, leaped nimbly over. Sev- 
 eral of her companions were murdered, while she escaped, with 
 her child, unhurt.* 
 
 After a longer absence than usual, Bolingbroke returned, bring- 
 ing with him an accomplished lady, of his own people, whom he 
 had married, but unaccompanied by his Indian daughter, whom 
 he had placed at school. Menae heard this intelligence with the 
 deepest sorrow, but with less surprise than such an event would 
 have occasioned a wife in a civilized land ; as the practice of po- 
 lygamy, which prevails among the Omawhaws, had perhaps pre- 
 pared her to regard such an occurrence as not improbable. She 
 was stung to the heart, by the conviction that she had lost the 
 love of him, who was dearer to her than all the world, and for 
 whom she had sacrificed so much ; and mortified that another 
 should be preferred to herself. But the legality of the transac- 
 tion, and its frequency among the people of her tribe, lulled, in 
 some degree, the sense of degradation, and blunted the sharpness 
 
 * See Appendix, No. XII. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 75 
 
 of her resentment. She considered the act lawful, while she con- 
 demned the actor as faithless and ungrateful. In secresy she 
 wept bitterly over her disappointed pride, and blighted joy ; but 
 professed in public a cheerful acquiescence in the decision of her 
 husband. The Blackbird was now dead ; and the keen-sighted 
 Menae could not blind herself to the conviction, that the decease 
 of her father had rendered her of less importance to the merce- 
 nary trader. 
 
 Previous to the arrival of Bolingbroke at the Omawhaw vil- 
 lage, he despatched a message to the trading- house, announcing 
 his marriage, and forbidding his Indian wife from appearing in 
 the presence of her rival. To this cruel mandate she submitted, 
 with that implicit obedience which the females of her race are 
 accustomed to pay to the commands of their husbands, and de- 
 parted to a distant village of her nation. But what woman can 
 trust the weakness of her heart ? Conjugal love, and maternal 
 fondness, both allured her to the presence of him who had so long 
 been the master of her affections. Which of these was the pre- 
 vailing inducement, it is difficult to conjecture ; she longed to see 
 Bolingbroke, and her heart yearned for tidings from her absent 
 child, but without this plea, her pride would probably have for- 
 bidden her from seeking an interview with the destroyer of her 
 peace. Unable to remain in banishment, she returned to her na- 
 tive village, with her little boy on her back, and encamped in the 
 neighbourhood of her husband's residence — in sight of that cot- 
 tage which her own hands had embellished, in which she had 
 spent years of domestic felicity, and where another now reigned 
 in her place. She sent her son to the trader, who treated him 
 affectionately. On the following day he commanded her presence, 
 and she stood before him, in the house which had been her own, 
 with her arms meekly folded upon her breast, gazing calmly on 
 the cold but handsome features of him, who was the lord of her 
 destiny. Suppressing every other feeling, and avoiding all other 
 topics, she enquired for her daughter, and listened with interest 
 to such information as he was pleased to give her. She then, 
 with much composure, desired to know his intentions in relation 
 to the future disposition of both her children. To this question 
 he gave an evasive manner ; and directed her to accompany her 
 
76 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 friends, who were on the way to the hunting grounds. She de- 
 parted without a murmur. 
 
 Two months afterwards, she was recalled. She lost no time in 
 presenting herself before the husband whom she still tenderly- 
 loved, notwithstanding his unprincipled desertion. Her resent- 
 ment had in a great measure subsided, and rather than be ban- 
 ished entirely from his affection, she was content to share it with 
 another, according to the usages of her tribe. Such she supposed 
 to be his intention in sending for her, and she freely forgave the 
 temporary aberration of his love, under the supposition that she 
 would be to him hereafter, if not his sole favourite, at least a re- 
 spected wife, that her children would find a home under his roof, 
 and that he would be to her and them a faithful protector. Alas ! 
 how the heart, given up to the illusions of love, cheats itself with 
 visions of future bliss ! How often does the young wife build up a 
 fabric of happiness, which like the icy palace of the Russian po- 
 tentate, is splendid to the eye in the hour of its illumination, but 
 melts away with the first change of the season ! The New Moon 
 hastened to her husband, full of hope, and newly-kindled affec- 
 tion ; but bitter w-as her disappointment, when, after an austere 
 reception, he demanded the surrender of her son, and renounced 
 any future association with herself, directing her to return to her 
 people, and to provide for her own support as she might see 
 proper. 
 
 Indignant at being thus repudiated, overcome by feelings which 
 she could not control, and alarmed at the proposed separation from 
 her child, she rushed from the house with the infant in her arms, 
 and finding a canoe on the river shore, paddled over to the oppo- 
 site side, and made her escape into the forest. The weather was 
 cold and stormy, the snow was falling, and the vvretched mother 
 had no shelter to protect her. Thoughout the whole night she 
 wandered about in the wilderness, hugging her babe to her bosom, 
 and keeping it alive by the warmth of her own breast. But, worn 
 down with fatigue and exposure, and discouraged by her discon- 
 solate condition, she determined in the morning to return, and, 
 with the feelings of a wife and mother, to plead her cause before 
 the arbiter of her fate. 
 
 Early in the morning, the wretched woman, faint, hungry, and 
 
THE NEW MOON. 77 
 
 shivering with cold, presented herself before him, who, in the hour 
 of her beauty, had sued for her favour. She, who had loved, and 
 cherished, and counselled, and protected him, and who had higher 
 claims upon him than any other living individual, stood a trem- 
 bling suppliant at his door. 
 
 " Here is our child," said she ; " I do not question your fond- 
 ness for him — but he is still more dear to me. You cannot kjve 
 him with a mother's love, nor keep him with a mother's caie. 
 You say that you will keep him for yourself, and drive me far 
 from you. But, no — I will remain with him. You may spurn 
 me from your own society, but you cannot drive me from my 
 child. Take him and feed him. I can find some corner into 
 which I may creep, in order to be near him, and hear him when 
 he cries for his mother, and sometimes see him. If you will not 
 give me food, I will remain until I starve, and die before your 
 eyes." 
 
 There are those who have no feeling. The trader had none. 
 Not a chord in his bosom vibrated to this eloquent appeal. A 
 young and beautiful woman reduced to penury — a mother folding 
 her infant in her arms — his own wife, the mother of his children 
 — she who had cherished his interest and honour more dearly than 
 her own life, and who would have endured any anguish to have sa- 
 ved him from a momentary pang ; — with all these, and a thousand 
 other claims upon his sympathy and justice, she was an unsuc- 
 cessful suppliant. 
 
 He offered her money, and desired her to leave the child. Her 
 blood rushed to her heart at the base proposal, and she indignant- 
 ly replied — " Is my child a dog, that I should sell him for mer- 
 chandise ? You cannot drive me away ; you may beat me, you 
 may taunt me with insults, but I will remain. When you marri- 
 ed me, you promised to use me kindly as long as I should be 
 faithful to you ; that I have always been so, no one can deny. 
 I have loved you with tenderness, and served you with fidelity. 
 Ours was not a marriage contracted for a season — it was lo termi- 
 nate only with our lives. I was then a young girl, the daughter 
 of the head man of the Omawhaws, and might have been united to 
 a chief of my nation ; but now I am an old woman, the mother 
 of two children, and what Omawhaw will regard me ? Is not 
 
78 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 my right superior to that of your other wife ? She had heard of 
 me before you possessed her. It is true, her skin is whiter than 
 mine, but her heart cannot be more pure towards you, nor her 
 fidelity more rigid. Do not take the child from my breast — I 
 cannot bear to hear it cry, and not be present to relieve it ; per- 
 mit me to retain it until the spring, when it will be able to eat, 
 and then, if it must be so, take it from my sight, that I may part 
 with it but once." 
 
 The trader remained inexorable ; he listened, with apathy, to 
 the feeling appeal of his wife ; but, finding her inflexible, and 
 knowing her high spirit, he attempted no reply — coolly remarking 
 that she might remain there if she pleased, but that the child 
 should immediately be sent down to the settlements. 
 
 The affectionate mother had thus far sustained herself, during 
 the interview, with the firmness of conscious right, and had suc- 
 cessfully curbed the impulse of her feelings ; but nature now 
 yielded, the tears burst from her eyes — and clasping her hands, 
 and bowing her head, she gave way to her grief, exclaiming — 
 " Why did the Master of Life hate me so much, as to induce me 
 to put my child again into your power ? 
 
 " But, no," she continued, after a momentary pause, " we are 
 not in your power — you have renounced my obedience — I no 
 longer owe you any duty. I belong to a free wild race, that has 
 never submitted to oppression. The pale face shall learn that the 
 blood of an Omawhaw chief runs in the veins of his discarded 
 wife. For herself, she has no wrongs to resent — but for her child 
 she can strike the death-blow with as firm an arm as that of the 
 warrior. My son shall not go to the fires of the white people, 
 to be their servant, and to be insulted for his descent from an 
 Indian mother. He shall not be trained up in the corn-fields like 
 a squaw, or be taught to sell his honour for money, like the trader 
 of the white Americans. I shall take him with me. He is mine, 
 and shall never be taken alive from my arms. Attempt to sepa- 
 rate us, and I will strike this knife to his heart, and then put an 
 end to my own wretched existence !" 
 
 So saying, she darted away with a swiftness which announced 
 that the resolution of her mind had imparted new vigour to her 
 
THE NEW MOON. 79 
 
 limbs ; while the trader, alarmed by her threats, abandoned his 
 purpose, and suffered her to retire without pursuit. 
 
 Two weeks afterwards, a haggard female was seen slowly ap- 
 proaching a distant hunting-camp of the Omawhaws, bearing an 
 emaciated child on her back. It was she who once had been the 
 pride of their nation — the daughter of that dreaded chief who^e 
 word was law. She had wandered through the woods, thinly 
 clad, and almost without food, subsisting upon such small game 
 as she could entrap by artifice. At night she crept into a hollow 
 tree, or scraped the snow from the ground, and nestled in the 
 leaves. She had traversed the wide prairies, now desolate and 
 snow-clad, on whose broad expanse scarce a living animal v/as 
 seen, and over which the bleak wind swept with unbroken power. 
 The wolf had tracked her footsteps, and howled around the dreary 
 spot of her lonesome encampment. Without a path or a guide — 
 ignorant of the intended movements of her tribe, and uncertain 
 where to find them — exposed to imminent and constantly impend- 
 ing danger from cold, hunger, beasts of prey, and hostile savages 
 — this intrepid female pursued her solitary way through the vast 
 wilderness with unbroken spirit, trusting to her native courage 
 and sagacity, and praying to the Great Master of Life for assi^- 
 ance. And who doubts that such a prayer is heard ? V/ho 
 can doubt that the same beneficent God v/lio decks the wilderness 
 with matchless beauty, and stores it with abundance, listens to 
 the plaintive cry of the widowed mother and her innocent babe ? 
 How often do the weak and helpless pass unhurt through perils 
 under which the bold and strong would sink, or endure priva- 
 tions for the support of which humanity seems unequal ! And 
 can we see this without believing that the same unseen influ-" 
 ence, which tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, is ever ready 
 to listen to the petition of the afflicted ? and that those who seem 
 most friendless and destitute are the favoured objects of the most 
 efficient protection ? Yes — there is a prayer that is heard, 
 though it ascend not from the splendid edifices erected by pride 
 or piety, nor clothes itself in the rounded periods of polished 
 eloquence. There is a religion of the heart, and a language 
 of nature ; and God, who so organized the flower that it turns 
 itself to the sun, to catch vigour from the life-giving ray, has 
 
80 THE VvlLi^EUiSESo ASD THE WAR PATH. 
 
 so framed the human bosom that it spontaneously expands itself 
 to Him in the hour of adversity. She prayed to the Great Spirit, 
 and he conducted lier safely through the wilderness. 
 
 The Omawhaws had regarded the wife of Bolingbroke with 
 coldness, when they saw her surrounded with affluence superior 
 to their own, and considered her as an apostate from the ancient 
 customs of her people. Their love for her was turned to distrust, 
 while they beheld her in a foreign garb, and viewed her as the 
 ally of the white man. But when she came back to them a des- 
 titute, houseless, deserted woman, they received her with kind- 
 ness, restored her to the place she had occupied in their confidence, 
 and poured out bitter curses upon her faithless husband. As she 
 repeated the story of her abandonment, even in the softened lan- 
 guage of an unwilling accuser, their indignant comments showed 
 that they had made her cause their own. Bolingbroke was no 
 longer protected by the mysteriouspower of the dreaded chief, his 
 rivals had already supplanted him in the affections of the tribe, 
 and his last offence overturned the tottering fabric of his popular- 
 ity. The passions of the Indian know no medium — what they 
 condemn they hate, and whatever they hate they destroy. The 
 doom of the trader was deliberately fixed. It was unsparing and 
 irrevocable. Him, and his household, and all that he possessed, 
 were solemnly doomed to death and plunder. 
 
 The following morning Menae stood in a secluded spot, at some 
 distance from the encampment, in earnest conversation with a 
 young warrior of a bold and prepossessing appearance, whose 
 hand was twisted in the mane of a fiery steed. 
 
 " You know the white trader ?" said she. 
 
 " Yes, he gave me a blanket once." 
 
 " Was that all ?" 
 
 " The first time that I went to hunt, he filled my horn with 
 powder, and promised me good luck." 
 
 " Think once more. You owe a larger debt than that to the 
 white trader.'' 
 
 " When my father was killed by the Sioux, and I was badly 
 wounded, none of the Omawhaws took pity on me, for there was 
 a scarcity in the village. You took me into your wigwam, cured 
 my Vv'ounds, and fed me with the white man's provisions." 
 
THE NEW MOON. 81 
 
 '' You owe him your life." 
 
 " I owe it to you." 
 
 " To us both." 
 
 " I am willing to pay the debt. I have often said that I would 
 die for the New Moon, and I am not unfriendly to the trader ; I 
 have eaten his bread." 
 
 " You can be secret ?" 
 
 " The serpent, which has no voice, is not more secret than I." 
 
 " Go to the white trader. Let none see you depart — let none 
 but him see you at the principal village of the Omawhaws. Tell 
 him that Menae sent you — that she, who helped to build up his 
 fortune, who has for years watched over his safety, now warns 
 him of danger, and bids him fly to the settlements of his own peo- 
 ple. Say that the spirit of my father has whispered in my ear 
 that the Omawhaws have predicted the death of the trader. Tell 
 him that I shall never see him again — I would not condescend to 
 be his wife, or his servant ; I would starve rather than eat his 
 bread — but I should grieve to see the father of my children die 
 the death of a dog, or the pale girl, whom he has chosen for his 
 wdfe, suffering the penalty of his crime. He knows I would not 
 deceive him. I have but one tongue — it has always spoken the 
 truth. We walked together for years — I have looked back at 
 my patli, and find that it is white. Bid them fly to the fires of 
 the white people, before another moon shall be seen in the place 
 of that which is now waning. And say to Bolingbroke — to the 
 white trader — that if he feels any gratitude to her who has more 
 than once been a true friend in the hour of peril, and now saves 
 him, and his new wife, from the rage of the Maha braves, he will 
 restore her daughter to the arms of its mother. Let him do this, 
 and Menae will forgive his faithless treatment of herself, and for- 
 get all her sorrows." 
 
 The young Indian bent his head, and listened attentively, as 
 Menae pronounced these words with a rapid but distinct utterance. 
 He then said, respectfully, 
 
 " It shall be done — though it grieves me to disappoint the 
 Omawhaw warriors of their just vengeance. But the daughter of 
 Blackbird was a mother to me, when I was a sick boy ; I will be 
 
 5* 
 
82 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 a son to her now that I am a man. When I had no home, I slept 
 in the white man's house ; it shall not be burned over his head." 
 
 He loosened his hand from the mane of the young horse, on 
 whose neck he leaned, and the liberated animal dashed away 
 over the plain, snuffing the keen air of the morning, and throwing 
 up the snow with his heels. 
 
 '• Why turn your horse loose," enquired his companion. " when 
 you have immediate use for his services ?" 
 
 The Indian smiled, and said, " No man rides on horseback 
 when his business is secret. My own feet will leave no track 
 upon the frozen snow. I have a store of dried meat hidden in 
 the woods, which I can easily find. Farewell. The grayest 
 head among the Omawhaws shall not find my trail, nor discover 
 my errand." 
 
 Shortly after this event, the Indians learned, to their great dis- 
 appointment, thatBolingbroke had suddenly abandoned the village, 
 with all his property, and announced his intention to return no 
 more ; but they never discovered the cause of his abrupt depart- 
 ure. On the next visit of the other traders to St. Louis, the 
 daughter of Menae was placed under their charge, to be deliver, 
 ed to her mother, who received her child with the joy of one who had 
 mourned over a first-born. She lived afterwards in retirement, 
 seldom appealing at the festivals of the nation, and observing the 
 decent gravity of a widowed matron — carefully bringing up her 
 children after the fashion of her own people, and continually ad- 
 vising them to avoid the society, the customs, and the vices of the 
 whites. 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 83 
 
 THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 
 
 A FEW years only have elapsed since the great lakes lying upon 
 the northern frontier of the United States, were surrounded by 
 vast tracts of silent wilderness, and navigated by the birch canoe 
 of the native Indian and the adventurous trader. Within the 
 memory of living men, the savage exercised dominion over nearly 
 the whole of that vast region, and the bold or inquisitive traveller 
 who explored those desert shores, endured the various fatigues 
 and perils incident to voyages of discovery into parts unknown to 
 civilized men. There was the solitude of nature as it reigns un- 
 disturbed by human enterprise ; and there roamed, alike un- 
 tamed, the savage man and the wild beast. Beautiful to the eye, 
 and highly exciting to the imagination, were those broad lakes, 
 and their magnificent shores — the bays, the islets, the headlands, 
 and all the attractive features of a blended woodland and water 
 scenery ; but they were solitary and cheerless deserts. 
 
 The scene is now changed, as if by magic. Those inland seas 
 are covered with the fleets of commerce, their bays and inlets are 
 studded v/ith villages, their rivers pour out a daily and hourly 
 tribute of rich freights, and their waters are cleft by steamboats, 
 whose ample size, beauty of model, and magnificence of interior 
 decoration, cause them to be justly described as floating palaces. 
 The hard hand of industry is at work there, and pleasure spreads 
 her glittering wing in the sunshine. Wealth is there with her 
 millions, and enterprise prolific of novel schemes, and daring un- 
 dertakings. 
 
 Such are the wonderful changes which have taken place in all 
 the larger lakes, but one. Lake Superior alone, remains sur- 
 rounded by the silent forest, and the abodes of savage hunters ; 
 and there are permanent obstacles in the climate and topography 
 
84 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 of this dreary region, which will long repel from it the footsteps 
 of civilization. 
 
 In ascending the chain of lakes, the voyager, after passing the 
 Sault de Sainte Mary, no longer sees the fertile lands, the rich 
 green forests, and the attractive scenery which delight tne eye, 
 on the shores of the more southern and eastern of these Mediter- 
 ranean seas. Around him are the rigours of a high latitude, and 
 the desolate features of a sterile country. The shores are bold 
 and rocky, presenting a series of naked precipices, which afford 
 but little for the subsistence of man or beast. The scenery is 
 often magnificent, and highly picturesque ; but has no features of 
 repose, of softness, or of richness. Gigantic precipices are seen 
 towering upward from the water's edge, presenting the outlines of 
 gothic architecture. Huge ramparts, arches, and turrets — shapes 
 innumerable and fantastic, worn by the elements from the solid 
 barriers of rock that skirt the shore, appear continually, to seduce 
 the imagination, and surprise the mind, of the traveller. The 
 general character is cold and cheerless, inhospitable and appall- 
 ino-. The wave beats angrily against a dangerous coast, whose 
 scanty verdure offers little to please the eye. Now and then, the 
 voyager is deluded by the appearance of a valley whose deep re- 
 cess protects a rich growth of green foliage, but on steering his 
 canoe towards it, he finds a narrow channel communicating with 
 a small lake, or with a swamp. As he meanders the numerous 
 bays, and the perilous capes, he finds a succession of the same 
 grand and imposing landscape ; the broad lake, the bleak preci- 
 pice, and the dreary swamp varied by situation and outline, com- 
 pose the elements of every scene. 
 
 Leaving the great lake, and proceeding still farther to the north 
 and west, a boundless region is presented, of sterile, broken, and 
 rocky country, intersected by rivers, channels, swamps, and small 
 lakes — a savage wilderness of land and water. So numerous are 
 the communications which connect these lakes, that the whole re- 
 gion maybe traversed by canoes, in almost every direction; and 
 the stranger, who follows his guide through the labyrinth, becomes 
 bewildered by its intricacies, while he is awed by its vast extent, 
 and dreary sameness. 
 
 The gloomy desert to which we have attempted to conduct the 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 85 
 
 reader, is greatly elevated above the level of the larger lakes, and 
 the water courses which are navigated to approach it, are inter- 
 rupted by numerous rapids and cataracts, some of which are said 
 to rival the falls of Niagara in magnitude and sublimity. The 
 navigation is therefore performed by means only of the light birch 
 canoe, which is taken from the water, and transported on the 
 shoulders of men, around such obstructions. 
 
 Here, at the summit level, and in the heart of this great conti- 
 nent, lie the sources of the St. Lawrence and the Mississippi, 
 which thus rising together, twin offspring of a common fountain, 
 flow off in different directions, and after roaming, each its thou- 
 sand leagues, fall into the ocean at points separated by thirty de- 
 grees of latitude. 
 
 The winter, lingering in this high latitude, throughout more 
 than half the year, covers the whole surface of land and water 
 with ice and snow, locks up all the sources of vegetation, and 
 drives the wild bird and beast to more genial climates. 
 
 The only human inhabitants of this inhospitable desert, are the 
 Ojibway Indians, more commonly called the Chippeways, and to 
 whom, for the sake of perspicuity, we shall apply the latter name. 
 
 No branch of the human family lead a more precarious life than 
 this wretched people. Relying entirely upon the chase, and the 
 wild products of the soil, for subsistence, they have no agricul- 
 ture, nor any settled places of abode. They feast to excess when 
 game is abundant, but make so little provision for the future, that 
 a short season of scarcity reduces them to absolute want. Their 
 most important supply of food is derived from the wild rice, which 
 grows spontaneously in the swamps, and is gathered by the women 
 in large quantities, but this bounty of Nature, so wisely provided 
 to supply the population with food during the inclement season, is 
 so improvidently used as to be quickly exhausted. The long win- 
 ter finds them destitute ; the animals constituting game have fled 
 to more fruitful lands, and famine scowls over the desolated wil- 
 derness. The wretched inhabitants are now reduced to the 
 most dreadful expedients — long and painful journeys are under- 
 taken in pursuit of food — their dogs and horses are devoured — 
 their moccasins and buffalo robes are chewed — and at last many 
 sink exhausted by famine, or perish wretchedly in the great snow 
 
86 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 drifts. Even these miserable wanderings are confined within the 
 same inclement region ; the more sunny plains lying to the south, 
 to which the buffalo and deer retire, being inhabited by hostile 
 tribes. 
 
 Although numerous, and scattered over a wide expanse of ter- 
 ritory, the Chippeways have no national organization, and scarcely 
 a semblance of local government. Here and there a few families 
 are found collected into a band, ruled by chiefs ; but the tempo- 
 rary bond which unites them is dissolved whenever food becomes 
 scarce, when they scatter to the four winds like the leaves in 
 autumn, each family relying upon its own exertions. The chief 
 retains his office ; an empty honour during the greater portion of 
 his life, which is spent like that of the humblest individual of his 
 people, in solitary and painful wanderings in search of the means 
 to satisfy the cravings of hunger. But in the short and joyful 
 season of plenty, when the rice harvest is ripe, when game is 
 food in the woods, and the lakes are covered with water-fowl, the 
 bands reassemble, and the chiefs taste the sweets, and the cares, 
 of authority. 
 
 The numbers composing these bands depend much on caprice 
 and accident. If a chief is successful in war or hunting, indi- 
 viduals seek his banner and adhere to him so long as fortune 
 smiles ; defeat in battle, or a scarcity of game breaks asunder 
 the feeble ties which bind these communities together, and 
 disperses them throughout the whole length and breadth of the 
 Chippeway country. The chiefs retain the name and the respect 
 attached to that station, and take their seats as such in. the councils 
 which occasionally assemble to celebrate feasts, or religious cere- 
 monies, or to consider of the general interests of the people, while 
 their actual power, as we have seen, depends on their personal 
 good fortune and popularity. Unless, however, a chief be utterly 
 imbecile or worthless, he is never entirely abandoned. A few 
 relatives, friends, and zealous adherents who cling to their clan 
 under the worst aspect of its fortune, usually reunite after a forced 
 separation, and keep the name of the band. But there is a float- 
 ing mass, who are Chippeways at large, and who are ready to 
 march at any moment, under any banner of their nation which 
 may be in the ascendant. 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 87 
 
 There was a chief* of the Chippevvays, whose name was 
 Notin, or The Wind, and who was descended from a chief of the 
 same name, and perhaps from a long line of equally illustrious 
 ancestors ; for it seems to be a time-honoured maxim among all 
 savages, that greatness is inheritable, and that talents for govern- 
 ing especially, are transmitted without alloy from father to son. 
 We have never heard it asserted that the skill of the lawyer or 
 physician, passed with his goods and chattels, to his heirs, but it 
 is certainly held by a majority of mankind, that the son of a ruler 
 is better fitted to bear rule, than a person of plebeian descent ; 
 and it is not until nations reach a high degree of refinement that 
 this ancient fallacy, if it be one, becomes exploded. 
 
 Among the Indians, however, the rule of legitimacy is admira- 
 bly qualified in practice, for whenever the next heir of a deceased 
 chief happens to be a pacific or indolent person, some daring 
 leader conducts the braves to battle, and rules the tribe in the 
 name of the proper head man. Something of the same kind 
 prevails in the best regulated monarchies, where, if the king 
 happens to be an infant, an idiot, a sot, or a woman, the busi- 
 ness is done by a substitute. But the Indians carry it a little 
 farther, and if the heir be deficient in moral or physical qualifica- 
 tions, he is passed over, and the next of kin after him is selected ; 
 and if no suitable person is found in the family, then some suc- 
 cessful warrior succeeds to the chieftaincy. 
 
 Our friend Notin held his sovereignty in the regular way. He 
 had good blood in his veins and could recount the exploits of his 
 forefathers, in their wars against the Dacotas, for several genera- 
 tions. He was married, moreover, to the daughter of the chief 
 of another band of the great Ojibway stock ; thus, with com- 
 mendable prudence, securing to his own descendants, the advan- 
 tages of a pure regal descent. 
 
 Neither was this leader destitute of pretensions on the score of 
 personal merit. He wore a necklace composed of the claws of 
 an enormous grisly bear, that he had slain in single combat ; he 
 had stolen horses from the British, the Americans, and the Sioux 
 bands of the Mississippi ; the scalps of his enemies graced his 
 
 * See Appendix, No. XIII. 
 
88 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 lodge, and when dressed in full costume, he decked his hair with 
 seven feathers of the war eagle, indicating the number of war- 
 riors he had slain in battle. He rode well, fished patiently, and 
 smoked the great pipe with dignity and composure. He was 
 expert in tracing out the lurking places of the otter and beaver in 
 the small streams and secluded valleys ; and when in summer he 
 announced an intention to travel southward to the great plains to 
 hunt the buffalo, the braves flocked to his banner, eager to engage 
 in the chase under a leader of such repute ; tor in these expedi- 
 tions they encroached upon the hunting-grounds of the warlike 
 Dacotas, who often attacked them, and they desired to serve 
 under one who could marshal them in battle. 
 
 Such was Notin, chief of the Thunder Lake band of the Chip- 
 peways, whose sway extended over twenty lodges, and who on 
 one occasion had conducted a hundred horsemen upon a hunting 
 expedition on the prairies of the Mississippi. He was, moreover, 
 like the present king of the French, a careful man in his domes- 
 tic economy, and was master of seven horses, ten dogs, three 
 guns, and several steel traps to take beaver withal, which made 
 him the wealthiest person of his clan ; and he seldom appeared in 
 public without a train of five or six young men, who followed his 
 steps that they might learn the arts of the chase by his counsel 
 and example, in return for which advantage, they always brought 
 the game they took, to his lodge, and were ready to stand by him 
 in his private quarrels. 
 
 In one particular, this distinguished chief was singular ; and to 
 the remarkable circumstance which we are about to disclose, does 
 he owe the honour of figuring as the prominent personage of our 
 legend ; for, had he lived like the mass of his countrymen, like 
 them he would have gone to an obscure grave, and his name 
 have been preserved for a few generations only, in the ephemeral 
 traditions of his people. But Notin was not like other men. He 
 was one of the few who follow not with slavish subserviency the 
 dictates of fashion, but take the rare and somewhat perilous re- 
 sponsibility of thinking for themselves. In most things he pur- 
 sued the beaten track in which his ancestors had trodden, time 
 out of mind. As a chief, he violated no law nor usage of his 
 tribe ; he smoked the same pipe which his father had used before 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 
 
 him — held it in the same position, and blew the smoke through his 
 nostrils in the same way ; so that the old men, struck with the 
 resemblance, and with the filial piety, as well as the respect for 
 public opinion which it indicated, were affected almost to tears, 
 when they beheld him thus employed. It is by such concessions 
 to the wisdom of past ages, that kings and rulers reign in the 
 hearts of their people. 
 
 Some casuists would insist that a single departure from the 
 settled usages of his race, by one who in all other respects con- 
 formed strictly with custom and public opinion, should be set 
 down as a mere eccentricity, and not as an evidence of moral 
 firmness, or originality of thought. We think differently ; and 
 without stopping to argue the question, maintain that Notin show- 
 ed good sense as well as boldness, in taking the stand he occu- 
 pied, in regard to a question of great importance to himself, and 
 of no little delicacy as it respected his social and political re- 
 lations. 
 
 The matter was this : Notin had but one wife. No other in- 
 stance of the kind had ever occurred in his family, all the chiefs 
 of the Thunder Lake band having maintained a plurality of 
 wives, and practised a generous hospitality. Not only the head 
 men, but every individual in the tribe, married as many women 
 as he could support; and to have but one, was as indisputable a 
 proof of being a poor creature, as it would be for one of our mer- 
 chants to have no credit in bank. It seemed strange, therefore, 
 that Notin, who was an excellent hunter, and as we have already 
 specified, a very opulent personage, should content himself with 
 a single partner. 
 
 It is not pretended that the Indians cherish the social virtues 
 and affections to a degree so far superior to other men, as to re- 
 quire a numerous family circle, in order to afford them full 
 scope ; for fashion, always heartless and artificial in its decrees, 
 may demand that which nature may repudiate. There are other 
 reasons, no doubt, for the discrepancy between their notions and 
 ours, on this very interesting subject, which it may be well to in- 
 vestigate. If marriage be honourable among men, who shall 
 blame them for desiring to reap its blessings to the greatest prac- 
 ticable extent? And who shall say that an institution which 
 
90 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. . 
 
 might be very inconvenient to us, may not be an exceedingly ra- 
 tional and pleasant thing at Thunder Lake ? 
 
 Society has not reached a high slate of refinement at Thunder 
 Lake. Morning visits, promenades and soirees, are not in vogue 
 there ; nor do the ladies indulge in the expensive luxury oi shop- 
 ping. There are no auctions in that benighted region — no old 
 pictures — second-hand furniture, nor cast-ofF jewellery, offered 
 very low, to tempt the vanity and avarice of very economical and 
 ambitious, and would-be very fine ladies. Silks and satins, Leg- 
 horn bonnets, and merino shawls, are wholly unknown even in 
 the best circles of Thunder Lake. There are neither music 
 masters, nor French masters, nor Italian singers, nor imported 
 dancing girls, to be supported by the hard earnings of the indulgent 
 father and husband. There are no societies to coax from the tender- 
 hearted matron the pittances of time and money remaining unap- 
 propiated, from the more clamorous demands of dissipation and 
 extravagance ; nor is it the fashion for indigent young men to be 
 educated by the contributions of indigent young women. 
 
 Marriage, therefore, in the pure and original state of that bless- 
 ed institution, such as existed in the times of the ancient pa- 
 triarch, and such as now prevails among our red brethren, is a 
 very different affair from any thing which is known to more civ- 
 ilized communities. The aboriginal may marry once and again, 
 without incurring the fearful responsibilities which rest upon the 
 husband in our more artificial mode of life. A plurality of ten- 
 der and beloved wives might enliven his fireside, by the manifold 
 joys of connubial love, without the danger of making him bank- 
 rupt by their extravagance. 
 
 Men naturally do that which they conceive will best secure 
 their happiness. All, except confirmed bachelors and misan- 
 thropes, admit the felicity and blessedness of the holy state of 
 matrimony; and if this proposition be conceded, it follows, that 
 as we multiply the causes and agents of wedded bliss, we increase 
 the chances for happiness. If marriage be a source of comfort 
 and joy unspeakable, can we doubt the wisdom of frequently 
 adding new fuel to the genial flame, and keeping up a comforta- 
 ble fire upon the altar of domestic love 1 In short, if the husband 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 91 
 
 of one wife be a happy man, would not he be thrice blessed, who 
 should be honoured with the plighted faith of three? 
 
 The wife of Notin was beautiful. She was taller than other 
 women of her race : her form was noble and commanding, and 
 her countenance very pleasing. Instead of the vacant and sul- 
 len expression exhibited in the features of most of the Indian wo- 
 men, she wore a satisfied and cheerful aspect, and had an air of 
 smartness which showed that she considered herself of some im- 
 portance. Notin was very fond of her, and was strongly suspect- 
 ed of giving her more of his confidence than was usually conce- 
 ded to the wives of the Chippeways — had such a thing been im- 
 agined possible among that manly race, he would have been con- 
 sidered a henpecked husband. 
 
 This couple had an only child, a daughter, who was called 
 Misquabunokwa, or, The Red Sky of the Morning, who inherited 
 her mother's beauty, spirit, and quickness of intellect. They 
 who decry female beauty as mere vanity, are but superficially 
 versed in the movements of the human heart. To speak of it 
 lightly as an outwnrd show, as an ephemeral possession that 
 blooms and is blighted with the passing season, may be very 
 plausible, but is" also very fallacious. The beauty of a woman 
 is a substantial quality of such value, that there is scarcely a 
 doubt whether it be not the pearl of price, the most precious gift 
 of nature. It is the talisman of her power, the agent and the 
 symbol of her sovereignty. Men not only admire, but do homage 
 to it ; they not merely love, but worship it. Wealth, intellect, 
 and attainments sink into nothing in comparison with this power, 
 which outshines, while it adorns and vivifies them all. It is so 
 irresistibly attractive as to produce a powerful reactive influence 
 on the character of its possessor. The beautiful girl soon be- 
 comes conscious of a power that elevates her above her compan- 
 ions. The love of admiration plants itself deeply in her mind ; 
 and the desire to deserve and win that tribute inspires her thoughts 
 and polishes her manners. The ambition to please becomes a 
 ruling passion ; and no woman of superior personal attractions 
 ever made that attempt in vain. Politeness and gracefulness grow 
 out of the continual effort to gain approbation ; unless, indeed, 
 where the defe/3t of mind is so great as to substitute arrogance and 
 
92 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 self-conceit. Even the savage is unable to resist the fascination ; 
 and whenever a uoman possessing to a high degree, the peculiar 
 graces of her sex, rises above the mere aruclge, and aspires to be 
 the companion, the idol, or even the sovereign of man, she usual- 
 ly succeeds to a certain extent, and only fails of complete success 
 from the want of the support of her own sex. One swallow does 
 not make a summer, nor can one fair woman inspire a whole 
 people. 
 
 The handsome wife and daughter of Notin were ambitious ; 
 and it was probably through their influence that no other female 
 was admitted to their family circle, while their cheerfulness and 
 assiduity threw around their fireside so many unwonted charms 
 and comforts, that Notin, yielding to the natural indolence of the 
 savage character, grew every year less active in hunting, and 
 more reluctant to lead his braves to the war path. His people, 
 while they still respected his person and office, began to follow 
 younger and more enterprising leaders ; and the women of the 
 village failed not to throw out hints, in season and out of season, 
 against the bad practice of having but one wife, and the sinister 
 influence of handsome women over brave chiefs. 
 
 From the causes we have mentioned, or some other, the popu- 
 larity of Notin declined, and as the season approached, when it 
 became necessary to provide for the winter, the tribe began grad- 
 ually to disperse, either singly or in small parties, until not more 
 than a dozen families remained at Thunder Lake. These were 
 the personal friends of the chief, who still lingered around him, 
 though participating in some degree in the coolness which had in- 
 fected the band. At last it became necessary that they also 
 should seek a more suitable wintering place, and a meeting of all 
 the men was called, to debate on the subject. After the pipe had 
 been passed round, they sat some time in perfect silence. Then 
 an old man arose and addressed ihe meeting: 
 
 " Brothers ! In the winter the wind comes from the North, 
 and is very cold ; it goes to the South and gets warm, and comes 
 back in the summer, melting the ice, and causing the grass and 
 trees to grow. Thus we know that one end of this great island 
 is very cold, and the other very hot. There is no place that ia 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 93 
 
 pleasant all the year round, except that happy land to which the 
 spirits of good men go after death. 
 
 " Brothers, listen ! We do not know why the Master of Life 
 made it so, but we know that summer is gone and winter is com- 
 ing. The Great Spirit has taught the brutes to fly from the North 
 wind, and to hide themselves when the storm spirits are let loose 
 upon the earth. 
 
 " Brothers, look around ! The water fowl have left the lakes 
 and islands where they hatched their young. They have risen 
 up in great flocks, and fill the air like clouds. They are scream- 
 ing for joy because they see a bright land, far off, where they can 
 get plenty to eat, for the waters there will not be frozen in the win- 
 ter. 
 
 " Let us be wise like the buffaloes, that have gone to the green 
 pastures of the Missouri, and the water fowl that have fled to the 
 quiet lakes of a sunny land. Let us take pity on our women and 
 little children, and carry them to the great plains, where there is 
 game to feed upon. 
 
 '' Brothers ! I have spoken." 
 
 This speech was well received. A grunt of approbation fol- 
 lowed each sentence, and at the close they all drew a long breath, 
 as if each felt relieved of his own doubts. 
 
 Then Notin took the pipe slowly from his mouth, letting the 
 bowl of it fall quietly into his left hand, and blowing the smoke 
 out deliberately through his nostrils, like one who was in deep 
 thought. He raised his eyes and looked around upon the com- 
 pany. All were silent, for they knew the chief was about to 
 speak. He laid aside the pipe and arose, threw the blanket from 
 his right shoulder, so as to leave his right arm bare, and then 
 drew it closely around him. His attitude was graceful and com- 
 manding, and his figure such as an artist would have chosen to 
 study. He spoke in a loud, clear voice, looking round upon the 
 whole assemblage, as if addressing himself to 'each in turn. He 
 said : 
 
 " My children ! I have listened to my brother who has just sat 
 down. He is an old man. The snow has fallen so often on his 
 head, that it has turned white. He is like a tree covered with 
 frost. He is wiser than I am ; listen to his words. I would not 
 
94 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 thrust my fingers in the ears of my people to stop them against 
 the counsels of that aged brave. 
 
 "Children and brothers! Let everyone think for himself ; 
 the Great Spirit whispers to the heart of every man, and tells 
 him what he should do. Let us all obey Him. 
 
 "My friends! The Great Spirit does not often visit his red 
 children in the daytime ; he comes in the night and whispers to 
 us while we sleep. Foolish men do not know his voice. They 
 do not know when the Master of Life speaks to them, because 
 they do not see him. 
 
 " Listen to me ! Last night as I slept in my lodge I had a 
 dream. I heard a sound like the tramping of a great herd of 
 buffalo, and I was troubled to know what it meant. I tried to rise, 
 but could not. Then I heard a voice which said, ' Go not to the 
 buffalo plains ; your band is scattered, and there are not enough 
 left to make battle against the Dacotas. They are watching for 
 you in great numbers, and if you go to their hunting grounds 
 they will slay your wives and children.' 
 
 " The voice ceased. Again, I heard a loud noise, like the 
 roaring of the north wind, and the dashing of waves against the 
 rocks. That sound died away like the first. I listened to hear 
 the voice speak again. I did not hear that voice any more ; but 
 I saw a place on the shore of the great lake — a cove sheltered 
 from the winds, where the water was deep and still. I saw the 
 fish playing in the water. They were very large fish, and were 
 so many that they had scarcely room to turn. I knew the place, 
 for I had been there. 
 
 " Listen ! I know it is not right to tell our dreams. The 
 Master of Life is angry when we repeat what he has whispered 
 into our hearts in our sleeping moments, and therefore our fathers 
 have admonished *us that if we repeat our dreams they will not 
 come to pass. But I have told mine, because it was given me as 
 a chief for the usa of my children, and I hope the Good Spirit 
 will not be angry, for the voice said, ' Tell your people not to go 
 to the land of the Dacotas — they are numerous as the leaves on 
 the trees, and are now painted for war, and looking with angry 
 eyes towards the North.' 
 
 " Children and Friends ! I am not afraid of the Dacotas. I 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 95 
 
 have struck four of their best braves — their scalps hang in my 
 lodge. When they hear the war-whoop of Notin they tremble ; 
 even their horses scent me afar off, and snort when they discover 
 me coming. But I dare not disobey the Great Spirit. Let every 
 man do as he thinks best. If any choose to go with me, I shall be 
 glad to have them in my company. 
 " I have said all I have to say." 
 
 The chief resumed his seat, and for some time they all sat in 
 silence. Notin then threw the ashes from his pipe, arose, and 
 gathered his blanket around him. The braves also arose, and re- 
 tired. 
 
 When the council was broken up, the braves collected in little 
 groups, and seemed to be consulting what to do ; but their ex- 
 change of opinions was more by looks and hints than by conver- 
 sation. 
 
 One said, " It is better to live on deer and bear meat than 
 fish." 
 
 Another responded, " If one has a dream it is right for him to 
 go by it — for my part, I have not had any dream." 
 
 A third exclaimed, " A man who has but one wife is easily 
 provided for ; I have three wives, and cannot depend on catching 
 fish." 
 
 Others said, " It is very unlucky for men to tell their dreams." 
 So they separated and went to their lodges. 
 The next day the whole band was in motion, and it was evident 
 that no community of feeling or purpose prevailed among them. 
 They moved off in small parties in a southwardly direction, but 
 apparently by different paths ; and at the close of the day, the 
 lodges were all deserted, and not a living thing was seen to stir 
 in the village. 
 
 Notin with his wife and daughter embarked in a birch canoe, 
 taking with them all their moveables, and proceeded towards 
 Lake Superior. The weather was already cold, and they were 
 much exposed to its inclemency, but they persevered, and at 
 length reached that noble inland sea, upon whose banks they 
 sought a resting place. Slowly meandering the sinuosities of the 
 northern shore, they kept on their way, sometimes stopping to 
 catch fish, or to seek food on the land, but more frequently com- 
 
96 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 pelled by the fierce blasts to shelter themselves from its violence. 
 Once when the storm raged violently, they steered their frail bark 
 into the mouth of a small river, where they found a harbour sur- 
 rounded by cliffs which protected it on all sides from the winds, 
 while a grove of large trees, which grew upon a strip of rich al- 
 luvion that margined the water, added a further shelter. The 
 storm raged for several days, and while the lake was white with 
 foam and the surges beat angrily against the shore, our weather- 
 bound travellers found a secure retreat, by the margin of a deep 
 and unruffled pool, abounding in the finest fish, and affording am- 
 ple means of subsistence. 
 
 Delighted with this spot, and wearied with the laborious and 
 perilous navigation of the lake shore, the wife of Notin insisted 
 on taking up their residence here for the winter. Notin urged 
 his dream, and spoke sadly of the evil consequences which never 
 failed to result from disobedience of the Great Spirit, who sent 
 good birds to Avhisper into the ears of his children, and gave them 
 dreams to fill their hearts with right thoughts. His wife and daugh- 
 ter considered the dream already fulfilled, and were certain they 
 had found the very spot indicated. If our worthy chief had been 
 blessed with a plurality of wives, they would have differed in 
 opinion, and he would have pursued the dictates of his own judg- 
 ment, but as he had but one, her influence shook the convictions 
 of his mind. Meanwhile the storm continued ; it was impossible 
 to navigate the lake, and equally so to traverse the rocky and 
 broken shore, covered with snow, which was not yet frozen suf- 
 ficiently to bear the weight of a man. The women began to 
 build a lodge, which was soon completed, and when at last the 
 winds lulled, the family were so snugly housed, that they were 
 all alike unwilling to move. They were secure of a present 
 subsistence, and this is no small matter to the Indian, whose pre- 
 carious life is a succession of feasting and want, and who is often 
 driven to such dreadful extremity of hunger, that the prospect of 
 famine, though familiar, is very appalling. To him the posses- 
 sion of food brings relief from every care, for when not engaged 
 in war, eating and sleep are the business and amusement of his 
 life. Various causes therefore combined to induce Notin to re- 
 main at the spot thus accidentally chosen. 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 
 
 Weeks rolled away without any material change in the cir- 
 cumstances of the family. The supply of fish continued abun- 
 dant, and the remains of the jerked meat and wild rice which had 
 been preserved for winter, added an occasional variety to tlieir 
 simple meals. Notin occasionally went out to hunt, with little 
 success, except that once he accidentally found a moose, and at 
 another time a bear. 
 
 Winter was now completely set in. The lake, as far as the 
 eye could reach, w'as covered with masses of ice, jammed and 
 heaped up by the wind, and then covered with snow. The snow 
 clothed the precipices and lay deep in the valleys. Nothing else 
 was seen except the leafless trees, and the bare sides of the tall 
 cliffs. When the sun shone it lighted up a magnificent scenery, 
 gorgeous and gigantic in its proportions and effect — a wide and 
 vast landscape embracing mountains of snow, parapets of ice, 
 and cliffs of towering height, all white and shining with resplen- 
 dent brightness. After a nioht of intense cold, the forest trees 
 were often seen loaded with crystals of frost, incrusting every 
 bough and twig ; and the v/hole landscape, as the first beam.s of 
 the morning sun fell upon it, glowed with refulgent splendour. 
 But all that beauty and magnificence faded av/ay when the glo- 
 rious light of the sun, which brightened it into existence, was 
 obscured by clouds, and the fierce wind came howling over the 
 bleak and dreary wilderness. Then the bright hues that glad- 
 dened the eye, and spread out a thousand fanciful and illusive 
 shapes, were all melted away ; the huge barriers of rock whose 
 bold outlines and gorgeous livery of light and shade threw out the 
 shapes of arches, spires, and battlements, were sobered down into 
 the realities of cliff and chasm. But under all changes, these 
 wild scenes were cold and terrific. They were the dwelling place 
 of winter. The storm-clouds brooded upon the savage desert ; 
 the winds gathered here as if to collect their powers, and swept 
 hence upon their errand of destruction. 
 
 The scenic beauties of this inhospitable region are, however, 
 but little known, as they are seldom beheld except by the unim- 
 aginative Indian, who has neither heart nor eye for the sublime 
 and beautiful of Nature, except in a few rare instances, when 
 natural phenomena become connected with his wants, his perils, 
 
 6 
 
98 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 or his superstitions. At the spot under our contennplation, three 
 of these lonely beings, protected only from the intense cold of the 
 46th degree of northern latitude, by a frail lodge composed of 
 bark, and separated from all their species by immeasurable and 
 impassable tracts of wilderness, dragged out a cheerless existence, 
 destitute of every social and intellectual enjoyment, and possess- 
 ing barely the scanty means of sustaining animal life. 
 
 But they did not remain the sole tenants of this wild retreat. 
 One day they were surprised by the appearance of three squalid 
 men at the entrance of their lodge, who, according to the Indian 
 custom, seated themselves before the fire. The parties exchanged 
 glances, but not a word was spoken. The women placed food 
 before the strangers, who devoured it with the rapacity of per- 
 sons who had long fasted. Famine and exhaustion were painfully 
 stamped upon their features. Their limbs were attenuated, their 
 forms wasted and bent, their eyes sunk and heavy. The forlorn 
 wanderers were recognized to be a distinguished Chippeway brave 
 and his sons, all men of athletic frame and high spirit, though 
 now emaciated by extreme suffering, into mere skeletons. Hav- 
 ing eaten, salutations were exchanged, and they recited their 
 adventures. They were the remains of a small party, who had 
 imprpvidently lingered about their summer haunts until the win- 
 ter overtook them. When their small store of provision was 
 exhausted, and the game in their vicinity destroyed, they attempted 
 to fly from famine. No permanent relief could be expected short 
 of several hundred miles, and this fearful journey was undertaken, 
 in the depth of winter, through a pathless wilderness. 
 
 Credulit}'' would be startled, and humanity shocked, by a reci- 
 tal of all the painful vicissitudes endured by these unhappy 
 travellers. Relying upon the chance supplies of food afforded 
 by a barren district, covered with snow, they were reduced to 
 the most piteous straits. They devoured their worn-out horses 
 and famished dogs, and then sought to glean a subsistence from 
 berries, and the bark of trees. Now and then a lost and half- 
 starved animal, thrown like themselves into a false position, 
 afforded them a chance repast, and again days were passed in 
 abstinence. In some exposures they found the snow not suffi- 
 ciently frozen to bear them, and then they trudg^jd heavily on 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 
 
 snow shoes. Cold, rain, snow, and piercing blasts alternately 
 assailed them. Under all these appalling difficulties, these In- 
 dians, naturally indolent and fickle, proverbially deficient in 
 enterprise and industry, pressed onwai'd with patience and forti- 
 tude, in moody silence. 
 
 There was a point, however, beyond which exhausted Nature 
 could no longer struggle. One after another sunk under the 
 accumulated pressure of hunger and fatigue, until at last, of 
 twelve souls, the leader of the party and his two sons only sur- 
 vived ; and when these helpless wanderers espied the smoke rising 
 from Notin's camp, it was with difficulty that they rallied suffi- 
 cient strength to reach it. 
 
 After the new comers were somewhat recruited, they con- 
 structed a lodge for themselves, and made their arrangements to 
 spend the winter at this spot. For a while, things went on 
 smoothly, but at length the supply of fish became short ; the 
 fishing sometimes yielded but one meal a day, and often not so 
 much. The hunters extended their excursions to considerable 
 distances, but usually returned without any game — for what 
 living thing could endure the rigours of such a winter ! All, all 
 had fled to a more genial clime, or were hybernating in caves and 
 secret hiding places ; and as these isolated human beings wan- 
 dered through the dreary waste, eagerly searching every den and 
 covert, they became more and more convinced that they were the 
 only living tenants of this vast solitude. 
 
 At last, the dreadful signs of famine, known by sad experience 
 to all of this devoted little party, began to become manifest, and 
 those expedients for sustaining life which are only adopted as a 
 last resort, were reluctantly employed. They chewed their moc- 
 casins, they boiled their dried skins, the bones that had been cast 
 away were carefully collected — every atom that contained nutri- 
 tion was sedulously gathered. 
 
 In this new emergency, Notin lost his self-possession. A de- 
 spondency crept imperceptibly over him. This feeling, which 
 sometimes assails the most vigorous minds, is not uncommon among 
 the savages, whose crude and misty superstition, looking to no 
 natural system of causes and effects, but referring events to good 
 or bad luck, or to the agency of friendly or malign spirits, they 
 
100 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 easily imagine themselves doomed to destruction, and shrink from 
 a contest with unseen influences, which they dread, but know not 
 how to propitiate. Often without any apparent cause, without 
 the consciousness of having given offence to the Great Spirit, or 
 to any of the numerous manitoes who watch over mankind for 
 good or evil, the Indian finds his exertions palsied by some invisi- 
 ble hand, and every effort of courage, or of wisdom, rendered 
 abortive. His arm becomes powerless, and the bold heart of the 
 warrior no longer beats in his bosom. The fickle breath of a 
 woman is in his nostrils. If he goes out to hunt, the game scent 
 him afar off*, and fly at his approach. If he sets his traps for bea- 
 ver, a foul spirit sits down beside them, to warn those sagacious 
 animals of their danger. Believing; himself engaged in a fruitless 
 war, against an adverse destiny, yet stripped of the ordinary pow- 
 ers of manhood, he sinks into that hopeless apathy with which all 
 of his race meet the approach of death — the apathy of the Hea- 
 then, unconscious of sin, ignorant of redemption, and viewing the 
 dissolution of the body as a painful change, which like other pains 
 he is taught to bear with indifference. 
 
 Under the influence of such prejudices, Notin was at no loss 
 to discover causes for his ill fortune. He fancied that he had of- 
 fended the Great Spirit, by disclosing a dream, which should have 
 been kept sacred in his own breast, and by not following out the 
 indications of the vision, according to his own convictions. He 
 looked back with contrition to the dispersion of his band, which, 
 though not an uncommon occurrence, he attributed in this in- 
 stance to his own departure from the customs of his people, and 
 neglect of the will of the good spirits. To all the remonstrances 
 therefore of his wife, who alone ventured to touch upon a subject 
 so delicate and serious, he replied : " Trouble me not. The 
 Master of Life is angry at Notin. When he smiles the trees be- 
 come green, and the grass grows upon the plains ; when he shuts 
 his eyes and blows his cold breath upon the earth, the leaves fall, 
 and living things die. He is mad at Notin. He has taken the 
 man's heart out of my breast and given me the heart of a little 
 child. He will soon take the breath out of my body, and send 
 my spirit away to some other land, I know not where." 
 
 The wife of Notin, being a woman of bold spirit, was not 
 
THE RED SKY GF THE MORlJ^ITSiG.. 101 
 
 easily discouraged. Departing from the lodge, one evening,* she 
 repaired to a thicket hard by, where she spent the greater part 
 of the night in prayer. No one followed her : and if any sur- 
 prise was excited by her absence, her family were either induced 
 by confidence in her sagacity to suppose she was engaged in some 
 effort for their relief, or were withheld by superstition from intru- 
 ding on her privacy. 
 
 In the morning she had crawled back, and sat, emaciated with 
 long fasting and chilled with cold, over the embers that glowed 
 in the centre of the lodge ; on the opposite side, couched in an 
 abject posture, was the dejected chief, while the daughter sat be- 
 tween them. There was nothing to eat, no employment to en- 
 gage their attention, no instant danger to arouse them to exertion. 
 A wretched family they were ; but no tears were shed, no com- 
 plaint was uttered ; theirs was not the acute grief that breaks up 
 the fountains of life, and pours itself out in a flood of lamentations, 
 but the patient sorrow that congeals the vital energies into torpor. 
 The chief, a gloomy hypochondriac, and the women exhausted 
 by fatigue of body and mind, they were all pinched with cold, and 
 perishing of famine. Their eyes, half closed, were bent stupidly 
 on the feeble light that seemed expiring as rapidly as their own 
 lives. The wife at length spoke to her husband, thus : " Listen 
 to my words. The Great Spirit is not angry with us any more. 
 Last night I prayed to him to take pity on us. I told him we 
 were dying for want of food, and asked him to give us something 
 to eat. As I prayed, sleep fell on my eyes, and I beheld a place 
 not far distant, where there is a hole in the earth, filled with 
 brushwood, and covered over with snow. Under that brush I 
 saw a large bear. Then I thanked the Great Spirit, and said I 
 will go and tell Notin. He will be glad to hear that the Great 
 Spirit is not angry with him any longer." 
 
 The chief supposed his wife to be raving, and cast an inquiring 
 glance towards her. Her countenance was calm ; he knew she 
 had been absent for several hours ; and he had confidence in her 
 sagacity, as well as in her attachment. There is no faith so strong 
 as that of the husband, in a wife whose actions and thoughts have 
 
 * See Appendix, No. XIV. 
 
102 TH;E .V/^LPERNEriS ^ND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 been known to him through a series of years, whose virtues have 
 been tried by many vicissitudes, and whose love has stood the test 
 of every ordeal to which it could be brought in the endless circle 
 of human depravity, passion, suffering, and temptation. For 
 twenty years she had been the companion of his prosperous and 
 adverse fortunes ; had followed his footsteps through perilous 
 wanderings, through hostile lands, through pestilence, war, and 
 famine, and had never faltered ; wherever he led the way she 
 walked with the courage of one who knew no fear ; whatever he 
 commanded, that she did with the devotion of one who knew no 
 law but his will, no impulse but love for him. 
 
 Such was the being whose voice now came over the withering 
 spirit of the chief like the breath of spring upon the chilled earth. 
 He raised his head languidly and said, 
 
 " Woman, are you jesting ? Or has any one given you the 
 strong water of the white man ?'*' 
 
 She replied, " When did I ever tell you a lie ? I am in earn- 
 est. An evil manito has pursued and would have destroyed us ; 
 but the Master of Life has heard my cry and taken pity on us. 
 Take your gun, and let us go to the place where food is provided 
 for us." 
 
 Notin, like a wise man, followed the advice of his wife. He 
 took his gun, tomahawk, and hunting knife, and went with her, 
 their daughter accompanying them in silent wonder. The spot 
 was readily found, but it cost them much labour, weak as they all 
 were, to remove the snow and brush. At length Notin stooped 
 down, and having examined the spot, exclaimed, " It is true ! I 
 smell a bear ! The Great Spirit has not deceived us !'' Upon a 
 further search, they found the animal, imbedded in his lair, in a 
 state of torpidity ; and we need scarcely add that it was soon de- 
 spatched, and carried in triumph to the camp. 
 
 From what source the wife of Notin derived the information on 
 which she acted with such promptitude and success, we shall not 
 pretend to decide. Whether, having accidentally discovered the 
 hidden treasure, she used the information in the manner best calcu- 
 lated to relieve the diseased mind of her husband, as well as to sus- 
 tain her own influence ; whether the prayers which she address- 
 ed to the unknown God, ignorantly, but in a believing spirit, found 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 103 
 
 acceptance at the Throne of Grace ; or whetlier, imposed upon 
 herself, by a supposed vision, she was led to use the means which 
 were successful through a happy coincidence, — are points on 
 which others may speculate ; it is enough for us to relate the 
 facts. 
 
 Delivered from the distemper of the mind, which had benum.b- 
 ed his faculties, Notin became comparatively a happy man. The 
 temporary supply of food, so unexpectedly procured, invigorated 
 and inspirited the whole party, and gave renewed activity to their 
 fishing and hunting excursions ; and these efforts, with a few for- 
 tuitous supplies, carried them through the w^inter. In the spring 
 they repaired their canoes, and previously to joining the band at 
 Thunder Lake, proceeded to the trading establishment at Fond 
 du Lac, where they purchased guns, ammunition and other ne- 
 cessaries, for which they agreed to pay with the proceeds of the 
 summer and autumn hunting. 
 
 We return now upon the thread of our story, to speak of the three 
 persons who last became members of this little band. The flither 
 was a Chippeway brave, who had so well proved his courage and 
 address, that he was often chosen to lead parties of his people in 
 their war or hunting expeditions. Both of his sons were tall and 
 finely formed ; they were well trained in manly exercises, and 
 had already been tried upon the war path. They were alike ex- 
 cellent models of savage beauty, exhibiting in their persons those 
 prominent and exquisitely moulded features, well-turned limbs, 
 and graceful attitudes, of which so many instances are seen 
 among this singular race ; but the elder, who was called Ka-kaik, 
 the Hawk, had a stern and vindictive expression of countenance, 
 while the younger, Mehkenauk, the Turtle, had a face Vviiich in- 
 dicated cheerfulness and candour. 
 
 These young men became mutually smitten with the charms 
 of the " Red Sky of the Morning ;" and each, jealous of the other, 
 endeavoured to conceal his attachment from all except its object, 
 ivith whom he lost no opportunity of secretly ingratiating him- 
 self. The solecism of a Chippeway courtship will no doubt startle 
 some of our readers. Those who know this people only through 
 the medium of books, will object, that the Indians are callous to 
 the passion and the sentiment of love, and that their marriages 
 
104 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH, 
 
 are contracted by the parents, without any volition on the part of 
 those who are chiefly interested. Such is the general fact, but 
 the exceptions are sufficiently numerous, not only, according to 
 the paradox of the grammarians, to prove the rule, but to vindi- 
 cate the truth of our narrative. The laws of nature cannot be 
 abrogated. Their action may be modified by national policy or 
 superstition, by educational bias, or by the necessity that knows 
 no law. But the passion implanted in the human bosom for benef- 
 icent purposes, remains immutable there ; although, lii^e a seed 
 buried deeply in the earth, it may not germinate. It is surround- 
 ed by circumstances unfriendly to its development. A cold and 
 unnatural fabric of society, forbids its expansion. It is still a 
 constituent element of the soul, indestructible and co-existent with 
 it; and like the imprisoned fountain, it will testify its existence 
 by bursting out, or like the germ, when a genial ray penetrates 
 to its cold and dark place of iuterment, it will expand and shoot 
 into life, and bloom into fragrance and beauty. 
 
 The brothers became aware that they were the rivals of each 
 other, and each bogan to use all his cunning, to conceal as well 
 as to advance his suit, and to throw obstacles in the Vv'ay of his 
 competitor. Taught from infancy to suppress their feelings, to 
 persevere in the pursuit of any desired object, and to spurn as 
 unmanly every passion and affection that should stand in the way 
 of any purpose of ambition or of honour, the contest soon became 
 one of highly- wrought excitement. Both were high-spirited 
 young men, just commencing the career of life, with exorbitant 
 notions of their own qualifications, and full of that youthful pride 
 "which dreads a failure in any attempt, however unimportant. 
 Panting for action and achievement, the love for that dark-eyed 
 maiden, the fairest of her race, afforded the only outlet for their 
 pent-up desires which their isolated condition presented. A fierce 
 passion for victory animated their bosoms ; each marked the 
 footsteps of the other, and watched every glance with untiring vi- 
 gilance, while the fires of jealousy and hatred were studiously 
 concealed. 
 
 The usual forms of courtship were avoided by both the broth- 
 ers, who, in their eagerness to attain their object, sought to reach 
 it by hidden ways. The elder applied secretly to the mother, to 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 105 
 
 whom he made liberal promises of reward, in the event of his suc- 
 cess, while he hinted darkly at evils that might befall all who 
 should cross his path. The younger sought the ear of his mis- 
 tress, and finding a propitious moment, pressed his suit, and had 
 the satisfaction of learning that the Red Sky of the Morning was 
 not averse to his success. 
 
 It was not long before the mother and daughter compared 
 notes, and Notin was apprized by his wife of the whole matter. 
 That sagacious chief, comprehending at once the mischief threat- 
 ened to the peace of his family by the contest between the young 
 men, determined to avert the present fury of the storm, by tem- 
 porising with both parties. He sought an interview with each 
 separately, and with an air in which kindness was mingled with 
 reproof, addressed them both alike, somewhat as follows : 
 
 " Why have you secretly hovered round my lodge, to steal 
 away my daughter — like the wolf who creeps into a camp when 
 the hunters are absent ? Why have you not asked her in mar- 
 riage in the usual way ? Is this the respect with which you treat 
 a chief, who is also your friend ? You came to my camp hungry, 
 and I received you as one of my children, but you would treat 
 me as if I was a false Dacota, or a trading white man. Are you 
 so poor, that you have no present to offer — how then can you sup- 
 port a wife ? I know you are very poor — your gun is worn out, 
 your powder and lead exhausted — you have no horse to ride, nor 
 oven a dog to follow you. Are you not ashamed to approach the 
 daughter of a chief in so wretched a condition ? Go, then, to the 
 war path, and take spoils from our enemies, or go and hunt, and 
 sell your skins to the traders. Let me see what you can do, and. 
 I will determine whether you are worthy of my daughter." 
 
 Such was the position in which the parties stood on their arri- 
 val at Fond du Lac, where several days were consumed in pro- 
 curing the supplies which they required ; and they were about to 
 depart, when it was discovered that both the brothers were miss- 
 ing. Under other circumstances, this abrupt departure would 
 not have afforded any cause for remark ; for among the Indians 
 the social bond is so slightly drawn as to impose little restraint 
 upon the movements of individuals, who wander off upon any sud- 
 den caprice, without thinking it necessary to consult those who 
 
 6* 
 
106 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH 
 
 are most nearly interested in their conduct. Their unsettled 
 habits of life, and constant exposure to danger, render them fami- 
 liar with these hasty separations, while their suspicious and jeal- 
 ous dispositions lead them to concealment. Fully equipped for 
 war or hunting, they had left the camp separately, and, as was 
 supposed, in different directions. The father of the young men 
 made no comment on the occurrence, and the family of Notin 
 had their own reasons for observing silence, so that nothing was 
 said of the disappearance of the rival brothers. The remainder 
 of the party returned to the haunt of the tribe at Thunder Lake, 
 where Notin intended to pass the summer in collecting the scat- 
 tered members of his tribe. 
 
 The wanderers had not been long at home, when others of the 
 tribe, who had passed the winter at ditTerent places, and encoun- 
 tered a variety of suffering and adventure, collected around them, 
 to spend a short season in comparative repose, before the com- 
 mencement of the autumn hunt. The Turtle, the younger of the 
 absent brothers, after an absence of a few weeks, rejoined his 
 friends, rich in plunder, the avails of his own boldness and ad- 
 dress. He had proceeded alone to the country of the Dacotas, 
 where he had seized several fine horses, and other spoil, which 
 he now brought in triumph to the village, and the larger portion 
 of which he immediately tendered to the parents of the Red Sky 
 of the Morning, as a marriage present. So tempting an offer was 
 not to be refused ; and the maiden, as is usually the case when 
 the wooer is wealthy, yielded her assent to the wishes of her pa- 
 rents, with a filial piety which cannot be too highly commended. 
 The happy lover le^ his bride to the lodge he had prepared for 
 her reception ; and on the following morning set out on a hunting 
 expedition, followed by her who was to be hereafter the companion 
 of his toils and dangers. Whether fear of the vengeance of the 
 elder brother, the Hawk, or simply a taste for that luxury of un- 
 sophisticated minds, the enjoyment of each other's society, dic- 
 tated this journey, we are unable to determine. 
 
 Shortly after the departure of the lovers, the Hawk made his 
 appearance. He too had been successful, and the inhabitants of 
 the village were thrown into a state of high excitement by a sig- 
 nal which announced that he bore the bloody trophies of the vie- 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. 107 
 
 tor. He had stolen upon a little camp of the Sioux — had rushed 
 in upon them in the hour of slumber — had slain two men, and 
 then massacred the remainder of the family, whose scalps he ex- 
 hibited in evidence of this atrocious deed of daring. To the ears 
 of those who have enjoyed the endearments of social life, it may 
 sound strange that the murderer of women and children should be 
 received with welcome. Yet such was the reception of the mid- 
 night prowler, who came reeking with the blood of the innocent 
 and helpless. He was welcomed as one who had conferred hon- 
 our upon his people. Their natural love of vengeance and hatred 
 of their enemies were gratified by the bloody exploit. He was 
 conducted into the village by the whole band, the warriors danc- 
 ing around him, and singing their war-songs, while the women 
 and children followed the procession uttering shouts of joy and 
 triumph. On reaching the war-pole which stood in the centre of 
 the village, the scalps were suspended upon it, and a solemn dance 
 was performed; after which the successful brave withdrew to 
 one of the lodges, and seated himself on the ground before it in 
 silence. No one saluted him, nor asked him any questions, until 
 food was placed before him, and his hunger was satisfied. He 
 ate with the ravenous appetite of one who had fasted long ; for in 
 the prosecution of his tedious journey homeward, he had eluded 
 pursuit by rapid marches, seldom halting except to sleep, nor 
 venturing to deviate far from his path in pursuit of game. When 
 sated with food he raised his head — the braves began to collect, 
 seating themselves quietly around him — the pipe was lighted, and 
 the lazy volumes of smoke began to curl over the heads of the 
 quiet assemblage. The Hawk recognised his friends, and they 
 gradually slid into a conversation which led to a recital of his 
 adventures. It is popularly supposed that curiosity appertains 
 especially to the female sex, and the Indian, above all men, is 
 thought to hold in supreme contempt this feminine propensity ; 
 yet strange as it may seem, no tea-party or other collection of 
 the softer sex, ever followed up the tangled thread of a scandal- 
 ous rumour with more assiduity than was shown by these lordly 
 savages, in drawing out all the details of a massacre so congenial 
 to their tastes. 
 
 Having passed several hours pleasantly in such improving 
 
108 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 converse, the company dispersed, highly delighted with their 
 comrade, and more than ever convinced that the Chippeway na- 
 tion, and particularly that portion of it comprised in the band at 
 Thunder Lake, were the bravest people on the face of the earth. 
 As for the Hawk, being well gorged with food, and disburthened 
 of the tale of his prowess, his mind was at ease, and his body 
 comfortable ; so that, gathering his blanket about him, and throw- 
 ing his heroic form on the ground, he slept soundly for the next 
 fifteen hours. This luxurious state of repose would probably 
 have lasted for several days, had not an evil bird whispered bad 
 tidings in his ears. 
 
 It is not known witli precision how the Hawk first heard of 
 the marriage of his brother with the P^ed Sky of the Morning. 
 The Indians say it was told him by a bad bird ; but this phrase 
 includes all mischief-makers and tale-bearers, as well a.s tlie ma- 
 levolent spirits who assume the shapes of the feathered tribes to 
 work their evil purposes upon men. He made no remark ; but 
 the disappointment and rage depicted upon his countenance, in- 
 dicated the storm of passion tliat raged within. He stalked mood- 
 ily about during the remainder of the day ; and this hero, who 
 wore in triumph the scalps of two families, and was univei*sally 
 envied and admired as the most expert cut-throat in the band, 
 was to all appearance as unhappy as any common man. So true 
 it is that genius and great actions, while they win applause, do 
 not afford any protection against the ordinary griefs of humanity. 
 To sum all in one word, he was crossed in love. The night was 
 spent in angry and revengeful thought, and before the day dawn- 
 ed he had departed from the village. 
 
 Long and gloomy was the pilgrimage of the disappointed lover. 
 His first intention was to separate himself from his tribe, and to 
 abjure for ever all connection with his kindred. The wounded 
 pride that results from disappointment in a darling object, im- 
 pelled him to avoid the society of those who knew the tale of his 
 discomfiture. The success of a rival galled his vanity ; and re- 
 venge, the darling passion of the savage, began to coil itself about 
 his heart. Almost unconsciously he sought the trail of the ob- 
 jects of his hourly thought, and having discovered the direction 
 of their journey, found an intense, though undefinable, interest in 
 
THE KED SKY OF THE MORNING. 109 
 
 tracing their footsteps. Curiosity, perhaps, at first, and then the 
 strange gratification which a diseased spirit finds in that which 
 chafes its wound, impelled him forward ; but every day and ev- 
 ery hour nourished within him the demon of revenge. 
 
 The solitary being vvdio had thus given himself up to the indul- 
 gence of a single passion, now devoted all his energies to the task 
 of searching out and studying those signs by which the Indian 
 derives intelligence that would be sealed to any other eye, and 
 that enable him to pursue the track of a retreating foe with as- 
 tonishing success. The footprints impressed upon the earth— the 
 relics of an extinguished fire — a thousand particulars too minute 
 to attract attention, except from a mind trained to seek and weigh 
 them, all afford him information ; and having a clue, however 
 slight, his sagacity, his knowledge of the country, and his fami- 
 liar acquaintance with the habits of his people, enable him to fol- 
 low it out with wonderful acuteness. Thus he proceeded on his 
 tedious adventure for several weeks, often losing the track, and 
 again finding it accidentally, or by means of diligent research — 
 sometimes, when at fault, retracing his own footsteps until he re- 
 gained the track, and sometimes striking at a venture for some 
 distant point ahead, at which he supposed the travellers would 
 touch. At length he discovered newly-made signs, which show- 
 ed that tliose he sought v/ere near at hand. 
 
 The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the shadows of night 
 were gathering around, when the Hawk made the discovery 
 which suddenly arrested his footsteps. He paused upon the brink 
 of a beautiful river, whose clear waters flowed calmly by ; the 
 air was still, and not a sound disturbed the harmony of the quiet 
 scene. On the opposite shore a thin column of smoke rose from 
 a thicket which concealed the fire from which it issued. He sat 
 down and gazed upon it, as the tiger watches the prey that is 
 unconsciously approaching his lair. 
 
 As long as the twilight lasted, he watched the object which had 
 thus riveted his attention, absorbed in thought, and lashing him- 
 self into fury, by giving full scope to the passions that had long 
 been pent up in his bosom. Wearied, at last, he threw himself 
 on the ground to sleep, when suddenly the hooting of an owl at- 
 tracted his notice. The note was low, melancholy, and prolong- 
 
no THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 ed, such as a traveller in the wilderness often hears in the night 
 — a dismal screeching, so like the wail of human misery, that 
 many listen to it with superstitious dread. It now fell on the ear 
 of one who heard it with intense emotion. The bird of night was 
 the badge of his own family ; and the very cry that now broke 
 so mournfully upon the stillness of the night, was used as a secret 
 signal between its members. Often, when lying in ambush, or 
 creeping stealthily upon a foe, had that wailing note conveyed in- 
 telligence to his ear, and he heard it now with a thrill which 
 caused his whole frame to tremble. His sensations partook of 
 joy, uncertainty, and terror. He douhted whether the sound he 
 heard was the voice of the natural bird, which it resembled so 
 nearly, that even his practised ear could detect no difference — 
 whether it was the croaking of a spirit to warn him of danger, 
 or allure him to destruction, or whether it was the night signal 
 of a living member of his own family. Again and again it was 
 repeated, and then a response faintly heard from a distance, 
 across the water, ended his conjectures by the conviction that the 
 voices he heard were those of the objects of his intense hatred ! 
 
 Creeping upon his hands and knees to the water's edge, the 
 Hawk listened : the splashing of a paddle was heard, and then a 
 birch canoe came gliding swiftly and silently over the still sur- 
 face of the river. It was guided by a single person, who plied 
 the paddle with expertness, but with the caution of extreme vigi- 
 lance, dipping it so gently as to create the least possible noise, 
 yet urging the skiff rapidly on its way. As it touched the beach, 
 the Hawk, losing all self-command, rushed forward, and stepped 
 into the little bark, shoving it at the same moment into the stream. 
 The woman who guided it resumed her labour; but in the next 
 instant a loud exclamation from the shore discovered to her that 
 a stranger had taken the place of him she sought ; and a third 
 party, plunging in the water, soon reached the canoe, and grap- 
 pled it with a lusty hand. A fierce struggle ensued, and the 
 slight vessel being overturned, the combatants, locked in each 
 other's grim embrace, were cast into the water. The battle 
 there, though desperate, was brief. For a few minutes there was 
 a fearful struggle — then a deep groan from the Hawk, and a loud, 
 triumphant yell from his adversary announced the result. 
 
THE RED SKY OF THE MORNING. Ill 
 
 The next morning's sun revealed a mournful spectacle. On 
 the shore lay the stiff and bloody corpse of that vindictive man 
 whose sad journey we have pursued to its tragic close. Beside 
 him sat the brother, the rival and foeman, whose hand had dealt 
 the fatal blow, and the beautiful woman, whose attractions had 
 kindled the feud which led to this fatal catastrophe. They shed 
 no tear, for it was not their nature to weep. They wailed not, 
 for the fallen was not a beloved object. But they gazed in terror 
 upon the dead man, and trembled at the dreadful thought that a 
 brother had shed a brother's blood. 
 
 Years have rolled away since that event. The Turtle return- 
 ed to his tribe, and lived long to enjoy the love of the Red Sky of 
 the Morning. A curse remained upon the place of the battle, which 
 became haunted by spirits, and was ever after avoided by men. 
 The Indians, in passing it, steer their canoes silently along the 
 opposite shore, and shudder as they point out to the stranger the 
 spot which, in their expressive language, they have named Tlie 
 Place of the Fratricide.* 
 
 * See Appendix, No. XV. 
 
112 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 THE CAPUCHIN. 
 
 [There is a tradition preserved among the French of a cele- 
 brated missionary of their nation, who was one of the earliest of 
 the explorers of the Mississippi and its tributaries, and who died 
 at some spot which is now unknown. We have endeavoured to 
 preserve some of the circumstances, which are related as having 
 attended his death, in the following lines.] 
 
 There is a wild and lonely dell. 
 
 Far in the wooded west. 
 Where never summer's sunbeam fell 
 
 To break its long lone rest ; 
 
 Where never blast of winter swept, 
 
 To ruffle, or to chill, 
 The calm pellucid lake, that slept 
 
 O'erhung with rock and hill. 
 
 A woodland scene oy hills enclosed, 
 
 By rocky barriers curbed. 
 Where shade and silence have reposed 
 
 For ages undisturbed, 
 
 Unless when some dark Indian maid. 
 
 Or prophet old and grey, 
 Have hied them to the solemn shade 
 
 To weep alone, or pray. _, 
 
 For holy rite and gentle love 
 
 Are still so near akin, 
 They ever choose the sweetest grove 
 
 To pay their homage in. 
 
THE CAPUCHIN 113 
 
 One morn the boatman's bugle note 
 Was heard within the dell, 
 
 And o'er the blue wave seemed to float 
 Like some unearthly swell. 
 
 The boatman's song, the plash of oar, 
 The gush of parting wave, 
 
 Are faintly heard along the shore. 
 And echoed from each cave. 
 
 A skiiT appears, by rowers stout 
 Urged swiftly o'er the tide ; 
 
 An aged man sat wrapt in thought, 
 Who seemed the helm to guide. 
 
 He was a holy capuchin, 
 
 Thin locks were on his brow ; 
 
 His eye, that bright and bold had been, 
 With age was darkened now. 
 
 From distant lands, beyond the sea, 
 
 The hoary pilgrim came 
 To combat base idolatry. 
 
 And spread the Holy Name. 
 
 From tribe to tribe the good man went, 
 
 The sacred cross he bore ; 
 And savage men, on slaughter bent, 
 
 Would listen and adore. 
 
 But worn with age, his mission done. 
 
 Earth had for him no tie. 
 He had no further wish, save one — 
 
 To hie him home and die. 
 
 " Good father, let us not delay 
 
 Within this gloomy dell ; 
 'Tis here that savage legends say 
 
 Their sinless spirits dwell. 
 
114 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 " In every cool sequestered cave 
 Of this romantic shore, 
 The spirits of the fair and brave 
 Unite, to part no more. 
 
 " Invisible, the light canoe 
 
 They paddle o'er the lake, 
 Or track the deer in the morning dew, 
 Among the tangled brake. 
 
 " 'Tis said their forms, by moonlight seen, 
 Float gently on the air ; 
 But mortal eye has seldom been 
 The fearful sight could bear. 
 
 " Then, holy father, venture not 
 To linger in the dell ; 
 It is a pure and blessed spot. 
 Where only spirits dwell. 
 
 " The hallowed foot of prophet seer, 
 
 Or pure and spotless maid. 
 
 May only dare to wander here 
 
 When night has spread her shade !" 
 
 " Dispel, my son, thy groundless fear, 
 
 And let thy heart be bold ; 
 For see, upon my breast I bear 
 The consecrated gold. 
 
 " The blessed cross ! that long hath been 
 Companion of my path — 
 Preserved me in the tempest's din, 
 Or stayed the heathen's wrath — 
 
 " Shall guard us still from threatened harm, 
 What form soe'er it take : 
 The hurricane, the savage arm. 
 Or spirit of the lake." 
 
THE CAPUCHIN. 115 
 
 " But, father, shall we never cease 
 
 Through savage wilds to roam ? 
 My heart is yearning for the peace 
 That smiles for us at home. 
 
 " We've traced the river of the west, 
 From sea to fountain head, 
 And sailed o'er broad Superior's breast. 
 By wild adventure led. 
 
 " We've slept beneath the cypress' shade. 
 Where noisome reptiles lay ; 
 We've chased the panther to his bed. 
 And heard the grim wolf bay. 
 
 " And now for sunny France we sigh, 
 For quiet, and for home ; 
 Then bid us pass the valley by 
 Where only spirits roam." 
 
 — " Repine not, son ! old age is slow, 
 And feeble feet are mine; 
 This moment to my home I go, 
 And thou shalt go to thine. 
 
 " But ere I quit this vale of death, 
 For realms more bright and fair. 
 On yon green shore my feeble breath 
 Shall rise to Heaven in prayer. 
 
 " Then high on yonder headland's brow 
 The holy altar raise ; 
 Uprear the cross and let us bow, 
 With humble heart, in praise." 
 
 Thus said, the cross was soon uprear'd 
 On that lone heathen shore, 
 
 Where never Christian voice was heard 
 In prayer to God before. 
 
116 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 The old man knelt — his head was bare, 
 
 His arms crossed on his breast ; 
 He prayed, but none could hear the prayer 
 His withered lips expressed. 
 
 He ceased — they raised the holy man, 
 
 Then gazed in silent dread ; 
 Chill through each vein the life-blood ran — 
 
 The pilgrim's soul was fled ! 
 
 In silence prayed each voyager, 
 Their beads they counted o'er, 
 
 Then made a hasty sepulchre 
 Upon that fatal shore. 
 
 Beside the altar where he knelt. 
 
 And where the Lord released 
 His spirit from its pilgrimage, 
 
 They laid the holy priest. 
 
 In fear, in haste, a brief adieu 
 
 The wondering boatmen take, 
 Then rapidly their course pursue 
 
 Across the haunted lake. 
 
 In after years, when bolder men 
 
 The vale of spirits sought. 
 O'er many a wild and wooded glen 
 
 They roamed, but found it not. 
 
 We only know that such a priest 
 
 There was, and thus he fell ; 
 But where his saintly relics rest. 
 
 No living man can tell. 
 
 The red man, v.hcn he tells the tale, 
 
 Speaks of the wrath that fell 
 On him that dared an altar raise. 
 
 In the Indian's spirit-dell. 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. Itt? 
 
 THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS, 
 
 The French, who first explored the wild shores and prolific 
 plains that margin the Mississippi river, and extend along its 
 tributary streams, believed that they had found a terrestrial para- 
 dise. Never before was such a desert of flowers presented to the 
 astonished eye of man — never before was there exhibited an ex- 
 panse so wide, so fertile, so splendidly adorned. If the beauty 
 of this region delighted them, its immensity filled them with as- 
 tonishment, and awakened the most extravagant expectations. 
 Tlieir warm and sprightly imaginations were easily excited to 
 lively admiration, by scenes so grand, so lovely, and so wild, as 
 those presented in this boundless wilderness of woods and flowers. 
 The great length of the magnificent rivers filled them v/ith amaze- 
 ment ; while the reputed wealth, and fancied productions of the 
 country, awakened both avarice and curiosity. 
 
 We can scarcely realize the sensations with which they must 
 have wandered over a country so different from any they had 
 ever seen, and have contemplated a landscape so unexpectedly 
 majestic and attractive. The freshness and verdure of new 
 lands, unspoiled and unimpoverished by the hand of cultivation, 
 is in itself delightful. It is pleasing to see the works of nature 
 in their original character, as they came from the creative hand ; 
 and that pleasure was here greatly enhanced by the infinite vari- 
 ety, and magnificent extent, of the romantic scenery. The plains 
 seemed as boundless as they were beautiful, and the splendid 
 groves, which diversified the surface of these exquisitely graceful 
 lawns, invested them with a peculiar air of rural elegance. 
 
 Delighted with this extensive and fertile region, they roamed 
 far and wide over its boundless prairies, and pushed their little 
 barks into every navigable stream. Their inoffensive manners 
 
118 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 procured them a favourable reception ; their cheerfulness and 
 suavity conciliated even the savage warrior, whose suspicious 
 nature discovered no cause of alarm in the visits of these gay 
 strangers. Divided into small parties, having different objects 
 in view, they pursued their several designs without collision and 
 with litile concert. One sought fame, another searched for mines 
 of gold as opulent as those which had enriched the Spaniards in 
 a more southern part of the same continent. One aspired simply 
 to the honour of discovering new lands, another came to collect 
 rare and nondescript specimens of natural curiosities ; one trav- 
 elled to see man in a state of nature, another brought the Gospel 
 to the heathen ; while, perhaps, a great number roved carelessly 
 among these interesting scenes, indulging an idle curiosity or a 
 mere love of adventure, and seeking no higher gratification than 
 that which the novelty and excitement of the present moment 
 afforded. 
 
 Whatever might be their respective views, they w^ere certain- 
 ly, in one respect, the most successful of adventurers. They tra- 
 versed these wide plains with impunity. They penetrated far 
 into the interior of the trackless wilderness. Their canoes were 
 seen tracing the meanders of the longest rivers ; and these fear- 
 less explorers had already found their way into the heart of this 
 immense continent, while other Europeans obtained, with difficul- 
 ty, a footing upon the sea coast. 
 
 Among the earliest who thus came was Pierre Blondo, who, 
 having served a regular apprenticeship to an eminent barber at 
 Paris, had recently commenced the world on his own account, in 
 the character of valet to an excellent Dominican priest, who was 
 about to visit America. The proverb, "like master like man," 
 had little application to this pair — for never were two human 
 beings more unlike than they. The worthy Dominican was a 
 gentlemanly and priest-like personage, and Pierre a very unas- 
 suming plebeian. The master was learned and benevolent, — 
 grave, austere, and self-denying ; the valet was a jolly, rattling 
 madcap, who, as he never hesitated to grant a favour or a civility 
 to any human being who asked or needed it, thought it right to 
 be equally obliging to himself; and neither mortified his own 
 flesh nor his neighbour s feelings. The priest mourned over the 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 119 
 
 depravity of the human race, and especially deprecated the friv- 
 olous habits of his countrymen ; the valet not only believed tliis 
 to be the best of all possible worlds, but prided himself particu- 
 larly in being a native of a country which produces the best fid- 
 dlers, cooks, and barbers, on the habitable globe. In short, the 
 master was a priest and the man a hair-dresser ; they both loved 
 and endeavoured to improve their species ; but the one dealt with 
 the inner, the other with the outer man ; — one sought to enlighten 
 the dark abyss of the ignorant heart, while the other sedulously 
 scraped the superfluities of the visage. Father Francis was a 
 mysterious, silent, ascetic man ; Pierre was as mercurial and as 
 merry a lad as ever flourished a pair of scissors. 
 
 However they might differ in other respects, there was one 
 particular in which Father Francis and his man, Pierre, exactly 
 agreed ; namely, in an ardent desire to explore the streams, the 
 forests, and the prairies of Louisiana. They were allured, it is 
 true, by very different motives. The priest came to spread the 
 Gospel among the heathen, to arrest their vices, and to explode 
 their human sacrifices ; the valet travelled to see the lion with 
 one horn, the fountain of rejuvenescence, the white-breasted 
 swans, and the dark-skinned girls of Illinois. Pierre's research- 
 es into American history had been considerable, and his opportu- 
 nities for acquiring a knowledge of the new world singularly 
 felicitous. He had shaved gentlemen who had been there — had 
 scraped the very cheeks which were embrowned by the sun of 
 the western Indies, and had held, with secret delight, betwixt his 
 thumb and finger, the identical nostrils that had inhaled the deli- 
 cious odours of Florida, the land of flowers. He had listened 
 with admiration to their wonderful stories, some of which almost 
 staggered his credulity. He did not doubt the existence of gold 
 mines, in which the pure metal was found in solid masses — the 
 only objection to which was, that they were too large for trans- 
 portation, — nor of that wonderful pool, in which, if an old man 
 bathed, he lost the decrepitude of age, and regained the bloom 
 of childhood. These things seemed proper enough, and were 
 vouched for by gentlemen who could not be mistaken ; yet it 
 seemed to him marvellous, that the birds should be snowy white, 
 and the ladies black ; that the men should be beardless, and the 
 
120 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 lions have horns ; and that gold-dust, grapes, and oranges, should 
 grow and glitter in a wilderiiess, where there were none but 
 wolves and wild men to gather them. 
 
 It is proper to state here, in order to prevent any misunder- 
 standing in a matter of so much importance, that, although Pierre 
 was a barber, he was by no means an insignificant person. He 
 was of honest parentage — the son of a very reputable peasant, 
 who lived decently, and brought up his offspring in habits of in- 
 dustry. He had a fine figure and a very prepossessing counte- 
 nance. His eye was good, his teeth white, and his smile agree- 
 able. He was, in short, a gentleman — on a sniall scale, and a 
 most excellent person — in his way. A pleasant young man, with 
 a light purse, and liberal feelings. 
 
 During the passage, Pierre became a favourite with his fellow 
 voyagers. He played the flute, sang merry songs, shaved the 
 sailors gratis, and on Sundays brushed up the captain as fine as 
 a grenadier. He- felt so happy himself, that he could not be easy 
 without trying to make every body liappy around him. At odd 
 times, when he was unemployed, he amused himself in fancying 
 the adventures that awaited him, the fine sights he should see, 
 and the heaps upon heaps of gold and jewels that he should pick 
 up in the new world. He thought himself a second Columbus, 
 and had no doubt that high honours would be conferred upon liim 
 on his return — the king would make him a count or a marquis; 
 and M. Corneille, wlio was then in the meridian of his fame, would 
 write a play, and tell his exploits in poetry. The prime minister 
 would probably offer liim his daughter in marriage — and a cloud 
 passed over ihe brow of the merry Frenchman as he reflected that 
 it would be proper to make the lady miserable, by refusing the 
 honour of the alliance. " I shall certainly be very much obliged 
 to him," said Pierre, as he sat musing on the forecastle, gazing 
 at a long stream of moonlight that sparkled on the undulating 
 waves ; " very much obliged : and I shall never be wanting in 
 gratitude to a nobleman who shall do me so much honour, — but 
 I must decline it ; for there is pretty little Annette, that I have 
 promised to marry, and who shall never have reason to weep for 
 my inconstancy. Annette is a very pretty girl, and she loves 
 me dearly. I really think slie would break her heart if I should 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 121 
 
 not many her. Poor girl ! she thinks there is no body in the 
 world equal to Pierre — and I have no reason to dispute her judg- 
 ment. She is neither rich nor noble, but what of that ? When 
 I am master of a gold mine, and a marquis of France, I can ele- 
 vate her to my own rank ; and I will hang strings of pearl, and 
 ornaments of solid gold, about her pretty neck, and her slender 
 waist, in such profusion, that the meanness of her birth will be 
 forgotten in the glitter of her attire." Thus did Pierre enjoy '.he 
 luxury of hope, and revel in anticipation upon the bright pros- 
 pects that beamed upon his delighted fancy. The vessel flew 
 rapidly over the waves ; and, after a prosperous voyage, the new 
 world spread its illimitable shores, its gigantic mountains, and 
 its wooded vales, before the enraptured eyes of the weary voy- 
 agers. 
 
 Pierre was in the new world. It was very much unlike the 
 old one. Yet its great superiority did not strike him so forcibly 
 as he had expected. The St. Lawrence was a noble river ; its 
 shores were green, and the trees were larger than any he had 
 seen in France ; but the sunny clime, and the rich vineyards of 
 his native land were not there, nor was there the least sign of a 
 gold mine, or a pearl fishery. Our adventurer, however, was of 
 a sanguine temperament, and determined to suspend his judgment, 
 and hope on for a season. 
 
 Shortly after their arrival at Montreal, an expedition was con- 
 certed to the newly discovered region of the Upper Mississippi, 
 and Father Francis made his arrangements to accompany the 
 party. Pierre, who, in the long voyage across the Atlantic, com- 
 paratively agreeable as it was, had become Vv^earied of the con- 
 finement and privations incident to this mode of travelling, looked- 
 at the little boats launched on the St. Lawrence, for the transpor- 
 tation of the party, with some distrust, and evinced a considerable 
 deal of reluctance against embarking in a new adventure. In 
 Montreal he had found some of the luxuries which he enjoyed at 
 home, and had been deprived of on shipboard. There were bar- 
 bers and cooks, to shave and feed people ; and, new as the city 
 was, there was a monastery and a ball room, in the first of v/hich, 
 he could be seated in a snug confessional, when he went to con- 
 fess his sins to the priest, and in the other he could dance without 
 
122 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 knocking his head against a spar, or running the risk of jumping 
 overboard. Other considerations, however, weighed agaiiist his 
 indolence and love of pleasure. He longed to discover the foun- 
 tain of rejuvenescence, to bathe in its renovating waters, and se- 
 cure the miraculous gift of perpetual youth. He panted for the 
 dignity and advantage of being sole proprietor of a gold mine, 
 and returning to merry France with a ship load of treasure, — for 
 the honour of nobility, the pleasure of refusing the prime minis- 
 ter's daughter, and the pride of making Annette a peeress. In- 
 cited by hopes so brilliant, and so remarkably reasonable, the 
 spirit of adventure was re-animated in his bosom, and he em- 
 barked with newly invigorated alacrity. 
 
 They ascended, with much toil, the rapid current of the noble 
 St. Lawrence, meandering among its thousand isles, and gazing 
 with delight on its rocky and luxuriant shores. They coasted the 
 grand and beautiful lakes of the north, enraptured with the fresh- 
 ness and variety of the scenery ; and surveyed with amazement, 
 the great cataract, which has been the wonder of succeeding 
 generations. Every night they encamped upon the banks, and 
 the forest rang with the cheerful sounds of merriment. Some- 
 times they met the Indians, who gazed upon them as superior be- 
 ings, and either fled in terror, or endeavoured to conciliate them 
 by kindness and hospitality. It was thus that the Europeans 
 were usually received by the natives of this continent, before lit- 
 tle jealousies, and occasional aggressions, were fomented, by 
 hasty retaliation, into lasting hatred. Happy would it have been 
 for our country, and for human nature, had the civilized adven- 
 turers to the new world conducted themselves in such a manner 
 as to have deepened, and indelibly engraved upon the savage 
 mind, the feelings of profound respect which their first appear- 
 ance excited. 
 
 When they reached the southern end of Lake Michjgan, the 
 waters were high, and they floated over the inundated lands, 
 pushing their boats among the trees of the forest, and over the 
 rank herbage of the low prairies of that region, until they found 
 the current, which had set towards the north, began to flow off in 
 the opposite direction, and floated them into a small stream, run- 
 ning towards the south. Here they halted for some days to hunt, 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 123 
 
 and repair their boats ; and when they reached the Illinois, a 
 large, but placid river, one of the noblest tributaries of the Mis- 
 sissippi, the flood had subsided, and the waters were flowing qui- 
 etly within their natural channel, through the silent forest. 
 
 With what emotions of wonder must those adventurous trav- 
 ellers have gazed upon these wild scenes ! How singular must 
 have been their sensations, when they reflected on their distance 
 from the civilized world, and thought of the immensity of that 
 immeasurable Waste that was spread around them. They had 
 never imagined, far less witnessed, a desert so blooming or so ex- 
 tensive. There was a magnificence of beauty in its prolific veg- 
 etation and gorgeous verdure, and a grandeur in the idea of the 
 boundless extent of this splendid wildernesss, that must have 
 excited the imagination to speculations of intense interest. 
 
 Pierre seemed to awaken to a new existence when the boats 
 entered upon this beautiful r- v'er ; and he felt a thrill of pleasure 
 as he surveyed the placid stream and its lovely shores. The 
 river, deep, unobstructed, and clear as crystal, flows with a cur- 
 rent so gentle as to be almost imperceptible, while the overhang- 
 ing trees protect it from the winds, keeping it as still and invio- 
 late as the fountain that sleeps in its native cave. The stately 
 swan sailed upon the mirror that reflected her downy plumage, 
 and the gaudy paroquet, rich in green and golden hues, sported 
 among the tall trees. The tangled grape vines hung in heavy 
 masses from the boughs, and the wild fruit trees dipped their limbs 
 in the water. Here and there the tall bluffs jutted in upon the 
 river, impressing their gracefully curved outlines upon the clear 
 blue ground of the sky, and throwing their long dark shadows 
 upon the water ; but most usually, a rich border of noble forest 
 trees, springing from a low shore, hung in graceful beauty over 
 the stream. Sometimes they saw herds of buflfalo, wading in 
 the tide, sometimes the lazy bear wallowing in the mire, and, oc- 
 casionally, the slender deer, standing in the timid attitude of at. 
 tention ; while every secluded inlet, or shaded cove, was filled 
 with screaming wild fowl, of an infinite variety of plumage. 
 
 The travellers arrived, at length, at an Indian village, where 
 they were entertained with great hospitality. The chief, sur- 
 rounded bv his wise men, and his warriors, painted in gay colours, 
 
124 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 and decked with feathers, symbolical of peace, received them 
 with public demonstrations of respect ; and a great company, of 
 different ages, and both sexes, was assembled to gaze at them, 
 and 1o do them honour. The hump of the buffalo, the head of 
 the elk, and the marrowy tail of the beaver, were dressed for 
 them, with all the skill of aboriginal gourmandism ; they were 
 feasted, besides, upon bear's oil, jerked venison, hominy, and del- 
 icately roasted puppies; and the juicy steams of these delicious 
 viands, unvitiated by the villanous artificial mixtures of Euro- 
 pean cookery, were pleasantly blended with the balmy odours of 
 the forest. Father Francis, among other monastic attainments, 
 had acquired a very competent knowledge of the art of good eat- 
 ing, and did ample justice to the generous fare which spread the 
 board of his savage entertainers ; but being a reformer of morals, 
 he determined to show his gratitude by delivering before his new 
 friends a homily against intemperance ; resolving, at the same 
 time, to im.prove so favourable an opportunity of suggesting the 
 propriety of seasoning such gross meats v/ith a few wholesome 
 condiments ; for, to his taste, the devouring of flesh v/ithout salt, 
 pepper, or sauce, was mere cannibalism. Pierre was a reformer, 
 too, and he made up his mind to improve the gastronomic science 
 of his country, whenever he should become a marquis, by ad- 
 ding the buffalo's tongue and hump, and the elk's head, to the lux- 
 uries of a Parisian bill of fare. The cooking of puppies he 
 thought an unchristian and dangerous innovation, which might 
 lead to the destruction of some of the most harmless animals in 
 creation, while the addition which it brought to the list of solid 
 edibles, was not worthy of much commendation. 
 
 Having feasted the adventurers, the Indians presented them 
 with feathers, belts, moccasins, and dressed skins ; and the chief, 
 in the profusion of his generosity, offered to Father Francis fif- 
 teen beautiful young girls, but the good man, as any prudent 
 man would have done, wisely declined the acceptance of a pres- 
 ent that might prove so troublesome. Pierre thought he would 
 have ordered things differently : he winked, shrugged, hinted, 
 and at last ventured to beg that he might take one of them, at 
 least, to Paris with him, as a curiosity ; but the inexorable priest 
 advised him to carry a swan, a paroquet, a pet buffalo, or a rat- 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 125 
 
 tlesnake, in preference. Finally, when that worthy and highly 
 honoured ecclesiastic had been feasted to repletion, and loaded to 
 weariness with deferential civilities, a soft couch of buffalo robes 
 was spread for him, and a number of young girls stood round 
 him, as he reposed, fanning hini with the snowy wings of the 
 swan, and driving away the musquitoes with bunches of gaudy 
 feathers. Pierre thought this a very grand ceremony, and quite 
 comfortable withal ; and determined, that, whenever he should be- 
 come proprietor of a gold mine, he would enjoy the luxury of 
 slumber with similar attendance. 
 
 It would be a question worthy the attention of the curious in 
 matters relating to the philosophy of the human mind, whether 
 that love of foreigners which has ever distinguished the American 
 people, and made them the sport of every idle traveller who has 
 chanced to linger on our shores, was not derived from the aborig- 
 ines. The vanity of showing off a travelled " lion" at our par- 
 ties is certainly not original. If it be not an inherent passion in 
 the human breast, it has, at least, prevailed throughout many 
 ages. The desire to behold the exotic production of a distant 
 clime — to entertain one who has roamed through latitudes differ- 
 ent from our own, and had hair breadth 'scapes, has long been a 
 distinguishing trait in the domestic manners of our countrymen ; 
 and we are happy to be able to trace the propensity back to a 
 period anterior to our existence as a nation. For we do not set 
 it down among our virtues. Hospitality may^ have much to do 
 with keeping it alive, and a generous love of knowledge may af- 
 ford it some nourishment. But we fear that, after all, it rests 
 upon a solid substratum of vanity, and is cherished by the oozings 
 of an inquisitive curiosity. The Illini, however, fared much bet- 
 ter in the result of their attentions to distinguished strangers, than 
 we who have succeeded and imitated them. They received the 
 French, with confiding kindness, into the bosom of their society, 
 and fed them upon the fat of their land ; and the worthy visiters 
 of that primitive people recorded their hospitality in terms of 
 grateful acknowledgment. We have pursued a similar course 
 of conduct towards other Europeans, and have been sadly tra- 
 duced and ridiculed for our pains. 
 
 Father Francis took an early occasion to say a word in season 
 
126 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 to the savages on the great business of his mission. They heard 
 him with grave respect, and promised to take the matter into con- 
 sideration ; but, as their intercourse was conducted entirely by 
 signs, it is not likely that they were greatly edified. He showed 
 them a telescope, a mariner's compass, and a watch, and endeav- 
 oured to explain their several properties; they listened with at- 
 tention, offered food to the watch, which they supposed to be a 
 living animal, looked with fear at the telescope, and picked the 
 old man's pocket, while he was lecturing upon natural philosophy. 
 Upon the whole, the savages showed great capabilities for the 
 pursuits of civilized life. Pierre, in the meanwhile, remained an 
 inactive spectator of these proceedings. The Indians, with their 
 usual tact, discovered that he occupied a subordinate place in the 
 mission, which released them from the necessity of paying public 
 honours. But his fine figure, his elastic step, and his open coun- 
 tenance, won their regard, and obtained for him the most cordial 
 attention. Though he was not, as they supposed, a chief, or a 
 prophet, they imagined that he was a young brave of promise, and 
 perhaps of distinction, in his tribe. 
 
 The next morning, the young warriors dispersed themselves in 
 the neighbouring groves, to paint their bodies and decorate thek 
 heads. This is one of the most important employments of an In- 
 dian's life. No beau, nor dandy, nor exquisite, in any part of 
 the world, expends more time in the laborious duties of the toilet, 
 than is consumed by the savage in decorating his person. Pierre 
 went among them, bov/ing and smiling, in his usual obliging man- 
 ner, with his razors, combs, scissors, and pomatums ; and, after 
 exhibiting specimens of his skill upon himself, prevailed upon some 
 of his new acquaintances to place themselves under his hands. 
 He was not only a complete adept in his ov/n art, but a man of 
 genius, who could adapt its principles to the circumstances of a 
 new case ; and, directed by the slight observations he had been 
 enabled to make, painted up some of the savages, after their own 
 fashion, with peculiar elegance, and to their entire satisfaction. 
 They were delighted with his clever and obliging talents. He 
 exhibited his lancet and tooth-drawers, and explained their use by 
 significant gestures ; and the Indians, supposing them to be deli- 
 cate instruments for torturing prisoners of war, patted him on the 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 127 
 
 head as a valuable auxiliary. He produced a pair of foils, and, 
 while he convinced them thiat he was a great warrior, caused an 
 infinite deal of merriment by the contrast of his own dexterity 
 with the awkwardness of those who were prevailed upon to op- 
 pose him. A pocket mirror, and some trinkets, which he display^ 
 ed, won their admiration, and they soon determined, that, although 
 Father Francis might be highest in rank, Pierre was by far the 
 greatest man, and most valuable acquaintance. Such are the 
 triumphs of genius! Pierre had ventured upon a delicate experi- 
 ment, in which ninety-nine of the most consummately skilled art- 
 ists might have failed, where one would have been successful. 
 
 " There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ;" 
 
 he had touched a fortunate spring, and found the talisman Vv-liich 
 commanded a brilliant destiny. In the fulness of his heart he 
 opened a small package of looking-glasses, which he had brought 
 for traffic, and distributed them gratuitously among the warriors, 
 presenting the largest and most elegant to the chief, wiio was so 
 much delighted, that he instantly, with princely liberality, ofFered 
 him his daughter in marriage. Happy Pierre ! he was that day 
 the proudest of men, and the most blissful of barbers. 
 
 Pierre had serious scruples whether he should accept this gen- 
 erous offer ; not that he considered it above his merits— on the 
 contrary, he gave the chief great credit for having had the acute- 
 ness to discover his genius, and the magnanimity to know hov/ to 
 appreciate it. It was a proposal v/orthy of both the parties con- 
 cerned. But it touched his honour, while it flattered his pride. 
 He had not forgotten his obligations to Annette— the merry dark- 
 eyed girl who iiad given him the first offering of her young affec- 
 tions. Poor little Annette, what would she think of it, if he should 
 marry another lady. He was sure she would never stand it. 
 The blight of disappointment would fall upon the warm heart that 
 throbbed so sincerely for him. " No," said he to himself, " I will 
 be true to Annette, be the consequences what they may ; I have 
 promised her my hand, and a share in my gold mine ; and noth- 
 ing shall ever induce me to act in a manner unbecoming a French 
 gentleman.-' Having formed this heroic resolution, he put his hat 
 
128 I'HE V/ILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 on one side of his head, and strutted through the village, with the 
 independent air of a man who chooses to do as he pleases, and the 
 self-satislied countenance of one who has adopted a virtuous de- 
 termination. 
 
 But Pierre knew little of the frailty of his own heart. Few of 
 us are aware of the backslidings of which we may be guilty when 
 there is a lady in the case. He began to reflect, that the partner 
 so liberally tendered to his acceptance, was the daughter of a king, 
 and that such an alliance was not to be picked up every day in 
 the woods of the new world. He might grow gray before another 
 sovereign would condescend to invite him into his family ; and, 
 reasoning in his own mind, that the proposed marriage would 
 make him a prince, and heir apparent, he began to entertain strong 
 doubts whether patriotism, and the honour of the French nation, 
 did not require him to sacrifice his atFections to the glory and ad- 
 vantage of giving a king to the Illini. Napoleon has since been 
 called upon to decide a similar question; and Pierre, though not 
 a great warrior, loved his country and himself as well as Napo- 
 leon. He reflected further, that the possession of the sovereign 
 power would be the readiest way to the discovery of the fountain 
 of rejuvenescence ; the gold mines would all be his own, and he 
 could send Annette a shipload of the precious metal. Moreover, 
 he had already discovered, that in the new world it was the cus- 
 tom for great men to have a plurality of wives — a custom that 
 seemed to him to be founded in good sense — and he saw no reason 
 why he should not comply with it, and, with the first cargo of 
 gold he should send to France, despatch an invitation to Annette 
 to share his prosperity and the happiness of his tawny bride. 
 
 When our inclinations prompt us strongly to a particular line 
 of conduct, it is easy to find reasons enough to turn the scale. 
 Indeed, it is most usual to adopt a theory first, and then to 'seek 
 out arguments to support it. Pierre could now find a host of 
 reasons urging him to instant wedlock with the Pilinois maiden. 
 And not tlie least were the advantages which would accrue to 
 Father Francis, to the church, and to the cause of civilization. 
 When he should become a prince, he could take the venerable 
 priest under his patronage, encourage the spread of the true faith, 
 cause his subjects to be civilized, and induce them to dress like 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 129 
 
 Christians and feed like rational beings. He longed, with all the 
 zeal of a reformer, to see them powder their hair, and abstain 
 from the savage practice of eating roasted puppies. 
 
 So he determined to marry the lady ; and, having thus definite- 
 ly settled the question, thought it would be proper to take the ad- 
 vice of his spiritual guide. Father Francis was shocked at the 
 bare mention of the affair. He admonished Pierre of the sin of 
 marrying a heathen, and of the wickedness of breaking his plight- 
 ed faith ; and assured him, in advance, that such misconduct 
 would bring down upon him the severe displeasure of the church. 
 Pierre thanked him with the most humble appearance of convic- 
 tion, and forthwith proceeded to gratify his ov/n inclination — be- 
 lieving that, in the affair of wedlock, he knew what v/as for his 
 own good quite as well as a holy monk, v/ho, to the best of his 
 judgment, could know very little about the matter. 
 
 On the following morning the marriage took place, with no 
 other ceremony than the delivery of the bride into the hands of 
 her future husband. Pierre was as happy as bridegrooms usually 
 are — for his companion was a slender, pretty girl, v/ith a mild 
 black eye and an agreeable countenance. They were conducted 
 to a wigwam, and installed at once into the ofiices of husband and 
 wife, and into the possession of their future mansion. The fe- 
 males of the village assembled, and practised a good many jokes 
 at the expense of the young couple : and Pierre, as well to get rid 
 of these as to improve the earliest opportunity of examining into 
 the mineral treasures of the country, endeavoured, by signs, to in- 
 vite his partner to a stroll — intimating, at the same time, that he 
 would be infinitely obliged to her if she would have the politeness 
 to show him a gold mine or two. The girl signified her acquies- 
 cence, and presently stole away through the forest, followed by 
 the enamoured hair-dresser. 
 
 As soon as they were out of sight of the village, Pierre offered 
 her his arm, but the arch girl darted away, laughing, and shaking 
 her black tresses, which streamed in the air behind her, as she 
 leaped over the logs and glided through the thickets. Pierre liked 
 her none the less for this evidence of coquetry, but gaily pursued 
 his beautiful bride, fci' whom he began to feel the highest admira- 
 tion. Her figure was exquisitely moulded, and the exercise in 
 
 7* 
 
130 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 which she was now engaged displayed its gracefulness to the 
 greatest advantage. There was a novelty, too, in the adventure, 
 which pleased the gay-hearted Frenchman ; and away they ran, 
 mutually amused and mutually satisfied with each other. 
 
 Pierre was an active young fellow, and, for a while, followed 
 the beautiful savage with a creditable degree of speed ; but, un- 
 accustomed to the obstacles which impeded the way, he soon be- 
 came fatigued. His companion slackened her pace when she 
 found him lingering behind ; and, when the thicket was more than 
 usually intricate, kindly guided him through the most practicable 
 places, — always, however, keeping out of his reach ; and when- 
 ever he mended his pace, or showed an inclination to overtake 
 her, she would dart away, looking back over her shoulder, laugh- 
 ing, and coquetting, and inviting him lo follow. For a time this 
 was amusing enough, and quite to the taste of the merry barber; 
 but the afternoon was hot, tlie perspiration flowed copiously, and 
 he began to doubt the expediency of having to catch a wife, or win 
 even a gold mine, by the sweat of his brow — especially in a new 
 country. Adventurers to newly discovered regions expect to get 
 things easily ; the fruits of labour may be found at home. 
 
 On they went in this manner, until Pierre, wearied out, was 
 about to give up the pursuit of his light-heeled bride, when they 
 reached a spot where the ground gradually ascended, until, all at 
 once, they stood upon the edge of an elevated and extensive plain. 
 Our traveller had heretofore obtained partial glimpses of the prai- 
 ries, but now saw one of these vast plains, for the first time, in its 
 breadth and grandeur. Its surface was gently uneven ; and, as 
 he happened to be placed on one of the highest sv/ells, he looked 
 over a boundless expanse, where not a single tree intercepted the 
 prospect or relieved the monotony. He strained his vision for- 
 ward, but the plain was boundless — marking the curved line of 
 its profile on the far distant horizon. The effect was rendered 
 more striking by the appearance of the setting sun, which had sunk 
 to the level of the farthest edge of the prairie, and seemed like a 
 globe of fire restrtig upon the ground. Pierre looked around him 
 with admiration. The vast expanse — destitute of trees, covered 
 with tall grass, now dried by the summer's heat, and extending, 
 as it seemed to him, to the western verge of the continent — exci- 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 131 
 
 ted his special wonder. Little versed in geography, he persua- 
 ded himself that he had reached the western boundary of the 
 world, and beheld the very spot where the sun passed over the 
 edge of the great terrestrial plane. There was no mistake. He 
 had achieved an adventure worthy the greatest captain of the age. 
 His form dilated, and his eye kindled, with a consciousness of his 
 own importance. Columbus had discovered a continent, but lie 
 had travelled to the extreme verge of the earth's surface, beyond 
 which nothing remained to be discovered. " Yes," he solemnly 
 exclaimed, " there is the end of the world ! How fortunate am I 
 to have approached it by daylight, and with a guide ; otherwise, 
 I might have stepped over in the dark, and have fallen — I know 
 not where !" 
 
 The Indian girl had seated herself on the grass, and was com- 
 posedly waiting his pleasure, when he discovered large masses of 
 smoke rolling upward in the west. He pointed towards this new 
 phenomenon, and endeavoured to obtain some explanation of its 
 meaning; but the bride, if she understood his enquiry, had no 
 means of reply. There is a language of looks which is sufficient 
 for the purposes of love. The glance of approving affection beams 
 expressively from the eye, and finds its way in silent eloquence 
 to the heart. No doubt that the pair, whose bridal day we have 
 described, had already learned, from each other's looks, the con- 
 fession which they had no other common language to convey ; but 
 the intercourse of signs can go no further. It is perfectly inade- 
 quate io the interpretation of natural phenomena: and the Indian 
 maid was unable to explain that singular appearance which so 
 puzzled her lover. But discovering, from the direction to which 
 he pointed, that his curiosity was strongly excited, the obliging 
 girl rose, and led the way towards the west. They walked for 
 more than an hour. Pierre insensibly became grave and silent, 
 and his sympathizing companion unconsciously fell into the same 
 mood. He had taken her hand, which she now yielded without 
 reluctance, and they moved slowly, side by side, over the plain — 
 she with a submissive and demure air, and he alternately admiring 
 his beautiful bride, and throwing suspicious glances at the novel 
 scene around him. The sun had gone down, the breeze had sub- 
 sided, and the stillness of death was hanging over the prairie. 
 
132 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 Pierre began to Imve awful sensations. Though bold and vola- 
 tile, a something like fear crept over him, and he would have 
 turned back; but the pride of a French gentleman, and a mar- 
 quis in anticipation, prevented him. He felt mean — for no man 
 of spirit ever becomes seriously alarmed without feeling a sense 
 of degradation. There is something so unmanly in fear, that, al- 
 though no bosom is entirely proof against it, we feel ashamed to 
 acknowledge its influence even to ourselves. Our hero looked 
 forward in terror, yet was too proud to turn back. Superstition 
 was beginning to throw its misty visions about his fancy. He 
 had taken a step contrary to the advice of his father confessor, 
 and was in open rebellion against the church ; and he began to 
 fear that some evil spirit, under the guise of an Indian maid, was 
 seducing him away to destruction. At all events, he determined 
 not to go much further. 
 
 The shades of night had begun to close, when they again 
 ascended one of those elevations v/hich swells so gradually that 
 the traveller scarcely remarks them until he reaches the summit, 
 and beholds, from a commanding eminence, a boundless landscape 
 spread before him. The veil of night, without concealing the 
 scene, rendered it indistinct ; the undulations of the surface were 
 no longer perceptible ; and the prairie seemed a perfect plain. 
 One phenomenon astonished and perplexed him : before him the 
 prairie was lighted up with a dim but supernatural brilliancy, 
 like that of a distant fire, while behind was the blackness of dark- 
 ness. An air of solitude reigned over that wild plain, and not a 
 sound relieved the desolation of the scene. A chill crept over 
 him as he gazed around, and not an object met his eye but that 
 dark maid, who stood in mute patience by his side, as waitino- his 
 pleasure ; but on whose features, as displayed by the uncertain 
 light that glimmered on them, a smile of triumph seemed to play. 
 Pie looked again, and the horizon gleamed brighter and bright- 
 er, until a fiery redness rose above its dark outline, while heavy, 
 slow moving, masses of cloud curled upward above it. It was 
 evidently the intense reflection, and the voluminous smoke, of a 
 vast fire. In another moment the blaze itself appeared, first shoot- 
 ing up at one spot, and then at another, and advancing, until the 
 whole line of horizon was clothed with flames, that rolled around, 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 133 
 
 and curled, and dashed upward, like the angry waves of a burn- 
 ing ocean. The simple Frenchman had never heard of the fires 
 that sweep over our wide prairies in the autumn, nor did it enter 
 into his head that a natural cause could produce an effect so ter- 
 rific. The whole western horizon was clad in fire, and, as far as 
 the eye could see^, to the right and left, was one vast conflagra- 
 tion, having the appearance of angry billows of a fiery liquid, 
 dashing against each other, and foaming, and throwing fial^es of 
 burning spray into the air. There was a roaring sound like that 
 caused by the conflict of waves. A more terrific sight could 
 scarcely be conceived ; nor was it singular that an unpractised 
 eye should behold in that scene a wide sea of flame, lashed into 
 fury by some internal commotion. 
 
 Pierre could gaze no longer. A sudden horror thrilled his 
 soul. His worse fears were realized in the tremendous landscape. 
 He saw before him the lake of fire prepared for the devil and his 
 angels. The existence of such a place of punishment he had 
 never doubted ; but, heretofore, it had been a mere dogma of 
 faith, while now it appeared before him in its terrible reality. He 
 thought he could plainly distinguish gigantic black forms dancing 
 in the flames, throwing up their long misshapen arms, and writh- 
 ing their bodies into fantastic shapes. Uttering a piercing shriek, 
 he turned and fled with the swiftness of an arrow. Fear gave 
 new vigour to the muscles which had before been relaxed with 
 fatigue, and his feet, so lately heavy, now touched the ground with 
 the light and springy tread of the antelope. Yet. to himself, his 
 steps seemed to linger, as if his heels were lead. 
 
 The Indian girl clapped lier hands and laughed aloud as she 
 pursued him. That laugh, which, at an earlier hour of this 
 eventful day, had enlivened his heart by its joyous tones, now 
 filled him with terror. It seemed the yell of a demon — the tri- 
 umphant scream of hellish delight over the downfall of his soul. 
 The dark maid of Illinois, so lately an object of love, became, to 
 his distempered fancy, a minister of vengeance — a fallen angel 
 sent to tempt him to destruction. A supernatural strength and 
 swiftness gave wings to his flight, as he bounded away with the 
 speed of the ostrich of the deseJt ; but he seemed, to himself, to 
 crawl sluggishly, and, whenever he cast a glance behind, that 
 
134 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 mysterious girl of the prairie was laughing at his heels. He 
 tried to invoke the saints, but, alas ! in the confusion of his mind, 
 he could not recollect the names of more than half a dozen, nor 
 determine which was the most suitable one to be called upon in 
 such an anomalous case. Arrived at the forest, he dashed head- 
 long through its tangled thickets. Neither the darkness, nor any 
 obstacle, checked his career ; but scrambling over fallen timber, 
 tearing through copse and briar, he held his way, bruised and 
 bleeding, through the forest. At last he reached the village, 
 staggered into a lodge which happened to be unoccupied, and 
 sunk down insensible. 
 
 The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon when Pierre 
 awoke. The Indian maid was bending over him with looks of 
 tender solicitude. She had nursed him through the silent watches 
 of the night, had pillowed his head upon the soft plumage of the 
 swan, and covered him with robes of the finest fur. She had 
 watched his dreamy sleep through the long hours, when all 
 others were sleeping, and no eye witnessed her assiduous care — 
 had bathed his throbbing temples with water from the spring, and 
 passed her slender fingers through his ringlets, with the fondness 
 of a young and growing afTection, until she had soothed the un- 
 conscious object of her tenderness into a calm repose. It was her 
 first love, and she had given her heart up to its influence with all 
 the strength, and all the weakness, of female passion. Under 
 other circumstances it might long have remained concealed in her 
 own bosom, and have gradually become disclosed by the atten- 
 tions of her lover, as the flower opens slowly to the sun. But 
 she had been suddenly called to the discharge of the duties of a 
 wife ; and woman, when appealed to by the charities of life, 
 gives full play to her affections, pouring out the treasures of her 
 love in liberal profusion. 
 
 But her tenderness was thrown away upon the slumbering 
 bridegroom, whose unusual excitement, both of body and mind, 
 had been succeeded by a profound lethargy. No sooner did he 
 open his eyes, than the dreadful images of the night became again 
 pictured upon his imagination. Even that anxious girl, who had 
 hung over him with sleepless solicitude, throughout the night, and 
 still watched, dejected, by his side, seemed to wear a malignant 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 135 
 
 aspect, and to triumph in his anguish. He shrunk from the glance 
 of her eye, as if its mild lustre would have withered him. She 
 laid her hand upon his brow, and he writhed as if a serpent had 
 crawled over his visage. The hope of escape suddenly presented 
 itself to his mind. He rose, and rushed wildly to the shore. The 
 boats were just leaving the bank ; his companions had been 
 grieved at his marriage, and were alarmed when they found he 
 had left the village ; but Father Francis, a rigid moralist, and a 
 stern man, determined not to wait for him a moment, and the lit- 
 tle barks were already shoved into the stream, when the haggard 
 barber appeared, and plunged into the water. As he climbed the 
 side of the nearest boat, he conjured his comrades, in tones of 
 agony, to fly. Imagining he had discovered some treachery in 
 their new allies, they obeyed ; the oars were plied witli vigour, 
 and the vessels of the white strangers rapidly disappeared from 
 the eyes of the astonished Illini, who were as much perplexed by 
 the abrupt departure, as they had been by the unexpected visit of 
 their eccentric guests. 
 
 Pierre took to his bed, and remained an invalid during the rest 
 of the voyage. Nor did he set his foot on shore again in the new 
 world. One glance at the lake of fire was enough for him, and 
 he did not, like Orpheus, look back at the infernal regions from 
 which he had escaped. The party descended the Mississippi to 
 the gulf of Mexico, where, finding a ship destined for France, he 
 took leave of his companions, from whom he had carefully con- 
 cealed the true cause of his alarm. During the passage across 
 the Atlantic he recovered his health, and, in some measure, his 
 spirits ; but he never regained his thirst for adventure, his ambi- 
 tion to be a marquis, or his desire to seek for gold. The fountain 
 of rejuvenescence itself had no charms to allure him back to the 
 dangerous wildernesses of the far west. On all these subjects he 
 remained silent as the grave. One would have supposed that he 
 had escaped the dominions of Satan under a pledge of secresy. 
 
 A new misfortune awaited him at home, where, to his infinite 
 mortification, he found Annette married to a lank, snivelling 
 pastry cook, dispensing smiles, and pies, and sugar plums, from 
 behind a counter, and enjoying as much happiness as she could 
 have tasted in the rank to which be had once destined her. It 
 
136 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 was not kind in her to have jilted Pierre for a pastry cook, when 
 he would not have jilted her for any thing less than a princess. 
 Our hero had stuck to his integrity like a gentleman, until strong 
 temptation overmastered him, while siie had listened to the sugar- 
 ed compliments of the confectioner, as soon as the hack of her 
 generous lover was turned, and became mistress of a cake shop, 
 while he was laying plans to make her a peeress of France, and 
 a princess of Illinois. Short-sighted Annette ! to value so slight- 
 ly the sincere passion of so munificent a lover ! Pierre received 
 the news of her defection with the composure of a philosopher — 
 shrugged his shoulders, snapped his fingers, and resumed his 
 humble occupation. He was not the man to break his heart for a 
 trifle ; and, after bearing with fortitude the loss of a gold m.ine, a 
 throne, and lovely princess, the infidelity of a light-hearted maiden 
 was not a thing to grieve over. He lived a barber, and died a 
 bachelor. When the bloom of youth began to fade from his 
 cheek, and the acuteness of his sensibilities became a little blunt- 
 ed — when he saw his rival, the confectioner, prospering and 
 growing fat, and the prospect of Annette's becoming a widow 
 more and more remote, his reserve wore away, and he began to 
 relate his adventures to his customers. He became quite cel- 
 ebrated — as all Europeans are, who have travelled in America — 
 many flocked to his shop to hear his interesting recitals, and the 
 burning lake was added, by common fame, to the other wonders 
 of the new world. 
 
 The Indian maid followed the white stranger to the shore, and 
 saw him depart, with grief She gazed at the receding boats un- 
 til they turned an angle of the river, where they vanished foi 
 ever from her view, and then she sat down, and buried her face 
 in her hands. Her companions, in sympathy for her feelings, 
 left her alone, and when all eyes were withdrawn, she gave vent 
 to her feelings, and wept bitterly over her shame. She had been 
 betrothed in the face of the whole tribe, and had been publicly 
 deserted by her lover. He had fled from her with every appear- 
 ance of terror and loathing. She was repudiated under circum- 
 stances of notoriety, which deeply wounded her pride; while a ten- 
 derness newly awakened, and evinced to the full extent that maiden 
 delicacy permitted, was cruelly repaid by insult. Nor was the 
 
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS. 137 
 
 acuteness of these feelings at all blunted by the suspicion that she 
 had been herself an accessory in producing the melancholy re- 
 sult. Pierre had follov/ed her to the prairie in all the joyous hi- 
 larity of an ardent lover, he had fled from her in fear, and, al- 
 though the cause of his terror was unknown, she imputed it to 
 something in her own person or deportment. There is no an- 
 guish which a vvoman feels so keenly as the pang of mortified af- 
 fection — the conviction that her offered love is spurned — the vir- 
 gin shame of having betra3^ed a preference for one who does not 
 requite it — the mortification of attempting and failing to kindle 
 the flame of love. Woman can bear, and thousands have borne, 
 the pain of loving without being beloved, when the secret remains 
 liidden in her own bosom ; but when the husband, or the accepted 
 lover, repels, or coldly estimates, the warm and frank avowal of 
 a virtuous passion, he inflicts a wound which no surgery can heal, 
 he touches one of the master springs of the heart, with a rude- 
 ness that reaches its vitality and withers it for ever. Woman 
 can bear pain, or misfortune, with a fortitude that man may in 
 vain attempt to emulate ; but she has a heart whose sensibilities 
 require a delicate observance ; — she submits to pov/er with hu- 
 mility, to oppression with patience, to the ordinary calamities of 
 liuman nature with resignation — nothing breaks her heart but in- 
 sulted love. 
 
 For whole days did the Indian maid wander through the sol- 
 itary forest, ashamed to return to the encampment of her tribe. 
 When led back to her father's lodge, she avoided the society of 
 the maiden throng, and fled from the young warriors who \\'ould 
 have courted her smiles. She ceased to be numbered among the 
 dark-eyed beauties of her tribe ; and but a few moons had passed 
 away since the visit of the white strangers from the land of the 
 rising sun, when a little hillock, on the summit of a lonely 
 mound in the prairie, covered the remains of the beautiful and 
 love stricken Maid of Illinois. 
 
138 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 THE INDIAN HATER 
 
 Some years ago, I had occasion to travel over the beautiful 
 prairies of Illinois, then a frontier state, containing but few in- 
 habitants, and those chiefly of the class called backwoodsmen. 
 In the course of my journey, I stopped one day at a village to 
 rest ; and while my horse was eating his corn, and mine hostess 
 was picking the chicken that was to be broiled for my dinner, I 
 stepped into a neighbouring store to purchase some small article 
 of which I stood in need. I found a number of persons there, en- 
 gaged, some in buying merchandise, some in talking politics, and 
 others in reading the manuscript advertisements of stray horses 
 and constable's sales, that were pasted on the walls. There were 
 a bottle of whiskey and a pitcher of water on the counter, free 
 for all comers, as was the hospitable /ashion of those days, before 
 temperance had got to be a tip-top virtue, or Father Mathew the 
 greatest of modern reformers. Being not unwilling to observe 
 a scene which might afford amusement, and to while away a few 
 minutes in conversation, I leaned my back against the counter, 
 and addressed myself to a person having the appearance of a 
 substantial farmer, \vho answered my inquiries respecting the 
 country with intelligence and civility. 
 
 While thus engaged, my attention was drawn to a person who 
 stood near. He was a man who might have been about fifty 
 years of age. His height did not exceed the ordinary stature, 
 and his person was rather slender than otherwise ; but there was 
 something in his air and features which distinguished him from 
 common men. The expression of his countenance was keen and 
 daring. His forehead was elevated, his cheek bones hiirh, his 
 lips thin and compressed. Long exposure to the climate had 
 tanned his complexion to a deep brown, and had hardened his 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 139 
 
 skin and muscles, so as to give him the appearance of a living 
 petrifaction. He seemed to have lived in the open air, exposed 
 to the elements, and to every extreme of temperature. 
 
 There was nothing in the Hress of this individual to attract at- 
 tention ; he was accosted occasionally by others, and seemed 
 familiar with all who were present. Yet there was an air of ab- 
 straction, and standing aloof about him, so different from the noisy 
 rjiirth and-jLhoughtless deportment of those around him, that I 
 could not help observing him. In his eye there was something 
 peculiar, yet I could not tell in what that peculiarity consisted. 
 It was a small grey orb, whose calm, bold, direct glances, seemed 
 to vouch that it had not , cowered with shame, or quailed in dan- 
 ger. There was blended in that eye a searching keenness, 
 with a quiet vigilance — a watchful, sagacious self-possession — so 
 often observable in the physiognomy of those who are in the 
 habit of expecting, meeting, and overcoming peril. His heavy 
 eyebrows had been black, but time had touched them with his 
 pencil. He was dressed in a coarse grey hunting shirt, of home- 
 spun cotton, girded round the waist with a broad leathern belt, 
 tightly drawn, in which rested the long knife, with which the 
 western hunter despatches his game, cuts his food, picks his flint 
 and his teeth, and whittles sticks for amusement. 
 
 Upon the whole, there was about this man an expression of 
 quiet determination, of grim and gloomy sternness, of intense but 
 smothered passion, which stamp£d_Jiira_as---something aut of tlie 
 ordinary view of character; yet therewere indications of open- 
 ness and_honesty, that forbade distrust. He was rough, but not a 
 riifin^an. His was not the unblushing front of hardy guilt, nor the 
 lurking glance of underhanded villany. A stranger would not 
 have hesitated to confide in his faith or courage, but would have 
 been extremely reluctant to provoke his hostility. 
 
 I had barely time to make these observations, when several In- 
 dians, who had strolled into the village, entered the store. 
 The effect of their presence upon the backwoodsman, whom I 
 have described, was instantaneous and remarkable. His eyes 
 rolled wildly, as if he had been suddenly stung to madness, 
 gleaming with a strange fierceness — an intense lustre, like that 
 which flashes from the eyeballs of the panther, when crouched 
 
140 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 in a dark covert, ready to dart upon his prey. His sallow cheek 
 was flushed ; the muscles, that but a moment before seemed so 
 rigid, became flexible, and twitched convulsively. His hand sli- 
 ding quietly to the hilt of his large knife, as if by an involutary 
 impulse, grasped it firmly; and it was easy to perceive that a 
 smothered fire had been disturbed, and that a single breath would 
 be sufficient to light up a blaze. But, except these indications, he 
 remained motionless as a statue, gazing with a look of intense 
 ferocity at the intruders. The Indians halted when their eyes 
 met his, and exchanged glances of intelligence with each other. 
 Whether it was from instinct, or that they knew the man, or 
 whether the natural sagacity of their race enabled them to read 
 the signs of danger in his scowling visage, they seemed willing to 
 avoid him, and retired. The backwoodsman made a motion, as 
 if to follow ; but several of the company, who had v.atched this 
 silent, though momentary scene, with interest, gently withheld 
 him, and after conversing with him a fe\v moments in an earnest, 
 but under tone, led him off in one direction, while the Indians 
 rode away in another. 
 
 Having understood from the farmer, with v/hom I had been 
 talking, that he was about to return home, and that my route led 
 through his neighbourhood, I accepted the offer of his company 
 and guidance, and we set out together. It was a pleasant after- 
 noon in the fall, and as our horses trotted quietly over the smooth 
 prairie road, the discourse naturally fell upon the scene we had 
 just witnessed, and I expressed a curiosity to learn something of 
 the history and character of the man, whose image had impressed 
 itself so forcibly on my mind. 1 was young and romantic then, 
 and singular as this being certainly was, his peculiarities were 
 probably magnified to my excited fancy. 
 
 " He is a strange, mysterious-looking being," said I, '• and I 
 should think he must be better, or worse, than other men." 
 
 " Samuel Monson is a very good neighbour," replied the fiir- 
 mer, cautiously. 
 
 " You say that in a tone," rejoined I, " which seems to imply, 
 that in some other respects he may not be so good." 
 
 " Well — as to that, I cannot say, of my" own knowledge, that I 
 know any harm of the man." 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 141 
 
 " And what do other people say of him ?" 
 
 The farmer hesitated, and then, with a caution very common 
 among people of this description, replied : 
 
 " People often say more than they can prove. It's not good, 
 no hovv% to be talking of one's neighbours ; and Monson, as I said 
 before, is a good neighbour." 
 
 " But a bad man, as I understand." 
 
 '•' No — far from it — the man's well enough — " 
 
 My companion hesitated here, as gossips of both sexes are apt 
 to do, when conscious of a strong inclination to tell all they know 
 on a delicate subject ; but my laudable thirst for useful knowl- 
 edge had, I suppose, awakened a benevolent desire to gratify it, 
 and the worthy man added, in a low tone, and looking cautiously 
 around : 
 
 '^ Except The folks do say he are rather too keen with 
 
 his rifle." 
 
 " How so ? does he shoot his neighbour's cattle ?" 
 
 " No, sir — Samuel Monson is as much above a mean action as 
 any other man." 
 
 " What then, is he quarrelsome ?" 
 
 '•' Oh, bless you, no ! There's not a peaceabler man in the 
 settlement ; but he used to be a great Indian fighter in the last 
 war, and he got sort o' haunted to the woods ; and folks do say 
 that he's still rather too keen on the track of a moccasin." 
 
 " I do not exactly understand you, my dear sir. — The Indians 
 are now quiet, I believe, and at peace with us ?" 
 
 " Why yes, they are very peaceable. They never come near 
 us, except now and then a little party comes in to trade. There's 
 not many of them in these parts, and they live a good piece off." 
 
 " They are civil and harmless, are they not ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, quite agreeable — bating the killing of a hog once in 
 a while — but that we don't vally — it is but just nateral to the 
 poor savage to shoot anything that runs in the woods. They 
 have a honing in that way, and you can't stop them, no way you 
 can fix it." 
 
 " In what way, then, does this Monson interfere with them ?" 
 
 " I did not say, stranger, that Monson done it. No, no ; I 
 would'n't hurt no man's character ; but the fact and the truth 
 
142 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH 
 
 are about this : now and then an Indian are missing ; and now 
 and then one are found dead in the range ; — and folks will have 
 their notions, and their talk, and their suspicions about it — and 
 some talk hard of Monson." 
 
 " But why charge it upon him ?" 
 
 " Well, if you must have it out, stranger, — in this country we 
 all know the bore of every man's rifle. Monson's gun carries 
 just fifty to the pound. Now the bullet holes in all these Indians 
 that have been shot are the same, and we know whose rifle they 
 suit. Besides this, horse tracks have been seen on the trail of 
 the moccasin. They were very particular tracks, and just suited 
 the hoof of a certain horse. Then a certain man was known to 
 be lying out in the range, about that same time ; and when all 
 these things are put together, it don't take a Philadelphia lawyer 
 to tell who done the deed. No mistake in Sam Monson. He 
 likes a skrimmage with them. He goes off sometimes, and is 
 gone for weeks, and people reckon that he goes to their own 
 hunting grounds to lie in wait for them. They do say, he can 
 scent a red-skin like a hound, and never lets a chance slip — no 
 how." 
 
 " But is it possible, that in a civilized country, within the reach 
 of our laws, a wretch is permitted to hunt down his fellow. crea- 
 tures like wild beasts ; to murder a defenceless Indian, who 
 comes into our territory in good faith, believing us to be what we 
 profess, as a Christian people !" 
 
 " Well, stranger, — as to the matter of that — it is not exactly 
 permitted ; we don't know for certain who does it, and it's not any 
 particular man's business to inquire into it, more than another. 
 There's no love for the Indians among us, no how. Many of the 
 people have had their kin murdered by the savages in early 
 times ; and all who have been raised in the back woods, have 
 been learned to dislike them, and fear them. Then Monson is an 
 honest fellow, works hard, pays his debts, and is always willing 
 to do a good turn, and it would seem hard to break neighbourhood 
 with him for the matter of a few Indians. People don't think the 
 Indians of much account, no how !" 
 
 "But the wickedness of such unprovoked murder — the shame — 
 the breach of law, the violation of hospitality !" 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 143 
 
 " Well, so it is. It are a sin ; and sorry would I be to have it 
 on my conscience. But, then, some think an Indian or so will 
 never be missed ; others, again, hate to create an interruption in 
 the settlement ; others, who pretend to know the law, say that the 
 general government has the care of the business of the Indians, 
 and that our state laws won't kiver the case — so they allow it's 
 none of our business. Some folks, you know, go in heavy for 
 state rights, and don't believe in meddling with any thing that be- 
 longs to Uncle Sam ; and withal Monson keeps his own counsel, 
 and so among hands he goes his own road, and no questions 
 asked." f 
 
 All this seemed very strange to me. Border wars, we all 
 know, are productive of feuds, which are implacable and lasting. 
 Predatory incursions, which hardly attract the notice of the govern- 
 ment, bring carnage and devastation, ruin and sorrow, to the fire- 
 side. Private property is wasted, and the war is against indi- 
 viduals, rather than the public. The actors in each scene are 
 identified ; men and families feel the sense of personal injury, 
 and hatred and revenge are the consequence. But I was not 
 aware that such a state of feelingr existed on our own frontier. 
 While these thoughts passed through my mind, we rode forward 
 in silence, which was broken by my inquiring what injury this 
 individual had suffered from the Indians, which could justify him 
 in thus destroying them with impunity. 
 
 " Injury enough !" replied my companion : "to tell the plain 
 sentimental truth, he has cause enough to hate them ; and many 
 a man that would not dip his own hand in the blood of an Indian, 
 would as soon die as betray him ; for few of us could lay our 
 hands upon our hearts and say we would not do the same in his 
 situation." 
 
 At this point of the conversation we were joined by several 
 horsemen, who were pursuing the same road with ourselves, and 
 joined us, in accordance with the gregarious habits of the coun- 
 try, which induce men to prefer a larger company to a smaller, 
 on all occasions ; and my companion being unwilling to pursue 
 the subject in their hearing, I was unable to learn from him what 
 injury the Indian hater had received, to provoke his sanguinary 
 career of vengeance. Nor did another opportunity occur ; for 
 
144 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 we soon came to a point whcro the roads diverging, obliged us to 
 separate, and although my friendly fellow-traveller, with the 
 usual hospitality of the country, invited me to take up my lodg- 
 ings at his house for the night, I was obliged to decline the invi- 
 tation, and we parted. 
 
 I continued m.y journey into the northwestern part of Illinois, 
 which v/as then just beginning to attract the attention of settlers, 
 and contained but few inhabitants. Delighted with this beautiful 
 wilderness, unspoiled by art, and retaining all its native loveliness, 
 and wishing to explore the lands lying between this tract and the 
 Wabash, I determined, on my return, to strike directly across, 
 through a district of country in which there were as yet no settle- 
 ments, of about one hundred and fifty miles in extent. I hired 
 an Indian guide, who was highly recommended to me, and set out 
 under his protection. 
 
 It is not easy to describe the sensations of a traveller, unaccus- 
 tomed to such scenery, on first beholding the vast prairies, which 
 I was about to explore. Those I had heretofore seen Vv-ere com- 
 paratively small ; both are unique, and highly attractive, but as 
 they difler in their features and scenic effect, 1 shall endeavour to 
 describe them separately. 
 
 The smaller prairies, or those in which the plain and woodland 
 alternate frequently, are the most beautiful. The points of wood- 
 land which make into them like so many capes or promontories, 
 and the groves which are interspersed like islands, are in these 
 lesser prairies always sufficiently near to be clearly defined to 
 the eye, and to give the scene an interesting variety. We see 
 plains, varying from a few hundred acres to several miles in ex- 
 tent, not perfectly level, but gently rolling or undulating, like the 
 swelling of the ocean when nearly calm. The graceful curve of 
 the surface is seldom broken, except when, here and there, the 
 eye rests upon one of those huge mounds, which are so pleasing 
 to the poet, and so perplexing to the antiquarian. The whole is 
 overspread with grass and flowers, constituting a rich and varied 
 carpet, in which a ground of lively green is ornamented with a 
 profusion of the gaudiest hues, and fringed with a rich border of 
 forest and thicket. Deep recesses in the edge of the timber re- 
 semble the bays and inlets of a lake ; while occasionally a long 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 145 
 
 vista, opening far back into the forest, invites the eye to roam off 
 and refresh itself, with the calm beauty of a distant perspective. 
 
 The traveller, as he rides along over these smaller prairies, 
 finds his eye continually attracted to the edges of the forest, and 
 his imagination employed in tracing the beautiful outline, and in 
 finding out resemblances between these wild scenes and the most 
 tastefully embellished productions of art. The fairest pleasure- 
 grounds, the noblest parks of European noblemen and princes, 
 where millions have been expended to captivate the senses with 
 Elysian scenes, are but mimic representations, on a reduced 
 scale, of the beauties which are here spread by nature ; for here 
 are clumps and lawns, groves and avenues, the tangled thicket, 
 and the soHtary tree, the lengthened vista, and the secluded nook, 
 and all the varieties of scenic attraction, but on a plan so exten- 
 sive, as to offer a wide scope, and an endless succession of 
 changes, to the eye. 
 
 There is an air of refinement here, that wins the heart, — even 
 here, where no human residence is seen, where no foot of man 
 intrudes, and where not an axe has ever trespassed on the beau- 
 tiful domain. It is a wilderness shorn of every savage associa- 
 tion, a desert that " blossoms as the rose." So diflerent is the 
 feeling awakened from anything inspired by mountain or wood- 
 land scenery, that the instant the traveller emerges from the 
 forest into the prairie, he feels no longer solitary. The conscious- 
 ness that he is travelling alone, and in a wilderness, escapes him ; 
 and he indulges in the same pleasing sensations which are en- 
 joyed by one who, having lost his way, and wandered bewildered 
 among the labyrinths of a savage mountain, suddenly descends 
 into rich and highly cultivated plains, and sees around him the 
 delightful indications of taste and comfort. The gay landscape 
 charms him. He is encompassed by the refreshing sweetness and 
 graceful beauty of the rural scene ; and recognises at every step 
 some well-remembered spot, or some ideal paradise in which the 
 fancy had loved to wander, enlarged and beautified, and, as it 
 were, retouched by nature's hand. The clusters of trees so fan- 
 cifully arranged, the forest outline so gracefully curved, seem to 
 have been disposed by the hand of taste, for the enjoyment of in- 
 telligent beings ; and so complete is the illusion, that it is difficult 
 
146 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 to dispel the belief that each avenue leads to a village, and each 
 grove conceals a splendid mansion. 
 
 Widely different was the prospect exhibited by the more north- 
 ern and central districts of the State. Vast in extent, the distant 
 forest was either beyond the reach of the eye, or was barely dis- 
 cernible in the shapeless outline of blue, faintly impressed on the 
 horizon. As the smaller prairies resembled a series of larger and 
 lesser lakes, so these boundless plains remind one of the ocean 
 waste. Here and there a solitary tree, torn by the wind, stood 
 alone like a dismantled mast in the ocean. As I followed my 
 guide through this lonely region, my sensations were similar to 
 those of the voyager, when his bark is launched upon the sea. 
 Alone, in a wide waste, with my faithful pilot only, I was de- 
 pendent on him for support, guidance, and protection. With lit- 
 tle to diversify the path, and nothing to please the eye but the 
 carpet of verdure, which began to pall upon the sense, a feeling 
 of dreariness crept over me — a desolation of the spirit, such as 
 one feels when crossed in love, or when very drowsy on a hot 
 afternoon, after a full dinner. But these are feelings which, like 
 the sea-sickness of the young mariner, are soon dispelled. I be- 
 gan to find a pleasure in gazing over this immense, unbroken 
 waste, in watching the horizon under the vague hope of meeting 
 a traveller, and in following the deer with my eyes as they gal- 
 loped off — their agile forms growing smaller and smaller as they 
 receded, until they shrunk into nothing. Sometimes I descried a 
 dark spot at an immense distance, and pointed it out to my com- 
 panion with a joy like that of the seaman who discovers a sail in 
 the distant speck which floats on the ocean. When such an object 
 happened to be in the direction of our path, I watched it with in- 
 terest as it rose and enlarged upon the vision — supposing it at one 
 moment to be a solitary horseman, and wondering what manner 
 of man he would turn out to be — at another supposing it might be 
 a wild animal, or a wagon, or a pedestrian ; until, after it had 
 seemed to approach for hours, I found it to be a tree. 
 
 Nor was I entirely destitute of company ; for my Pottowotto- 
 mie guide proved to be both intelligent and good-humoured ; and 
 although his stock of English was but slender, and his habit of 
 taciturnity somewhat confirmed, his conversational powers, when 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 147 
 
 exerted, were quite respectable. His knowledge of the country- 
 was extensive and accurate, so that he was able, not only to choose 
 the best route, but to point out all the localities. When we halt- 
 ed he kindled a fire, spread my pallet, and formed a shelter to 
 protect me from the weather. When we came to a stream which 
 was too deep to ford, he framed a raft to cross me over, with my 
 baggage, while he mounted my horse and plunged into the water. 
 Throughout the journey, his assiduities were as kind and unre- 
 mitting as all his arrangements were sagacious and considerate. 
 A higher motive than the mere pecuniary reward which he ex- 
 pected for his services governed his actions. He considered him- 
 self my companion ; not only responsible for my safety, as a mat- 
 ter of contract, but kindly interested for my comfort. A genuine 
 integrity of purpose, a native politeness and manliness of deport- 
 ment, raised him above the ordinary savage, and rendered him 
 not only a respectable, but an interesting man. 
 
 After travelling nearly five days without beholding a human 
 habitation, we arrived at the verge of a settlement on the Wa- 
 bash. We passed along a rich bottom, covered with huge trees, 
 whose limbs were hung with immense grape vines, and whose 
 thick shade afibrded a strong contrast to the scenes we had left 
 behind us, and then ascending a gentle rise, stood on a high bluff 
 bank of the Wabash. A more secluded and beautiful spot has 
 seldom been seen. A small river, with a clear stream, rippling 
 over a rocky bed, meandered round the point on which we stood, 
 and then turning abruptly to the left, was lost among the 
 trees. The opposite shore was low, thickly wooded, and beauti- 
 fully rich in the variety of mellow hues painted by the autumn 
 sun. 
 
 The spot we occupied was a slip of table land, a little higher 
 than the surrounding country. It had once been cleared for cul- 
 tivation, but was now overgrown with hazel bushes, vines, and 
 briars, while a few tall, leafless trunks, once the proudest oaks 
 of the forest, weather-beaten and blackened by fire, still adhered 
 tenaciously to the soil. A heap of rubbish, intermingled with 
 logs half burnt and nearly rotten, showed the remains of what 
 had once been a chimney, and indicated the spot where a cabin 
 had stood, the residence of human beings — but all else had been 
 
148 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 destroyed by time or fire. We gazed on the ruins of a desolated 
 homestead, but many years seemed to have rolled away since it 
 had been inhabited. The clearing had been of small extent; 
 it was now covered with a rank vegetation, which was fast resto- 
 ring it to the dominion of the wilderness. One spot only, which 
 had probably been the yard in front of the little dwelling, and 
 had been beaten hard, was covered with a smooth green sward, 
 unmixed with weeds or brush ; and here we stood gazing at this 
 desolate spot, and that beautiful river. It was but a moment, 
 and neither of us had broken silence, when the crack of a rifle 
 was heard, and my guide, uttering a dismal yell, fell at my feet. 
 
 Recovering his senses for an instant, he grasped his gun, partly 
 raised his body, and cast upon me a look of reproach, which I 
 shall never forget ; and then, as if satisfied by the concern and 
 alarm of my countenance, and my prompt movement to assist 
 him, he gave me one hand, and pointing with the other towards 
 the woods, exclaimed — " Bad — bad, white man ! — take care" — 
 and expired. The aim had been unerring — the bullet had pene- 
 trated deep in a vital spot, and life was extinguished in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 I was so much surprised and shocked at this fatal catastrophe, 
 that I stood immoveable, thoughtless of my own safety, mourning 
 over the stout Indian, my kind and worthy guide, who lay welter- 
 ing in his gore, when I was startled by a slight rustling in the 
 bushes close behind me, and as I turned with an involuntary 
 shudder, a backwoodsman, rifle in hand, issued from the covert. 
 Advancing hastily, without the least appearance of shame or fear, 
 until he came to the corpse, and paying not the slightest attention 
 to me, he stood and gazed sternly at the fallen warrior. It was 
 Monson ! The fierce and gloomy picture, which had been im- 
 pressed so indelibly upon my memory, stood before me in living 
 presentation, his hand imbrued in blood, and his soul freshly 
 steeped in murder. 
 
 " There's another of the cursed crew gone to his last account !" 
 he exclaimed. " Pie is not the first, and he shall not be the last. 
 — It's an old debt, but it shall be paid to the last drop !" 
 
 As he spoke, he gnashed his teeth, and his eyes gleamed with 
 the malignity of gratified revenge. Then turning to me, and ob- 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 149 
 
 serving the deep abhorrence with which I shrunk back, he said 
 gruffly, 
 
 " May be, stranger, you don't like this sort of business." 
 
 " Wretch — miscreant — murderer ! begone ! Approach me 
 not," I exclain^icd, shrinking back in disgust and terror, and 
 drawing a large pistol from my belt ; but, before I was aware, 
 the backwoodsman, with a sudden spring, caught my arm, and 
 wrested the weapon from me ; and then remaining perfectly 
 calm, while I was ready to burst with rage, he proceeded : 
 
 " This is a poor shooting-iron for a man to have about him — it 
 might do for young men to tote in a settlement, but it's of no use 
 in the woods — no more than a shot-gun." 
 
 " Scoundrel !" said I, " you shall repent your violence — " 
 
 " Young man !" interrupted he, very coolly, " I am no scoun- 
 drel, no more than yourself; you mistake, you do not know me." 
 
 " Murderer !" repeated I, " for such I know you to be. My 
 life is in your power, but I dread not your vengeance ! If I live, 
 this bloody deed shall not go unpunished !" 
 
 While I was thus exhausting myself, in the expression of my 
 rage and horror, the more politic Monson, having possessed himself 
 of the Indian's gun, dropped it, together with my unlucky pistol, 
 on the ground, and placing one foot on them, proceeded deliber- 
 ately to load his rifle. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, young man," said he, in reply to my last 
 remark, " I shall not hurt a hair of your head. You cannot 
 provoke me to it. I never harmed a Christian man, to my 
 knowledge !" 
 
 But although his habitual command of his temper enabled him 
 to treat the matter thus coolly, he was evidently under high ex- 
 citement, and as he finished loading his piece, he exclaimed, 
 "See here!" Then pointing to the ruins of the cabin, he pro- 
 ceeded in a hurried tone. 
 
 " This was my home. Here I built a house with my own 
 labour. With the sweat of my brow I opened this clearing. 
 Here I lived with my wife, my children, and my mother. We 
 worked hard — lived v/ell — and were happy." 
 
 His voice became choked ; he paused, as if overcome by the 
 
150 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 recollections of the past ; but after a moment's hesitation, he pro- 
 ceeded with the simple and vehement eloquence of passion : 
 
 " I am a rough man, stranger, but I have feelings like other 
 men. My blood is up now, and I will tell you a tale that will 
 explain this deed. One night — it was in the fall — just at this 
 season — I had gathered my corn, ready for shucking, the labour 
 of the year was done, and I was sitting by the fire with my 
 family, with the prospect of plenty and comfort around me — when 
 I heard the Indian yell ! 1 never was a coward, but I knew that 
 sound too well ; and when I looked round upon the women and 
 helpless babes, that depended on me for protection, a cold chill 
 ran over me, and my heart seemed to die. I ran to the door, and 
 beheld my stacks in a blaze. I caught up my gun — ^^but in a 
 moment a gang of yelling savages came pouring in at my door, 
 like so many howling wolves. I fired, and one of them fell — I 
 caught up an axe and rushed at them with such fury that I 
 cleared the cabin. The vile varments then set fire to the roof, 
 and we saw the flames spreading around us. What could I do ? 
 
 " Stranger, you never were in such a fix, and you don't know 
 how a man feels. Here was my poor old mother, and my wife, 
 and my little children, unable to fight, or to escape. I burst open 
 the door, and rushed madly out ; but they pushed me back. 
 The yelling wretches were determined to burn us in our house. 
 The blazing timbers came falling among us — my wife hung on 
 my neck, and called on me to save our children — our pious old 
 mother prayed — the savage butchers roared, and laughed, and 
 mocked us. They caught my dog, that we loved as one of the 
 family, hung him, and then threw his carcass among us. 
 
 " I grasped my axe, and rushed out again — hoping to beat 
 fhem back, until the neighbours could be alarmed, and come to 
 our assistance. I killed several of them ; but they overpowered 
 me, bound me, and led me up to witness the ruin of all that was 
 dear to me. Wife— children — mother — all, all perished herein 
 the flames before my eyes. They perished in lingering torments 
 — screaming with terror — racked with pain. I saw their agonies 
 — heard their cries — they called on my name. Tied hand and 
 foot, what could 1 do ? Oh Heaven, can I ever forget it !" 
 
 The man of sorrows paused in his tragical narrative, overcome 
 
THE INDIAN HATER. 151 
 
 by the tender and terrible recollections that it called forth. He 
 looked wildly around. Tears came to his relief — that hard, fere- 
 cious misanthrope, the fountains of whose tenderness seemed to 
 have been long since broken and dried up, melted at the recital 
 of his own griefs. Nature had resumed her sway over him. 
 The pause was but brief; when, brushing the tears from his 
 rough visage, he continued : 
 
 " They carried me oft" a prisoner. I was badly wounded, and 
 so heart-broken, that for three days I v/as helpless as a child. 
 Then a desire of revenge grew up in my heart, and I got strong. 
 I gnawed the strings they had bound me with, and escaped from 
 them in the night. I thought that God had spared me to be a 
 scourge to the savage. The war with the Indians broke out soon 
 afterwards, and I joined every expedition — I was foremost in 
 every fight ; but I could not quench my thirst for the blood of 
 the miscreants. I swore never to forgive them, and when peace 
 came, I continued to make war. I have made it a rule to kill 
 every red-skin that came in my way ; my revenge is not yet 
 satisfied, and so long as I have strength to whet my knife on a 
 stone, or ram a ball into my rifle, 1 shall continue to slay the 
 savage ! 
 
 " As for this fellow," he continued, " I would not have trou- 
 bled him, any where else, if I had seen him in your company. 
 I would not harm nor trouble any christian m.an, especially a 
 stranger. But when he came here, setting his cursed feet on this 
 soil — stepping over the ruins of my homestead, and the ashes of 
 my family — when he intruded upon me as I sat here alone, think- 
 ing over the fate of my poor wife and children, it was not my 
 nater to spare him — I couldn't do it. 
 
 " Let us part friends, young man, I have done you no harm ; 
 if I have hurt your feelings, I ask your pardon. Pursue your 
 own way, and leave me to mine. If you have a grey-headed 
 mother that prays for you, a wife and children that love you — 
 they will welcome you, and you will be happy. I am alone ; — 
 there is none to mourn with me, no one to rejoice at my coming. 
 When all that you cherish is torn from you in one moment, by 
 hellish ruffians, condemn me if you can : but not till then. — That 
 path will lead you to a house." 
 
152 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 Every country has its superstitions, and will continue to have 
 them, so long as men are blessed with lively imaginations, and 
 while any portion of mankind remain ignorant of the causes of 
 natural phenomena. That which cannot be reconciled with ex- 
 perience, will always be attributed to supernatural influence ; 
 and those who know little, will imagine much more to exist than 
 has ever been witnessed by their own senses. I am not displeas- 
 ed with this state of things, for the journey of life would be dull 
 indeed, if those who travel it were confined for ever to the beaten 
 highway, worn smooth by the sober feet of experience. To turn- 
 pikes, for our beasts of burden, I have no objection ; but I cannot 
 consent to the erection of railways for the mind, even though the 
 architect be " wisdom, whose ways are pleasant, and whose paths 
 are peace.'' It is sometimes agreeable to stray otF into the wil- 
 derness which fancy creates, to recline in fairy bowers, and to 
 listen to the murmurs of imaginary fountains. When the beaten 
 road becomes tiresome, there are many sunny spots where the 
 pilgrim may loiter with advantage — many shady paths, whose 
 labyrinths may be traced with delight. The mountain, and the 
 vale, on whose scenery we gaze enchanted, derive new charms, 
 when their deep caverns and gloon)y recesses are peopled with 
 imaginary beings. 
 
 But above all, the enlivening influence of fancy is felt, when it 
 illumines our firesides, giving to the wings of time, when they 
 grow heavy, a brighter plumage, and a more sprightly motion. 
 There are seasons, when the spark of life within us seems to 
 burn with less than its wonted vigour ; the blood crawls heavily 
 through the veins ; the contagious chillness seizes on our com- 
 panions, and the sluggish hours roll painfully along. Something 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 153 
 
 more than a common impulse is then required to awaken the in- 
 dolent mind, and give a new tone to the flagging spirits. If ne- 
 cromancy draws her magic circle, we cheerfully enter the ring ; 
 if folly shakes her cap and bells, we are amused ; a witch be- 
 comes an interesting personage, and we are even agreeably sur- 
 prised by the companionable qualities of a ghost. 
 
 We, who live on the frontier, have little acquaintance with 
 imaginary beings. These gentry never emigrate ; they seem to 
 have strong local attachments, which not even the charms of a 
 new country can overcome. A few witches, indeed, were im- 
 ported into New England by the Puritans ; but were so badly 
 used, that the whole race seems to have been disgusted with new 
 settlements. With them, the spirit of adventure expired, and the 
 weird women of the present day wisely cling to the soil of the old 
 countries. That we have but few ghosts will not be deemed a 
 matter of surprise by those who have observed how miserably 
 destitute we are of accomm.odations for such inhabitants. We 
 have no baronial castles, nor ruined mansions ; — no turrets 
 crowned with ivy, nor ancient abbeys crumbling into decay ; 
 and it would be a paltry spirit, v\^ho v/ould be content to wander 
 in the forest, by silent rivers and solitary sv*^amps. 
 
 It is even imputed to us as a reproach by enlightened foreign- 
 ers, that our land is altogether populated with the living descend- 
 ants of Adam — creatures with thews and sinews, who eat when 
 they are hungry, laugh when they are tickled, and die when they 
 are done living. The creatures of romance, say they, exist not 
 in our territory. A witch, a ghost, or a brownie, perishes in 
 America, as a serpent is said to die the instant it touches the un- 
 congenial soil of Ireland. This is true, only in part. If we have 
 no ghosts, we are not without miracles. Wonders have happened 
 in these United States. Mysteries have occurred in the valley 
 of the Mississippi. Supernatural events have transpired on the 
 borders of " the beautiful stream ;" and in order to rescue my 
 country from undeserved reproach, I shall proceed to narrate an 
 authentic history, which I received from the lips of the party 
 principally concerned. 
 
 A clear morning had succeeded a stormy night in December ; 
 the snow laid ankle-deep upon the ground, and glittered on the 
 
154 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 boug-hs, while the bracinsf air, and the cheerful sunbeams, invig- 
 orated the animal creation, and called forth the tenants of the 
 forest from their warm lairs and hidden lurking-places. 
 
 The inmates of a small cabin on the margin of the Ohio were 
 commencing with the sun the business of the day. A stout, raw- 
 boned forester plied bis keen axe, and, lugging log after log, 
 erected a pile on the ample hearth, sufficiently large to have ren- 
 dered the last honours to the stateliest ox. A female was paying 
 her morning visit to the cow-yard, where a numerous herd of 
 cattle claimed her attention. The plentiful breakfast followed ; 
 corn- bread, milk, and venison, crowned the oaken board, while a 
 tin coffee-pot of ample dimensions supplied the beverage which is 
 seldom wanting at the morning repast of the substantial American 
 farmer. 
 
 The breakfast over, Mr. Featherton reached down a long rifle 
 from the rafters, and commenced certain preparations, fraught 
 with danger to the brute inhabitants of the forest. The lock was 
 carefully examined, the screws tightened, the pan wiped, the flint 
 renewed, and the springs oiled ; and the keen eye of the back- 
 woodsman glittered with an ominous lustre, as its glance rested 
 on the destructive engine. His blue-eyed partner, leaning fondly 
 on her husband's shoulder, essa3^ed those coaxing and captivating 
 blandishments, which every young wife so well understands, to 
 detain her husband from the contemplated sport. Every pretext 
 was urged with aflectionate pertinacity, which female ingenuity 
 could supply : — the wind whistled bleakly over the hills, the snow 
 lay deep in the valleys, the deer would surely not venture abroad 
 in such bitter cold weather, the adventurous hunter miglit get his 
 toes frost-bitten, and her own hours would be sadly lonesome in 
 his absence. He smiled in silence at the arguments of his bride, 
 for such she was, and continued his preparations, with the cool, 
 but good-natured determination of one who is not to be turned 
 from his purpose. 
 
 He was indeed a person with whom such arguments, except 
 the last, would not be very likely to prevail. Mr. Peter Feather- 
 ton, or as he was familiarly called by all who knew him, Pete 
 Featherton, was a bold, rattling Kentuckian, of twenty-five, who 
 possessed the characteristic peculiarities of his countrymen — good 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 155 
 
 and evil — ^in a striking degree. His red hair and sanguine com- 
 plexion, announced an ardent temperament ; his tall form, and 
 bony limbs, indicated an active frame inured to hardships ; his 
 piercing eye and high cheek bones, evinced the keenness and res- 
 olution of his mind. He was adventurous, frank, and social — 
 boastful, credulous, illiterate, and at times wonderfully addicted 
 to the marvellous. His imagination was a warm and fruitful 
 soil, in which " tall oaks from little acorns grew," and his vocab- 
 ulary was overstocked with superlatives. He loved his wife — 
 no mistake about that— but next to her his affections entwined 
 themselves about his gun, and expanded over his horse ; he was 
 true to his friends, never missed an election day, turned his back 
 upon a frolic, nor affected to dislike a social glass. 
 
 He believed that the best qualities of all countries were com- 
 bined in Kentucky ; and had the most whimsical manner of ex- 
 pressing his national attachments. He was firmly convinced that 
 the battle of the Thames was the most sanguinary conflict of the 
 age — " a raal reg'lar skrimmage," — and extolled Colonel Dick 
 Johnson as a " severe old colt." He would admit freely that 
 Napoleon was a great genius — Metternich, Castlereagh, " and 
 them fellows" knew "a thing or two," but then they "were no 
 part of a priming to Henry Clay." 
 
 When entirely " at himself" — to use his own language — that 
 is to say, when duly sober, Pete was friendly and rational, court- 
 eous and considerate, and a better tempered fellow never shoul- 
 dered a rifle. But he was a social man, who was liable to be 
 " overtaken," and let him get a glass too much, and there was 
 no end to his extravagance. Then it was that his genius bloomed 
 and brought forth strange boasts, and strong oaths, his loyalty to 
 old Kentuck waxed warm, and his faith in his horse, his gun, 
 and his own manhood grew into idolatry. Always bold and self- 
 satisfied, and Iiabitually energetic in the expression of his prede- 
 lictions, he now became invested with the agreeable properties of 
 the snapping-turtle, the alligator, and the steamboat, and gifted 
 with the most affable and affectionate spirit of auto-biography. 
 It was now that he would dwell upon his own bodily powers and 
 prowess, with the enthusiasm of a devotee, and as the climax of 
 this rhetorical display, would slap his hands together, spring per- 
 
156 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 pendicularly into tlie air, and after uttering a yell worthy of the 
 stoutest Winnebago, swear tliat he was " the best man in the 
 country," and " could whip his weight in wild cats," " no two 
 ways about it" — he was " not afraid of no man, no way you 
 could fix it ;" and finally, after many other extravagancies, he 
 would urge, with no gentle asseveration, his ability to " ride 
 through a crab-apple orchard on a streak of lightning." 
 
 In addition to all this, which one would think was enough for 
 any reasonable man, Pete would sometimes brag that he had the 
 best gun, the prettiest wife, the best-looking sister, and the fastest 
 nag, in all Kentuck ; and that no man dare say to the contrary. 
 It is but justice to remark, that there was more truth in this last 
 boast, than is usually found on such occasions, and that Pete 
 had good reason to be proud of his horse, his gun, and his lady 
 love. 
 
 These, however, were the happy moments, which are few and 
 far between ; they were the brilliant inspirations, playing like 
 the lightning in an overheated atmosphere, — gleaming over the 
 turbid stream of existence, as the meteor flashes through the 
 gloom of the night. When the fit v/asoff, Pete was a quiet, good- 
 natured, listless soul, as one would see on a summer's day — 
 strolling about with a grave aspect, a drawling, and a deliberate 
 gait, a stoop of the shoulders, and a kind of general relaxation 
 of the whole outward and inward man — in a state of entire free- 
 dom from restraint, reflecticn, and want, and without any impulse 
 strong enough to call forth his latent manhood — as the panther, 
 with whom he often com.pared himself, when his appetite for food 
 is sated, sleeps calmly in his lair, or wanders harmlessly through 
 his native thickets. 
 
 Our hero was a farmer, or as the very appropriate phrase is, 
 " made a crcqj^' on his own land — for besides making a crop he 
 performed but few of the labours of the husbandman. While 
 planting his corn, tending it, and gathering in the harvest, he 
 worked with a good will ; but these, thanks to a prolific soil, and 
 a free country, were all his toils, and they occupied not half of 
 the year, the remainder of which was spent in the more manly 
 and gentlemanly employments of hunting, attending elections, 
 and officiating at horse races. He was a rare hand at a " shuck- 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 157 
 
 ing," a house raising, or a log rolling ; merry and strong, he 
 worked like a young giant, and it was worth while to hear the 
 gladsome tones of his clear voice, and the inspiring sound of his 
 loud laugh ; while the way he handled the axe, the beauty and 
 keenness of the implement, the weight and precision of the blows, 
 and the gracefulness of the action, were such as are not seen ex- " 
 cept in the " wilderness," where chopping is an accomplishment 
 as well as the most useful of labours. 
 
 It will readily be perceived, that our hunter was not one who 
 could be turned from his purpose by the prospect of danger or 
 fatigue ; and a few minutes suflSced to complete his prepara- 
 tions. His feet were cased in moccasins, and his legs in wrap- 
 pers of dressed deerskin ; and he was soon accoutred with a pow-' 
 der horn, quaintly carved all over with curious devices, — an 
 ample pouch with flints, patches, balls, and other " fixens" — and 
 a hunter's knife, — and throwing " Brown Bess," for so he called 
 his rifle, over his shoulder, he sallied forth. 
 
 But in passing a store hard by, which supplied the country 
 with gunpowder, whiskey, and other necessaries, as well as with 
 the luxuries of tea, sugar, coffee, calico, calomel, and chandlery, 
 he was hailed by one of the neighbours, who invited him to " light 
 off* and take something." Pete said he had "no occasion," but 
 " rather than be nice," he dismounted, and joined a festive circle, 
 among whom the cup v.-as circulating freely. Here he was soon 
 challenged to sv/ap rifles, and being one of those who could not 
 " stand a banter," he bantered back again, without the least in- 
 tention of parting with his favourite v/eapon. Making offers, like 
 a skilful diplomatist, which he knew would not be accepted, and- 
 feigning great eagerness to accede to any reasonable proposition, 
 while inwardly resolved to reject all, he magnified the perfections 
 of Brown Bess. 
 
 " She can do any thing but talk," said he. " If she had legs 
 she could hunt by herself. It is a pleasure to tote her — I nater- 
 rally believe there is not a rifle south of Green river, that can 
 throw a ball so far, or so true. I can put a bullet in that tree, 
 down the road, a mile off"." 
 
 " You can't do it, Pete — I'll bet a treat for the whole com- 
 pany." 
 
158 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 " No" — said the hunter. " I could do it — but I don't want to 
 strain my gun." 
 
 These discussions consumed much time and much whiskey — 
 for the rule on such occasions is, that he who rejects an offer to 
 trade, must treat the company, and thus every point in the nego- 
 ciation costs a pint of spirits. 
 
 At length, bidding adieu to his companions, Pete struck into 
 the forest — it was getting late, and he " must look about pretty 
 peart," he said, to get a venison before night. Lightly crushing 
 the snow beneath his active feet, he beat up the coverts, and 
 traversed all the accustomed haunts of the deer. He mounted 
 every hill, and descended into every valley — not a thicket esca- 
 ped the penetrating glance of his practised eye. ^i'uitless labour ! 
 not a deer was to be seen. Pete marvelled at this unusual cir- 
 cumstance, as the deer were very abundant in this neighbour- 
 hood, and no one knew better where to look for them than him- 
 self. 
 
 But what surprised him still more, was, that the woods were 
 less familiar to him than formerly. He knew them " like a book." 
 He thought he was acquainted with every tree within ten miles of 
 his cabin ; but now, although he certainly had not wandered so 
 far, some of the objects around him seemed strange, while others 
 again were faintly recognized ; and there was, altogether, a sin- 
 gular confusion in the character of the scenery, which was part- 
 ly familiar, and partly new ; or rather, in which many of the 
 component parts were separately well known, but were so mixed 
 up and changed in relation to each other, as to baffle even the 
 knowledge of an expert woodsman. 
 
 The more he looked, the more he was bewildered. Had such 
 a thing been possible, he would have thought himself a lost man. 
 He came to a stream which had heretofore rolled to the west, but 
 now its course pointed to the east ; and the shadows of the tall 
 trees, which, according to Pete's experience and philosophy, 
 ought at noon to fall towards the north, all pointed to the south. 
 He looked at his right and his left hands, somewhat puzzled to 
 know which was which ; then scratched his head — but scratching 
 the head, though a good thing in its way, will not always get a 
 man out of a scrape. He cast his eye upon his own shadow, 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 159 
 
 which had never deceived him — when lo ! a still more extraordi- 
 nary phenomenon presented itself. It was travelling round him 
 like the shade on a dial — only a great deal faster, as it veered 
 round to all the points of the compass in the course of a single 
 minute. Mr. Peter Featherton was " in a bad fix." 
 
 It was very evident too, from the dryness of the snow, and the 
 brittleness of the twigs, which snapped off as he brushed his way 
 through the thickets, that the weather was intensely cold ; yet the 
 perspiration was rolling in large drops from his brow. He stop, 
 ped at a clear spring, and thrusting his hands into the cold water, 
 attempted to carry a portion of it to his lips ; but the element re- 
 coiled and hissed, as if his hands and lips had been composed of 
 red hot iron. Pete felt quite puzzled when he reflected on all 
 these contradictions in the aspect of nature ; and began to con- 
 sider what act of wickedness he had been guilty of, which could 
 have rendered him so hateful, that the deer fled at his approach, 
 the streams turned back, and the shadows fell the wrong way, or 
 danced round their centre. 
 
 He began to grow alarmed, and would have liked to turn back, 
 but was ashamed to betray such weakness, even to himself; and 
 ^being naturally bold, he resolutely kept on his way. At last, to 
 his great joy he espied the tracks of deer imprinted on the snow ; 
 they were fresh signs — and, dashing upon the trail, with the alac- 
 rity of a well-trained hound, he pursued, in hopes of soon over- 
 taking the game. Presently he discovered the tracks of a man, 
 who had struck the same trail in advance of him, and supposing 
 it to be one of his neighbours, he quickened his pace, as well to 
 gain a companion, which in the present state of his feelings he so 
 much needed, as to share the spoil with his fellow hunter. In- 
 deed, in his present situation and condition of mind, Pete thought 
 he would be willing to give half of what he was worth, for the 
 sight of a hum.an face. 
 
 " I don't like the signs, no how," said he, casting a rapid glance 
 around him ; and then throwing his eyes downwards at his own 
 shadow, which had ceased its rotatory motion, and was now 
 swinging backward and forward like a pendulum — " I don't like 
 the signs, no way they can be fixed." 
 
160 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 "You are not scared, are you, Pete ?" he continued, smiling 
 at the oddity of such a question. 
 
 " Oh no. bless your heart, Mr. Featherton, I'm not scared — I'm 
 not of that breed of dogs — there's no back out in me — but then I 
 must say — to speak sentimentally — that I feel sort o' jubus — I do 
 so. But I'll soon see whether other people's shadows act the fool 
 like mine.^^ 
 
 Upon further observation, there appeared to be something pecu- 
 liar in the human tracks before him, which were evidently made 
 by a pair of feet which were not fellows — or were odd fellows — 
 for one of them was larger than the other. As there was no per- 
 son in the settlement who was thus deformed, Pete began to doubt 
 whether it might not be the devil, who in borrowing shoes to con- 
 ceal his cloven hoofs might have got those that did not match. 
 He stopped, and scratched his head, as many a learned philosopher 
 has done, when placed between the horns of a dilemma less per- 
 plexing than that which now vexed the spirit of our hunter. It 
 was said long ago, that there is a tide in the affairs of men ; and 
 although our good friend Pete had never seen this sentiment in black 
 and white, yet it is one of those truths, which are written in the 
 heart of every reasonable being, and was only copied by the poet, 
 from the great book of nature, a source from which he was a 
 great borrower. It readily occurred to Pete on this occasion ; 
 and as he had enjoyed through life an uninterrupted tide of suc- 
 cess, he reflected whether the stream of fortune might not have 
 changed its course, like the brooks he had crossed, whose Maters, 
 for some sinister reason, seemed to be crawling up-hill. 
 
 He stopped, drew out his handkerchief, and wiped the perspi- 
 ration from his brow. " This thing of being scared," said he, 
 *' makes a man feel mighty queer — the way it brings the sweat 
 out is curious!" And again it occurred to him, that it was in- 
 cumbent on him to see the end of the adventure, as otherwise he 
 would show a want of that courage, which he had been taught to 
 consider as the chief of the cardinal virtues. 
 
 " I can't back out," said he, " I never was raised to it, no how ; 
 and if the devil's a mind to hunt in this range, he shan't have all 
 the game." 
 
 Then falling into the sentimental vein, as one naturally does 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 161 
 
 from the heroic : " Here's this hankercher, that my Polly hem- 
 med for me, and marked the two first letters of my name on it — 
 P. for Pete and F. for Featherton — would she do the like of that 
 for a coward ? Could I ever look in her pretty face again, if I 
 was mean enough to be scared ? No — I'll go ahead — let what 
 will come." 
 
 He soon overtook the person in advance of him, who, as he had 
 suspected, was a perfect stranger. He had halted and was quiet- 
 ly seated on a log, gazing at the sun, when our hunter approach- 
 ed, and saluted him with the usual hearty, " Hov^ are you, stran- 
 ger ?" The person addressed made no reply, but continued to 
 gaze at the sun, as if totally unconscious that any other indi- 
 vidual was present. He w^as a small, thin, old man, with a grey 
 beard of about a month's growth, and a long sallow melancholy 
 visage, while a tarnished suit of snufF-coloured clothes, cut after 
 the quaint fashion of some religious sect, hung loosely about his 
 shrivelled person. 
 
 Our bold backv/oodsman, somewhat awed, now coughed, threw 
 the butt end of his gun heavily upon the frozen ground, and, still 
 failing to elicit any attention, quietly seated himself on the other 
 end of the log occupied by the stranger. Both remained silent 
 for some minutes — Pete with open mouth, and glaring eyeballs, 
 observing his companion with mute astonishment, and the latter 
 looking at the sun. 
 
 " It's a warm day, this," said Pete, at length, passing his hand 
 across his brow, as he spoke, and sweeping off the heavy drops 
 of perspiration that hung there. But receiving no answer, he 
 began to get nettled. He thought himself not civilly treated. 
 His native assurance, which had been damped by the mysterious 
 deportment of the person who sat before him, revived. '• One 
 man's as good as another" — thought he ; and screwing up his 
 courage to the sticking point, he arose, approached the silent 
 man, and slapping him on the back, exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, stranger ! don't the sun look mighty droll away out 
 there in the north ?" 
 
 As the heavy hand fell on his shoulder, the stranger slowly 
 turned his face towards Pete, who recoiled several paces, — then 
 rising without paying the abashed hunter any further attention, 
 
162 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 he began to pursue the trail of the deer. Pete prepared to fol- 
 low, when the other turning upon him with a stern glance, en- 
 quired : 
 
 " Who are you tracking ?" 
 
 '- Not you," replied the hunter, whose alarm had subsided 
 when the enemy began to retreat ; and whose prid^, piqued by 
 the abruptness with which he had been treated, enabled him to 
 assume his usual boldness of manner. 
 
 " Why do you follow this trail, then ?" 
 
 " I trail deer." 
 
 " You must not pursue them further, they are mine !" 
 
 The sound of the stranger's voice broke the spell, which had 
 hung over Peter's natural impudence, and he now shouted — 
 
 " Your deer ! that's droll too ! who ever heard of a man claim- 
 ing the deer in the woods !" 
 
 " Provoke me not, — I tell you they are mine." 
 
 " Well, now — you're a comical chap ! Why stranger, — the 
 deer are wild ! They're jist nateral to the woods here, the same 
 the timber. You might as well say the wolves and the painters 
 are yours, and all the rest of the wild varments." 
 
 " The tracks you behold here, are those of wild deer, undoubt- 
 edly — but they are mine. I routed them from their bed, and am 
 driving them home." 
 
 " Home — where is your home ?" inquired Pete, at the same 
 time casting an inquisitive glance at the stranger's feet. 
 
 To this home question no reply was given, and Pete, fancying 
 that he had got the best of the altercation, pushed his advantage, 
 — adding sneeringly — 
 
 " Could'nt you take a pack or two of wolves along ? We can 
 spare you a small gang. It is mighty wolfy about here." 
 
 " If you follow any further it is at your peril," said the stran- 
 ger. 
 
 " You don't reckon I'm to be skeered, do you ? If you do, you 
 are barking up the wrong tree. There's no back out in none of 
 my breed, no how. You must'nt come over them words agin, 
 stranger." 
 
 " I repeat " 
 
 " You had best not repeat — I allow no man to do that tome" — 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 163 
 
 interrupted the irritated woodsman, " You must not imitate the 
 like of that. I'm Virginy born, and Kentucky raised, and drot 
 my skin, if I take the like of that from any man — no, Sir !" 
 
 "Desist, rash man, from altercation — I despise your threats!" 
 
 " The same to you, Sir ! 
 
 " I tell you what, stranger !" continued Pete, endeavouring to 
 imitate the coolness of the other, " as to the vally of a deer or 
 two — I don't vally them to the tantamount of this here cud of to- 
 bacco; but I'm not to be backed out of my tracks. So keep off, 
 stranger — don't come fooling about me. I might hurt you. I 
 feel mighty wolfy about the head and shoulders. Keep off, I say, 
 or you might run agin a snag." 
 
 With this the hunter " squared himself, and sot his triggers," 
 fully determined either to hunt the disputed game, or be van- 
 quished in combat. To his surprise, the stranger, without ap- 
 pearing to notice his preparations, advanced and blew with his 
 breath upon his rifle. 
 
 " Your gun is charmed !" said he. " From this day forward 
 you will kill no deer." 
 
 So saying, that mysterious old man, with the most provoking 
 coolness, resumed his way ; while Pete remained bewildered ; 
 and fancied that he smelt brimstone. 
 
 Pete Featherton remained a moment or two lost in confusion. 
 He then thought he would pursue the stranger, and punish him 
 as well for his threats, as for the insult intended to his gun ; but 
 a little reflection induced him to change his decision. The con- 
 fident manner in which that singular being had spoken, together 
 with a kind of vague assurance in his own mind, that the spell, 
 had really taken effect, so unmanned and stupefied him, that he 
 quietly " took the back track," and strode homewards. He had 
 not gone far, when he saw a fine buck, half concealed among the 
 hazel bushes which beset his path, and resolved to know at once 
 how matters stood betv/een Brown Bess and the pretended con- 
 jurer, he took a deliberate aim, fired, — and away bounded the 
 buck unharmed ! 
 
 With a heavy heart, our mortified forester re-entered his own 
 dwelling, and replaced his degraded weapon in its accustomed 
 berth under the rafters. 
 
164 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 " You have been long gone," said his wife, " but where is the 
 venison you promised me?" 
 
 Pete was constrained to confess that he had shot nothing. 
 
 " That is strange !" said the lady, " I never knew you fail 
 before." 
 
 Pete framed twenty excuses. He had felt unwell — his gun 
 was out of fix — it was a bad day for hunting — the moon was not 
 in the right place — and there v-^ere no deer stirring. 
 
 Had not Pete been a very young husband, he would have 
 known that the vigilant eye of a wife is not to be decived by 
 feigned apologies. Female curiosity never sleeps ; and the love 
 of a devoted wife is the most sincere and the most absorbing of 
 human passions. Pretty Mrs. Fcatlierton saw, at a glance, that 
 something had happened to her helpmate, more than he was will- 
 ing to confess ; and being quite as tenacious as himself, in her 
 reluctance against being " backed out of her tracks," she deter- 
 mined to bring her inferior moiety to auricular confession, and 
 advanced firmly to her object, until Pete v/as compelled to 
 own, " That he believed Brown Bess was, somehow — sort o' — 
 charmed." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Featherton !" remonstrated his sprightly bride, 
 leaning fondly on his shoulder, and parting the long red locks on 
 his forehead — " are you not ashamed to tell me such a tale as 
 that ? Charmed indeed ! Ah well, I know how it is. You have 
 been down at the store, shooting for half pints !" 
 
 "■ No, indeed — " replied the husband emphatically, '•' I wish I 
 may be kissed to death, if Fve pulled a trigger for a drop of 
 liquor this day." 
 
 Ah, Peter — what a sad evasion was that ! Surely the adver- 
 sary when he blevv' his breath — sadly sulphureous of smell — upon 
 thy favourite gun, breathed into thee the spirit of lying, of wiiich 
 he is the father. Mrs. Featherton saw farther into a millstone 
 than he was aware of — but she kept her own counsel. 
 
 " I believe you, Peter, — you did not shoot for it — but do now — 
 that's a dear good soul ! — tell me where you have been, and what 
 has happened ? You are not well — or something is wrong — for 
 never did Pete Featherton and Brown Bess fail to get a venison 
 any day in the year." 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 165 
 
 SoDthed by this well-timed compliment, and not unwilling lo 
 have the aid of counsel in this trying emergency, and to apply to 
 his excited spirit the balm of conjugal sympathy, Pete narrated 
 minutely to his wife all the particulars of his meeting with the 
 mysterious stranger. The lady was all attention ; but was as 
 much wonder-struck as Pete himself. She had heard of spells 
 being cast upon guns, and so had Peter — often — but then neither 
 of them had ever known such a case, in their own experience ; 
 and although she had recipes for pickling fruit, and preserving 
 life, and preventing various maladies, she knew of no remedy 
 which would remove the spell from a rifle. As she could give no 
 sage advice, she prescribed sage tea, bathing the feet, and going 
 to bed, and Pete submitted passively to all this — not perceiving, 
 however, how it could possibly affect his gun. 
 
 When Pete awoke the next morning, the events which we have 
 described appeared to him as a dream ; indeed, he had been 
 dreaming of them all night, and it was somewhat difficult to un- 
 ravel the tangled thread of recollection, so as to separate the 
 realities of the day from the illusions of the pillow. But resolv- 
 ing to know the truth, he seized his gun, and hastened to the 
 woods. Alas ! every experiment produced the same vexatious 
 result. The gun was charmed ! " No two ways about that !" 
 It was too true to make a joke of; and the hunter stalked harm- 
 lessly through the forest. 
 
 Day after day he w^ent forth, and returned with no better suc- 
 cess. The very deer became sensible of his inoffensiveness, and 
 would raise their heads, and gaze mildly at him as he passed ; or 
 throw back their antlers, and bound carelessly across his path. 
 Day after day, and week after week, passed without bringing any 
 change ; and Pete began to feel very ridiculously. A harmless 
 man — a fellow with a gun, that could not shoot ! he could imagine 
 no situation more miserable than his own. To walk through the 
 woods, to see the game, to come within gun-shot of it, and yet to 
 be unable to kill a deer, seemed to be the height of human 
 wretchedness. He felt as if he was *' the meanest kind of a 
 white man." There was a littleness, an insignificance, attached 
 to the idea of not being able to kill a deer, which, to Pete's mind, 
 was downright disgrace. More than once, he was tempted to 
 
166 niE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 throw the gun into the river ; but the excellence of the weapon, 
 and the recollection of former exploits, restrained him ; and he 
 continued to stroll through the woods, firing now and then at a fat 
 buck, under the hope that the charm would expire some time or 
 other, by its own limitation ; but the fat bucks continued to treat 
 him with a familiarity amounting to contempt, and to frisk fear- 
 lessly in his path. 
 
 At length Pete bethought him of a celebrated Indian doctor, 
 who lived at no great distance. We do not care to say much of 
 doctors, as they are a touchy race — and shall therefore touch 
 upon tliis one briefly. An Indian doctor is not necessarily a 
 descendant of the Aborigines. The title, it is true, originates 
 from the confidence which many of our countrymen repose in 
 the medical skill of the Indian tribes. But to make an Indian 
 doctor a red skin is by no means indispensable. To have been 
 taught by a savage, to have seen one, or, at all events, to have 
 heard of one, is all that is necessary, to enable any individual to 
 practise this lucrative and popular branch of the healing art. 
 Neither is any great proficiency in literature requisite ; it is 
 important only to be expert in spell-ing. Your Indian doctor is 
 one who practises without a diploma — the only degree his exhibits, 
 is a high degree of confidence. He neither nauseates the stom- 
 ach with odious drugs, nor mars the fair proportions of nature 
 with the sanguinary lancet. He believes in the sympathy which 
 is supposed to exist between the body and the mind, which, like 
 the two arms of a syphon, always preserve a corresponding rela- 
 tion to each other ; and the difference between him and the regu- 
 lar physician — called in the vernacular of the frontier, the mar- 
 cury doctor — is that they operate at different points of the same 
 figure — the one practising on the immaterial spirit, while the 
 other grapples with the bones and muscles. I cannot determine 
 which is right ; but must award to the Indian doctor at least this 
 advantage, that his art is the most widely beneficial ; for while 
 your doctor of medicine restores a lost appetite, his rival can, in 
 addition, recover a strayed or stolen horse. If the former can 
 bring back the faded lustre to a fair maiden's cheeks, the latter 
 remove the spell from a churn or a rifle. The dyspeptic and the 
 dropsical may hie to the disciples of Rush and Wistar, but the 
 
PETE FEATHEJITON. 167 
 
 crossed-in-love, and lack-a-daysical, find a charm in the practi- 
 tioner who professes to follow nature. 
 
 To a sage of this order, did Pete disclose his misfortune, and 
 apply for relief. The doctor examined the gun, and looked wise ; 
 and having measured the calibre of the bore, with a solemnity 
 which was as imposing as it was unquestionably proper on so se- 
 rious an occasion, directed the applicant to come again. 
 
 At the appointed time, the hunter returned, and received from 
 the wise man two balls, one of pink, the other of a silver hue. 
 The doctor instructed him to load his piece with one of these bul- 
 lets, which he pointed out, and proceed through the woods to a 
 certain secluded hollow, at the head of which was a spring. Here 
 he would see a white fawn, at which he was to shoot. It would 
 be wounded, but would escape, and he was to pursue its trail, un- 
 til he found a buck, which he was to kill with the other ball. If 
 he accomplished all this accurately, the charm would be broken ; 
 but success would depend upon his having faith, keeping up his 
 courage, and tiring with precision. 
 
 Pete, who was well acquainted with all the localities, carefully 
 pursued the route which had been indicated, treading lightly 
 along, sometimes elated with the prospect of speedily breaking 
 the spell, and restoring his beloved gun to usefulness and respect- 
 ability — sometimes doubting the skill of the doctor — admiring the 
 occult knowledge of men who could charm and uncharm deadly 
 weapons — and ashamed alternatively of his doubts and his belief. 
 Al length he reached the lonely glen; and his heart bounded with 
 delight, as he beheld the white fawn quietly grazing by the foun- 
 tain. The ground was open, and he was unable to get within his 
 usual distance, before the fawn raised her delicate head, looked 
 timidly around, and snuffed the breeze, as if conscious of the ap- 
 proach of danger. Pete trembled with excitement — his heart pal- 
 pitated. It was a long shot and a bad chance — but he could not 
 advance a step further, without danger of starting the game — and 
 Brown Bess could carry a ball farther than that, with fatal effect. 
 
 " Luck's a lord," said he, as he drew the gun up to his face, 
 took a deliberate aim, and pulled the trigger. The fawn bounded 
 aloft at the report, and then darted away through the brush, while 
 the hunter hastened to examine the signs. To his great joy he 
 
168 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 found the blood profusely scattered ; and now flushed with the 
 confidence of success, he stoutly rammed down the other ball, and 
 pursued the trail of the wounded fawn. Long did he trace the 
 crimson drops upon the snow, without beholding the promised vic- 
 tim. Hill after hill he climbed, vale after vale he passed — search- 
 ing every thicket with penetrating eyes ; and he was about to re- 
 nounce the chase, the wizard, and the gun, when lo !^ — directly 
 in his path, stood a noble buck, with numerous antlers branching 
 over his fine head ! 
 
 "Aha! my jolly fellow ! I've found you at last!" exclaimed 
 the delighted hunter, "you are the very chap I've been looking 
 after. Your blood shall wipe off the disgrace from my charming 
 Bess, that never hung fire, burned priming, nor missed the mark 
 in her born days, till that vile abominable varment blowed his 
 brimstone breath on her ! Here goes — " 
 
 He shot the buck. The spell was broken — Brown Bess was 
 restored to favour, and Pete Featherton never again wanted ven- 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 (Page 11.) 
 
 This incident is copied from real life. An adventurous friend of mine, who 
 made an excursion to the Rocky Mountains, for health and recreation, and to 
 whom I am indebted for most of the particulars descriptive of the Flatheads, 
 contained in this article, received from Incillo himself, a narrative of the ad- 
 ventures of a young warrior of his tribe, which I have followed so far as it 
 went. It was related by that chief, in reply to questions in regard to the edu- 
 cation of the Flathead youth. He told of a lad who was desirous to be ad- 
 mitted among the^m^riors, and who was directed by Incillo to undergo two 
 trials, similar to those! have described. The first was to return from a distant 
 hunting camp, to the main encampment of the tribe, which he was to enter 
 and leave without detection, and to abstract by stealth from the tent of an in- 
 dividual certain articles. The second was to steal a noted horse from a dis- 
 tinguished Blackfoot warrior. Both exploits were successfully performed. 
 The horse was stolen back again by the Blackfeet ; and changed hands, I 
 think, several times, in the course of an exciting rivalry between the two 
 tribes, for the palm of superiority, in the nomadic accomplishment of stealing 
 horses. 
 
 II. 
 
 (Page 17.) 
 
 A tradition has been current for several years past, among the Indians and 
 traders, in relation to a very remarkable horse, supposed to be the leader of a 
 herd of these animals, roaming on the Western plains. Many profess to 
 have seen the " White Steed," and describe him as a horse of splendid figure 
 and action, and of such surpassing fleetness, sagacity, and courage, that he 
 baffles every attempt to capture him. The extraordinary beauty of this noble 
 steed, and the exquisite gracefulness of his movements, as he plays round 
 the grazing drove, or scours the prairie before the eager pursuers, have ren- 
 
 9 
 
170 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 dered him an object of intense interest to the wild hunters. Travellers speak 
 of the existence of this fine creature as an admitted fact ; and we tell the tale 
 as it was told to us ; but as others may have used the same tale, and we have 
 no ambition to acquire fame as a taker of other men's horses, we have made 
 ours a horse of a different colour. 
 
 III. 
 
 (Page 18.) 
 
 Incillo is a great hunter of the buffalo, a successful tamer of the wild 
 horse, and one of the most expert horsemen living. He is friendly to the 
 white people, and is considered by the traders as an honest man, and a person 
 of excellent disposition, and capacity. A Roman Catholic priest, who visited 
 this tribe within the last four or five years, induced the chief and a considera- 
 ble number of the people, to embrace Christianity. In the case of the chief, 
 however, a rather whimsical difficulty occurred. After he had been a convert 
 some time, the priest admonished him that he had neglected the duty of daily 
 confession ; but Incillo defended himself on the ground that it was necessary 
 for him as a chief and ruler, to be the exemplar of his people, and to stand, 
 m their eyes, above reproach, and that he could not, without forfeiting their 
 respect and obedience, acknowledge himself every day to be a disobedient 
 subject, a bad man, and an imperfect christian. 
 
 IV. 
 
 (Page 24.) 
 
 In this, as well as in all the details of our fiction, we have endeavoured to 
 adapt our descriptions to the actual forms of Indian life, so that the scenes pre- 
 sented shall be true pictures of that curious state of human existence. 
 
 (Page 29.) 
 
 An incident of this kind is related, as having actually occurred. One of 
 those melodious and powerful songsters, who sometimes pour out their wild 
 notes in the silence of the night, was heard to warble his sweet song, from the 
 top of a tall tree, over the grave of a distinguished warrior, around which a 
 mourning train of savage men stood in silence, at the midnight hour. A coin- 
 cidence so happy could hardly fail to attract the attention of a superstitious 
 
APPENDIX. 171 
 
 people, and they gave to it the poetic interpretation which I have adopted. I 
 cannot now remember the occasion, or the authority from which I received it. 
 
 VI. 
 
 (Page 30.) 
 
 It is customary among the Northwestern tribes, to expose the bodies of the 
 dead upon a high platform, until the flesh decays, after which the skeleton is 
 buried. This will account for what would otherwise seem inconsistent — the 
 recent interment of the Black foot chief, so long after his decease. This cus- 
 tom also sheds light upon the peculiar phraseology used by the Indians in speak- 
 ing of their dead : " the hones of their fathers." It is in fact to the hones that 
 the last offices of respect are paid. 
 
 VII. 
 
 (Page 32.) 
 
 The principal part in this legend, was published some years ago, by an an- 
 onymous writer, in a Pittsburgh newspaper, who gave the name of the late 
 venerated Major Denny as his authority. We had heard something of the 
 story before, though in a less authentic form ; and upon conversing with our 
 distinguished friend. General Harrison, he not only confirmed, but corrected 
 the writer as to the place, where the treaty must have been held. It was not 
 at Cincinnati, as was alleged, but at North Bend, that Clarke held the treaty 
 referred to. The first military post was at the latter place, and it was there 
 that Judge Symmes intended to establish his city ; but accident, or the superi- 
 or advantages of the site of Cincinnati, induced a number of persons to cluster 
 about this spot, and the Fort was brouorht here. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 (Page 36.) 
 
 George Rogers Clarke was a remarkable man. He was one of the noblest 
 of the sons of Virginia, so prolific in heroes and statesmen. His talents n'are 
 of a high order, his military genius unsurpassed by that of any n:i:n of his 
 age. He seems to have possessed a number of qualifications that are but 
 rarely combined in the character of one person, and a versatility not often 
 found united with a sound judgment. To great quickness of perception, and 
 clearness of mind, Clarke added a solidity of judgment, a boldness of thought 
 
172 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 and a vigour of action, that carried every thing before them. The boldness of 
 his designs, the promptness of his decisions, the rapidity of his movements, sur- 
 prised his friends as well as his enemies, inspiring fear on the one hand, and 
 confidence on the other. It was remarked of him that his actions always had 
 the appearance of rashness, until the results were developed, and then they 
 seemed to have been conceived in consummate prudence, and profound sagaci- 
 ty. He was very successful in his military enterprises, some of which were 
 brilliant. His campaign against Kaskaskia and Vincennes, has seldom been 
 excelled ; there was a boldness, a completeness, an unity, in the plan, a 
 coolness and brilliancy in the execution that would have done honour to the 
 most accomplished leader. His appearance and manners were prepossessing 
 and commanding. On ordinary occasions his address is said to have been dig- 
 nified and winning, but in his moments of anger there was a sternness in his 
 aspect that was terrific. Hence his sway over common minds, which were al- 
 ternately allured by his cordiality, and overawed by his energy. Among the 
 Indians his name was powerful. His rapid marches, and his successes, in his 
 campaigns against him, made him extensively known and feared, while those 
 who approached him in friendship, were won by his manners. 
 
 IX. 
 
 (Page 37.) 
 
 Another amusing anecdote is told illustrative of the times and the men. An 
 Indian chief, who had been in the hostile ranks, was in the habit after peace 
 of visiting Clarke, and became much attached to him. Having both been ac- 
 tive leaders in the then recent wars, their conversation naturally turned upon 
 those events — the more especially as the native warrior's fund of conversa<ional 
 lore must have been very limited. On one occasion they amused themselves 
 with a kind of friendly bragging over each other, in which each enumerated 
 the victories of his own nation. Using the personal pronoun to designate their 
 respective nations, the conversation ran thus: " I beat you at such a place." 
 " I made you run at such a place." " I cut you to pieces at such a place." 
 " That was very well done, but nothing to compare to the trick I played you, 
 at such a place." At length the Indian, in an exulting manner, referred to the 
 lamentable massacre at the Blue Lick. " I beat you there, badly, — you nev- 
 er gained such a victory as that." " No," replied Clarke, " perhaps we never 
 did, but you won that by luck" — and then rapidly describing the ground 
 and the battle, which both of them were familiar with, though neither were 
 in the engagement, he added, " Now suppose that instead of fighting you here, 
 on the edge of the water, we had sent a party round here, and attacked you 
 in this direction, what would have become of you ?" The chief considered for 
 a moment, and then acknowledged himself beaten. " I can't fight with you 
 any more, General," said he. '• You too much big captain for me." 
 
APPENDIX. 173 
 
 (Page 43.) 
 
 These Indians are properly called the Omawhaws, but the name is more 
 commonly spoken and written in the abbreviated form in the text. I have 
 therefore used both forms. 
 
 XL 
 
 (Page 47.) 
 
 The grave of Blackbird is w^ell knovpn to all travellers. In SKetching the 
 character of that chief I have adhered strictly to the account given of him in 
 Long^s First Expedition, w^here a very interesting history is given of him and 
 his people. I have added a few particulars from other sources equally authen- 
 tic. The pathetic story of Menae, is also founded oi\ fact. The real story is 
 in the work above quoted. 
 
 XII 
 
 (Page 74.) 
 This anecdote is also founded on fact. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 (Page 87.) 
 
 The characters in this tale are fictitious, and the plot itself is imaginary 
 The descriptions are intended to convey accurate ideas of the savage life, as 
 it exists on the Northwestern border of the United States. I have relied chief- 
 ly on the authority of Gov. Cass, Schoolcraft, Long, and the writer of Tan- 
 ner's Narrative. 
 
 XIT. 
 
 (Page 101.) 
 
 This incident is taken from real life. The original may be found in a very 
 curious passage in Tanner's Narrative, an admirable work, which abounds in 
 singular and valuable information in regard to Indian life and manners. It is 
 
174 THE WILDERNESS AND THE WAR PATH. 
 
 related there, that the adopted mother of Tanner, who was a Kentuckian cap- 
 tured in childhood, and reared among the Chippeways, resorted to an expedi- 
 ent similar to that described in the text. Her sou, and adopted son, almost 
 famished, had become despondent, and were sunk in a state of hopeless lethar- 
 gy. She went out in the night, prayed for some hours alone, and then return- 
 ing to the lodge, informed the young men that the Great Spirit had pointed 
 out to her where to find game, and with much persuasion induced them to 
 follow her to the place, where they found the bed of a hybernatingbear which 
 supplied an abundance of food. I have no doubt of the truth of the relation. 
 
 XV. 
 
 (Page 111.) 
 
 In Long's Second Expedition we have an account of a place passed by the 
 travellers, which the Indians avoided in consequence of its having been the 
 scene of a fratricide. 
 
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 glancing, apprehensive — admirably suited to sustain an interest in the de- 
 scription of a wreck, a storm at sea, or mountain incidents ; and particu- 
 larly energetic in a battle-scene." — JV. Y. Courier. 
 
 " Headley's Letters from Italy, are the production of an evidently highly 
 cultivated young American, who has visited that ' classic land,' and sympa- 
 thized alike with the beautiful and grand, the lively and humorous objects, 
 that passed before him. He seems to be an acute observer of men and 
 things, as well as a faithful delineator. The work is full of lively interest ; 
 and, considering the fact that so much has been written of that 'land of art 
 and song,' we think it worthy of the highest praise in that the writer haa 
 described so many new and interesting objects. The description of Rome 
 is the best we have ever seen, not excepting those found in the most sue-. 
 cessfu. Journals of English travellers in Italy. The impression, on reading 
 parts of it, is, that Italy has never before been described."— Hun fs Mer. 
 Mag 
 
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