' 
 
 
-- I 
 
TALES OF THE BORDER. 
 
 
 BY JAMES HALL, 
 
 Author of " Legends of the West," &c. &c 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 HARRISON HALL, NO. 47, SOUTH THIRD STREET. 
 
 1835, 
 

 
 ENTERED, according to the Act of Congress, in the year ;- 
 HARRISON HALL, proprietor, in the clerk's office of the district court 
 for the eastern district of Pennsylvania. 
 
 A.. \VALDIE. PRINTER. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE PIONEER, 13 
 
 THE FRENCH VILLAGE, 102 
 
 THE SPY, 129 
 
 THE CAPUCHIN, . 151 
 
 THE SILVER MINE, 157 
 
 THE DARK MAID OP ILLINOIS, 177 
 
 THE NEW MOON, .213 
 
 984091 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A few of the following Tales have been 
 heretofore published in periodicals, but have 
 not, it is supposed, been circulated to such 
 an extent as to have been generally read; 
 while the natural partiality which a writer 
 feels towards his literary offspring has in- 
 duced the author to wish to preserve them 
 in a form less perishable than that in which 
 they first appeared. The larger portion, how- 
 ever, of this volume is now presented for the 
 first time to the public. 
 
 Although the garb of fiction has been, 
 assumed, as that which would afford the 
 greatest freedom of description, the incidents 
 which are related in these and other tales of 
 the author are mostly such as have actually 
 occurred ; and he has only exercised his own 
 
10 PREFACE. 
 
 invention in framing the plots, so as to bring 
 together, in one sketch, the adventures which 
 may not have occurred in the connection in 
 which he has chosen to place them, or which 
 may have happened to different individuals. 
 In the descriptions of scenery he has not, in 
 any instance, intentionally departed from 
 nature, or exercised his own fancy in the 
 creation of a landscape, or in the exaggera- 
 tion of the features which he has attempted 
 to draw ; and if the fidelity of his pictures 
 shall not be recognised by those who have 
 traveled over the same ground, the deficien- 
 cy will have resulted in the badness of the 
 execution, and not in any intentional devia- 
 tion from the originals. 
 
 In two of the tales, which occupy the 
 largest space in the volume, the author has 
 had an object in view, which will be readily 
 understood by those who are conversant 
 with American history, and especially by 
 those whose sympathies have been strongly 
 enlisted in behalf of the aborigines of our 
 
PREFACE. 11 
 
 country. Few are ignorant of the existence 
 of that mutual antipathy which has drawn a 
 broad line of separation between the white 
 and red races, and kept alive a feud as 
 deadly as it has 'been interminable. Yet 
 all are not so well acquainted with the 
 causes of that unhappy animosity, nor with 
 the numberless irritating circumstances by 
 which the passions of each party have been 
 excited, and a jealousy so deplorable handed 
 down from generation to generation. We 
 have selected a few of those facts, such as 
 most commonly occur, and have given them 
 with little embellishment, and, we hope, with- 
 out partiality. 
 
 The preparation of these sketches have 
 cost the author but little labour; they are 
 plain recitals of the traditions collected by 
 other travellers upon our border, or of the 
 legends which have amused his own hours 
 while sitting by the hospitable fireside of the 
 western farmer. Their brevity will probably 
 secure them a perusal, in common with the 
 
1'J PREI 
 
 similar productions of the press. Should 
 any ivad them with instruction, the author 
 will l>e satisfied : sliould the critic pass them 
 without censure, he will esteem himself 
 fortunate 
 
THE PIONEER. 
 
 I. was travelling a fbw yc<us ago> in t^o. 
 ern part of Illinois, where the settlements, now 
 thinly scattered, were but just commenced. A 
 few hardy men, chiefly hunters, had pushed them- 
 selves forward in advance of the main body of 
 emigrants, who were rapidly but quietly taking 
 possession of the fertile plains of that beautiful 
 state ; and their cabins were so thinly scattered 
 along the wide frontier, that the traveller "rode 
 many miles, and often a whole day together, with- 
 out seeing the habitation of a human being. I had 
 passed beyond the boundaries of social and -civil 
 subordination, and was no longer within the pre- 
 cincts of any organised country. I saw the camp 
 of the Indian, or met the solitary hunter, wander- 
 ing about with his rifle and his dog, in the full 
 enjoyment of that independence, and freedom from 
 
 2 
 
14 THE PIONEER. 
 
 all restraints, so highly prized by this class of our 
 countrymen. Sometimes 1 came to a single log 
 hut, standing alone in the wilderness, far removed 
 from the habitations of other white men, on a de- 
 lightful spot, surrounded by so many attractive 
 and resplendent beauties of landscape, that a prince 
 might have selected it as his residence ; and again 
 I found a little settlement, where a few families, 
 far from all other civilised communities, enjoyed 
 some of the comforts of society among themselves, 
 and Jived in u stat* approaching that of the social 
 condition. . . 
 
 ; jtfut lvhetlier : I : meJt jktfc tawny native of the forest, 
 or the wild pioneer of my own race, I felt equally 
 secure from violence. 1 found them always inof- 
 kii-ive, and usually hospitable. That state of 
 continual warfare, which marked the first settle- 
 ments upon the shores of the Ohio, h id ceased to 
 exist. The spirit of the red man was broken !>y 
 repeated defeat. He had become accustomed to 
 encroachment, and had learned to submit to that 
 which he could not prevent. However deeply he 
 might feel the sense of injury, and however fiercely 
 the fires of revenge might burn within his bosom, 
 too* many lessons of severe experience had taught 
 him to restrain his passions. Bitter experience 
 had inculcated the lesson, that every blow struck 
 at the white man recoiled with ten-fold energy 
 upon himself. 
 
THE PIONEER. 15 
 
 I found the pioneers a rude but a kind people. 
 The wretched hovels, built of rough logs, so care- 
 lessly joined together as to afford but a partial 
 protection from the storm, afforded a welcome 
 shelter, when compared with the alternative of 
 " camping out" which I had been obliged to adopt 
 more frequently than was agreeable. Their tables 
 displayed little variety, but they were spread with 
 a cheerful cordiality that was delightful to the 
 weary traveller. There were venison, poultry, 
 rich milk, and excellent bread, in abundance. 
 There was honey too, for those that liked it, fresh 
 and fragrant from the cell of the wild bee. But 
 the smile of the hostess was that which pleased me 
 most ; her hospitable reception of the tired stran- 
 ger the alertness with which she prepared the 
 meal- 1 her attention to his wants the sympathy 
 she expressed for any misadventure that had befal- 
 len him, and the confidence with which 'she ten- 
 dered the services of " her man," when it happened 
 that the more slowly spoken host faltered in the 
 performance of any of the rites of hospitality ; all 
 these, while they afforded the evidence of a noble 
 trait of nationality, which I recognised with pride 
 as a western American, reminded me also of the 
 delicacy and quickness of perception with which a 
 woman recognises the wants of him who " has no 
 mother to bring him milk, no wife to grind his 
 
16 THE PIONEEU. 
 
 1 halted once upon the " Starved Rock," a spot 
 rendered memorable by a most tragic legend which 
 has been handed down in tradition. It is a stu- 
 pendous mass of insulated rock, standing upon the 
 brink of the Illinois river, whose waters wash its 
 base. Viewed from this side, it is seen to rise 
 perpendicularly, like the ramparts of a tall castle, 
 frowning over the still surface of that beautiful 
 stream, and commanding an extensive prospect of 
 low, but richly adorned, and quiet, and lovely 
 shores. Passing round, the bulwark of rock is 
 found to be equally precipitous and inaccessible on 
 either side, until the traveller reaches the rear, 
 where a narrow ledge is found to slope off from the 
 summit towards the plain, affording the only means 
 of access to this natural fortress. Here a small 
 tribe of Indians, who had been defeated by their 
 enemies, are said to have taken refuge with their 
 wives and children. The victorious party sur- 
 rounded the rock, and cut off the wretched garri- 
 son from all possibility of retreat, and from every 
 means of subsistence. The siege was pressed 
 with merciless rigour, and the defence maintained 
 with undaunted obstinacy exhibiting, on either 
 side, those remarkable ti*aits of savage character : 
 on the one, the insatiable and ever vigilant thirst 
 for vengeance ; on the other, unconquerable endur- 
 ance of suffering. The position is so inaccessible, 
 that any attempt to carry it by assault was wholly 
 
THE PIONEER. 17 
 
 impracticable, and the dreadful expedient was 
 adopted of reducing it by starvation an expedient 
 which was rendered inevitably arid rapidly success- 
 ful, by the circumstance that the summit of the 
 rock afforded no water, and that the besieged party 
 had laid in no supply of provisions. 
 
 It is shocking to reflect on such warfare. There 
 is nothing in it of the pomp, or pride, or circum- 
 stance, which often deceive us into an admiration 
 of deeds of violence. In reading of the stern con- 
 flict of gallant men who meet in battle, our feelings 
 are enlisted by the generosity which exposes life 
 for life. The " plumed troops, and the big wars," 
 stir up the soul to a momentary forgetfulness of 
 the vices they engender, and the wretchedness 
 they produce, though we cannot agree with the 
 poet, that they "make ambition virtue." We 
 admire the genius which plans, and the talent that 
 executes, a successful stratagem, and pay the ho- 
 mage of our respect to any bright development of 
 military science. Courage always wins applause ; 
 we cannot withhold our approbation from a daring 
 act, even though the motive be wrong. But brave- 
 ry on a fair field, and in a good cause, becomes 
 heroism, and warms the heart into an enthusiastic 
 admiration. How different from all this, and from 
 all that constitutes the chivalry of warfare, and 
 how like the cold-blooded sordidness of a deliberate 
 murder, was that savage act of starving to death a 
 
18 THE PIOM 
 
 whole tribe, the warriors th'- a^rd, the 
 and the children ! And such, in fact, became the 
 fate of that unhappy remnant of a nation which had 
 once possessed the sovereignty over these beautiful 
 plains, and had hunted, and fought, and sat in 
 council, in all the pride of an independent people. 
 The pangs of hunger and thirst pressed them, but 
 they maintained their post ^yith obstinate courage, 
 determined rather to die of exhaustion, than to 
 afford their enemies the triumph of killing them in 
 battle or exposing them at the Bteke. 1 'very strata- 
 gem which they attempted was discovered and de- 
 ti at< <l. When they endeavoured to procure water 
 in the night, by lowering vessels attached to long 
 cords into the river, the vigilant besiegers detected 
 the design, and placed a guard in canoes to prevent 
 its execution. They all perished one, and only 
 one, excepted. The last sunivin^r warriors de* 
 I'rnded the entrance so well, that thr Qnenty could 
 neither enter nor discover the fatal progress of the 
 work of death ; and when, at last, all show of resist- 
 ance having. ceased, and all signs of life disappeared, 
 the victors ventured cautiously to approach, they 
 found but one survivor a squaw, whom they adopt- 
 ed into their own tribe, and who was yet living, at 
 an advanced age, when the first white men pene- 
 trated into this region. 
 
 One morning, on resuming my journey, I found 
 that my way led across a wide prairie. The road 
 
THE PIONEER. 11> 
 
 was a narrow foot-path, so indistinct as to be 
 scarcely visible among the high grass. As I stood 
 in the edge of a piece of woodland, and looked for- 
 ward over the extensive plain, not the least appear- 
 ance of forest could be seen nothing but the grassy 
 surface of the broad natural meadow, with here 
 and there a lonely tree. It was in the spring of 
 the year, and the verdure was exquisitely fresh 
 and rich. The undulating plain, sloping and swell- 
 ing into graceful elevations, was as remarkable for 
 the beauty of its outline as for the resplendent bril- 
 liancy of its hues. But although the prairie was 
 so attractive in appearance, there was something 
 not pleasant in the idea of crossing it alone. The 
 distance over it, to the nearest point of woodland, 
 was thirty miles. There was, of course, neither 
 a house nor any shelter by the way nothing but 
 the smooth plain, with its carpet of green richly 
 adorned with an endless variety, of flowers. To 
 launch out alone on the wide and blooming desert, 
 seemed like going singly to sea ; and it was impos- 
 sible to avoid feeling a sense of lonesomeness when 
 I looked around, as far as the eye could reach, 
 without seeing a human being or a habitation, and 
 without the slightest probability of beholding either 
 within the whole day. As 1 rode forth from the 
 little cabin which had given me shelter through 
 the night, T could not avoid looking back repeatedly 
 at the grove which surrounded it r with a wistful- 
 
20 THE PIONEER. 
 
 ness like that of the mariner as he regards a slowly 
 receding shore. But the sun was rising in majes- 
 tic lustre from the low distant horizon, shedding a 
 flood of light over the placid scene, and causing 
 the dew-drops that gemmed the grass to sparkle 
 like a silver tissue and 1 spurred my steed for- 
 ward with mingled sensations of delight and pen- 
 siveness. 
 
 I soon became convinced that the journey of this 
 
 was likely to prove disagreeably eventful. 
 There had recently been some heavy falls of rain, 
 and the ravines which intersect the prairie, and 
 serve as drains, were full of water. Some of these 
 are broad, and many of them too deep to be crossed 
 when tilled, without obliging the horse to swim; 
 and the banks are often so steep, that, before the 
 rider is a\\ u. <,f his danger, the horse plunges 
 {!'! \\ard headlong, throwing the unwary traveller 
 over his neck into the stream. I rode on, how- 
 ever, wading through pools and ravines, but happily 
 
 >ing accident, and meeting with no place suffi- 
 ciently deep to try the skill of my steed in the 
 iisi'ful art of swimming, though* the water often 
 bathed his sides, and sometimes reached nearly to 
 his back. Nor was this all " misfortunes never 
 come single." The clouds began to pile them- 
 selves up in the west, rolling upward from the 
 horizon portentously black. The signs were omi- 
 nous of a day of frequent and heavy showers. But 
 
THE PIONEER. 21 
 
 how could f help myself? On a prairie there is 
 no refuge from the fury of the storm, any more 
 than there is upon the ocean ; and to warn a tra- 
 veller that the rain is soon to fall, is about as prac- 
 tically useful to him as would be the inculcation of 
 that ancient canon of the church, " No man may 
 marry his grandmother." I looked back at the 
 clouds, and then looked forward to a wetting. It 
 is vexatious to be caught thus. A shower-bath is 
 pleasant enough when taken voluntarily, but not 
 so when it must be received upon compulsion. To 
 be wet is no great misfortune, nor is there any 
 thing dangerous or melancholy in the occurrence. 
 But this only makes it the more provoking. If 
 there was any thing pathetic in the catastrophe of 
 a ducking, or any bravery to be evinced in bearing 
 the pitiless peltings of the storm, it might do. But 
 there is no sympathy for wet clothes, nor does a 
 man earn any tribute of respect for his patient en- 
 durance, when sitting like a nincompoop under the 
 outpourings of a thundergust. The whole affair 
 is undignified and in bad taste. Few things so 
 humble one's pride, and make one feel so utterly 
 insignificant, and so like a wet rag, as to be soaked 
 to the skin against our own consent. 
 
 It was thus that I felt on this unlucky day. The 
 clouds rolled on until the whole heavens became 
 overcast. That splendid sun which had risen so 
 joyously, and lighted up the landscape, and 
 
22 THE PIONEER. 
 
 denccl the face of nature, was obscured, and heavy 
 shado\vs pervaded the plain. The clouds settled 
 down,, until the low arch of suspended fluid appeared 
 to rest upon the prairie. I drew on my great coat. 
 A blast of wind swept past me then the rain fell 
 in torrents upon my back, as if poured out from ten 
 thousand water buckets. What a dunce was I 
 to put on my over-coat, which only served as a 
 spunge to suck in the descending cataract, and load 
 me down with an accumulated weight. The rain 
 poured in streams from the eaves of my hat it 
 boat upon my neck, and insinuated itself under my 
 clothes it ran down into my boots, and filled them 
 until they overflowed. I felt cowed, crest-fallen, 
 hen-pecked I compared myself to a drowned-rat 
 to a pelted incumbent of the pillory to any 
 thing but an honest man, a republican, and a gen- 
 tleman. I got vexed, and kicked my spurs into 
 my horse, who, instead of mending his pace, only 
 threw up his head indignantly, as if to reproach 
 me for the supplementary torture thus gratuitously 
 bestowed upon my companion in trouble. I re- 
 lented, drew in my rein, stopped short, and just sat 
 still and took it and presently the rain stopped 
 also. It cannot rain always. 
 
 I drew a long breath, and looked around me, as 
 the war of the elements ceased. My saturated 
 garments hung shapelessly about my person, and 
 I had the cold comfort of knowing that there they 
 
THE PIONEER. 23 
 
 must continue to hang, and I to shiver under them, 
 until all the particles of moisture should be carried 
 away by the slow process of evaporation for the 
 rain had penetrated my saddle-bags and soaked my 
 whole wardrobe. The clouds still looked watery, 
 and were rolling up in heavy masses, portentous of 
 new and repeated showers. If it would not have 
 been unmanly, and unlucky too, 1. should have 
 turned back, and regained the shelter of my last 
 night's lodgings but 1 was as wet as 1 could be, 
 and as General Washington said when he was 
 sitting for his portrait " in for a penny, in for a 
 pound. " 
 
 As 1 looked about me I perceived, at a great 
 distance, a horseman approaching in my rear, and 
 travelling in the same direction with myself. 1 
 determined to wait for him, the more readily, as 
 1 had just arrived at the brink of a ravine which 
 was broader and apparently deeper than any I had 
 passed, and in which, in consequence of the recent 
 shower, the water was rushing rapidly. Any com- 
 pany at such a time was better than none : 1 was 
 willing to run the risk of being scalped by a Win- 
 nebago, talked out of my senses by a garrulous 
 Kentuckian, or questioned to death by a travelling 
 Yankee, rather than ride any further alone. 
 
 As the traveller approached me and halted, with 
 the courtesy usual in the country, 1 was struck 
 with his appearance. From his countenance one 
 
24 THI: PIONEER. 
 
 would have pronounced him to be a soldier, but his 
 garb was that of a method ist preacher. Dressed 
 in the coarse homespun fabric which is made, and 
 almost universally worn, in this region, there was 
 yet a dignity in the air and conduct of this stran- 
 ger which was independent of apparel. His coarse 
 and sunburnt complexion was that of a person who 
 had been exposed to the elements from childhood. 
 It was not scorched and reddened by recent expo- 
 sure, but regularly tanned and hardened, until its 
 texture would have bid defiance to the attacks of a 
 musquito, or any other insect or reptile of less 
 muscular powers than the rattlesnake. His fea* 
 tures were composed, but the air of perfect calm 
 that rested upon tin -in was that of reason and 
 reflection operating upon a vigorous mind, which 
 had once been \i.lrntl\ <v it <d by passion. T 
 could be no mistake in the expression of these 
 thin compressed lips, indicating unalterable reso- 
 lution and sternness of purpose. The high relief, 
 and strong development of the muscles of the 
 evinced the long continued impulse of powerful 
 emotion. But the small gray eye was that which 
 most attracted attention. It was fierce, and bold, 
 \et subdued. Time and the elements had driven 
 the blood from the cheeks, but the eye ret- 
 ail the fire of youth. There was an intensity in 
 its glance which caused another eye to sink or turn 
 aside, rather than gaze at it directly: and this 
 
THE PIONEER. 25 
 
 was not in consequence of any thing sinister or 
 repulsive in the expression, but because the power 
 of vision seemed to be so concentrated and intense 
 as to defy concealment. There was a vigilance, 
 too, about that eye, as 1 had afterwards occasion to 
 observe, which seemed never to sleep, and suffered 
 nothing to escape its attention. Without at all 
 disturbing the sedate demeanour of the body, and 
 the nearly motionless position of the head the 
 eye, moving quietly and almost imperceptibly 
 under the lid, watched all that passed around, 
 while the ear caught the slightest sound with an 
 acuteness which was extraordinary to one not 
 accustomed to this perfect exercise of the faculty 
 of attention. 
 
 In the wilderness, it is well understood that 
 strangers who meet may address each other with 
 frankness: it was soon discovered that we were 
 travelling in the same direction, and agreed that 
 we should go together. The stranger took the 
 lead ; arid if I was at first struck with his appear- 
 ance, 1 was now even more surprised at his perfect 
 composure, under circumstances which were cer- 
 tainly unpleasant, and perhaps dangerous. He 
 rode into the ravine before us, as carelessly as 
 if it had formed a part of the hard path, neither 
 changed position nor countenance as his horse 
 began to swim, managed the animal with the most 
 perfect ease and expertness, and, on reaching the 
 3 
 
26 THE PIONEER. 
 
 opposite shore, continued to move quietly forward, 
 without seeming to notice the splashing and puff- 
 ing which it was costing me to effect the same 
 operation. 
 
 As we rode on we found the earth saturated, 
 and tho surface of the plain flowing with wat -r. 
 Throughout the day the showers were frequent 
 and heavy, gust after gust passed over us, each as 
 furious as the last. We had to wade continually 
 through pools, or to swim our horses through 
 torrents. My companion minded none of these 
 things, and I became astonished at the imper- 
 turbable gravity with which he encountered those 
 difficulties, which had not only fatigued me nearly 
 to death, but so worried my patience that 1 had 
 grown nervous and irritable. On he plunged, 
 through thick and thin, selecting the best paths 
 and crossing places guiding his horse with con- 
 summate skill l-ivouri'iir the animal by avoiding 
 obstacles, and taking all advantages which expe- 
 rience suggested, yet pushing steadily on through 
 impediments which, at first sight, seemed to me 
 impassable. On such occasions he took the lead, 
 as he did generally along the narrow path which 
 we could only travel comfortably in single file ; 
 but, when the ground permitted, we rode abreast 
 and enira^ed in conversation. 
 
 Towards evening we arrived at the brink of a 
 small river, not wide, but brim-full, and whose 
 
THE PIONEER. 27 
 
 stream swept along impetuously, bearing logs and 
 the recently riven branches of trees upon its foam- 
 ing bosom. The idea of swimming on the backs 
 of our tired horses, over such a torrent, was not to 
 be entertained ; and 1 actually groaned aloud, in 
 despair, at the thought of being obliged to spend 
 the night upon its banks. But my companion, 
 without halting, observed calmly, that a more 
 favourable place for crossing might possibly be 
 found ; and, turning his horse's head along the 
 brink of the river, began to trace its meanders. 
 Presently we came to a spot where a large tree 
 had fallen across, the roots adhering to one bank 
 while the top rested upon the other. My com- 
 panion dismounted and began to strip his horse, 
 leaving nothing on him but the bridle, the reins of 
 which he fastened carefully over the animal's 
 head, and then leading him to the water, drove 
 him in. The horse, accustomed to such proceed- 
 ings, stepped boldly into the flood, and, stemming 
 it with a heart of controversy, swam snorting to 
 the opposite shore, followed by my trusty steed. 
 We then gathered up our saddles, and other 
 " plunder," and mounting the trunk of the fallen 
 tree, crossed with little difficulty, caught our steeds 
 who were waiting patiently for us, threw on our 
 saddles, and proceeded. 
 
 It was night when we reached a cabin, where 
 we were hospitably entertained. Kindly as stran- 
 
28 THE PIONEER. 
 
 gers arc always received in this region, I could 
 not but observe that the ecclesiastical character of 
 my companion excited, on this occasion, an unusual 
 a i<l uit y of attention and homage of respect. The 
 people of our frontier are remarkable for the pro- 
 lii ty of their conduct in this particular. How- 
 < \ r rude or careless their demeanour towards 
 others may sometimes be, a minister of the gospel 
 i? always received at their houses with a imxtun 
 of reverence and cordiality, \\hich shows the 
 welcome given him to be as sincere as it is 
 liberal. They seem to feel unaffectedly grateful 
 for the labours of these devoted men in their 
 behalf, and to consider themselves honoured, as 
 well as obliged, by their visits. And none deserve 
 their gratitude and affection in a greater degree 
 than the preachers of that sect to which my com- 
 panion belonged. They are the pioneers of reli- 
 gion. They go fon-nx-t in the great work of 
 spreading the gospel in the desolate places of our 
 country. Wherever the vagrant foot of the hunter 
 - in pursuit of game wherever the trader is 
 allured to push his canoe by the spirit of traffic 
 wherever the settler strikes his axe into the tree, 
 or begins to break the fresh sod of the prairie, the 
 circuit-riders of this denomination are found min- 
 gling with the hardy tenants of the wilderness, 
 curbing their licentious spirit, and taming their 
 fierce passions into submission. They carry the 
 
Bible to time, who, without their ministry, wiwid 
 only 
 
 "See God in doods, or heai Lim in the wind.** 
 
 They introduce ideas of social order, and civil 
 restraint, where the injunctions of law cannot be 
 heard, and its arm is not seen. And these things 
 they do at the sacrifice of every domestic comfort, 
 and at the risk of health and life. At all seasons, 
 and in all weathers, they go fearlessly on ; rid ing 
 through trackless deserts, encamping in the open 
 air, crossing rivers, and enduring the same hard- 
 ships which beset the hunter in the pursuit of his 
 toilsome calling, or the soldier in the path of 
 victory. 
 
 These reflections occurred to my mind when 1 
 recalled the superiority over myselfj young and 
 vigorous as I thought I was, which my companion 
 lifrd shown in surmounting the djffimltfCff of a 
 border journey. As I saw him seated at the 
 cheerful fireside of the woodsman, I was surprised 
 to perceive how little he seemed affected by the 
 fatigues of the day, how totally he appeared to 
 forget them, and with what ease and earnestness 
 be conversed with the family on serious topics 
 suggested by himself. He sat with them as their 
 equal and their friend. He enquired familiarly 
 about their health, their crops, their cattle, and 
 all their concerns led them gradually to speak of 
 
30 THE PIONEER. 
 
 their moral habits, and, finally, of their religious 
 opinions. As the time to retire approached, he 
 drew the sacred volume from his pocket, and pro- 
 ceeded to the performance of that service which 
 has always struck me as the most solemn and af- 
 1 tini: of religious exercises the worship of the 
 family where those united by the tenderest ti-- 
 of affection kneel together before the throne of 
 grace, to render their humble tribute of thanks 
 for blessings received, and to invoke for each 
 other the continued protection of Heaven. 
 
 On the following morning we departed at the 
 dawn. I accompanied my new acquaintance seve- 
 ral days, during which we experienced a variety 
 of adventures and hardships ; and I had many 
 opportunities tor oh the courage of my 
 
 companion, his perfect self-possession under < 
 vicissitude, and his skill in all the arts of the 
 backwoodsman. He was the most accomplished 
 woodsman that 1 have ever met. No danger 
 could daunt him, no obstacle impeded our way 
 which he had not some expedient to obviate or 
 avoid. He was never deceived as to the points of 
 the compass or the time of day. If our path 
 became dim, or seemed to wind away from the 
 proper direction, he struck off without hesitation 
 across the prairie, or through the forest, and 
 always reached the place which he sought with 
 unerring certainty. Community of peril and ad- 
 
THE PIONEER. 31 
 
 venture soon begets friendship, and our casual 
 acquaintance ripened speedily into intimacy. I 
 became struck with the conversational powers of 
 my companion ; though habitually taciturn, he 
 sometimes grew social and communicative, and 
 then his language was energetic, his train of 
 thought original, and his figures bold and rheto- 
 rical. He seemed to have no acquaintance with 
 books, but had studied nature, and had stored his 
 mind with a fund of allusions drawn from her 
 ample volume. There was something mysterious 
 about him that excited my curiosity. His peace- 
 ful garb and holy calling were entirely inconsistent 
 with his military bearing, his keen jealous eye, his 
 intimate acquaintance with the artifices of the 
 hunter, and the wistful glances which I some- 
 times saw him throw at the rifles of the persons 
 we occasionally met. At last I ventured to sug- 
 gest the impressions made upon my mind by these 
 seeming contradictions, and was gratified by a 
 frank relation of his history. It was minutely 
 detailed in the course of several conversations. 
 I cannot pretend to repeat his wild emphatic lan- 
 guage, but will give the story as nearly as I can 
 in his own manner. 
 
TUB PIONEER. 
 
 THE PIONEER'S TALE. 
 
 There are some events in my life, said m\ 
 friend, to which I cannot look back without shud- 
 dering. Although time has cooled my feelings, 
 and ^iven a better tone to the decisions of my 
 judgment, it has not destroyed the vividness of 
 tho<e impressions which \\vn- made upon my 
 memory in childhood. They still present them- 
 selves with all the iiimili.-irity of recent trans- 
 actions; and t times when a peculiar 
 combination of cm-must;! them with 
 a t'rv>hness that seems to partake more of reality 
 than of repollection, and when I can hardly per- 
 <uad . m\ --If that the same scenes are not 
 about to be acted over. Sometimes a particnla! 
 -tate of the atmosphere, the position of the clouds, 
 and the distribution of liirht and shade, M 
 character to the landscape which transports me 
 back in a moment to the days of childhood, and 
 pictures, in living truth upon my imagination, an 
 event which occurred under such circumstances, 
 as to have connected it indissolubly with tlue 
 natural appearances. A sound has suddenly poured 
 in a train of associations: the song of the bird in 
 some distant tree, the hooting of an owl, the long 
 dissonant bay of the wolf, borne on the still air 
 when the moonlight reposed on the tops of the 
 
THE PIONEER. 33 
 
 trees, has awakened reminiscences which reach 
 back almost to infancy. 
 
 I have but an indistinct recollection of my father. 
 I have endeavoured to preserve the impression, for 
 there is a sacredness connected with his memory, 
 which renders it dear to my heart ; but it is so 
 dim, and so shadowed over by other images, that 
 I know not whether it be the real impress made by 
 his kindness on my young nature, or the offspring 
 of fancy. He was one of the pioneers who came 
 to the forests of Kentucky, among the first adven- 
 turers to that scene of disastrous conflict. My 
 mother followed his footsteps to the wilderness, 
 bearing me, an infant, in her arms, resolved to 
 participate in the vicissitudes of his fortune, how- 
 ever precarious, and to brave all the dangers and 
 hardships of a border life, rather than endure the 
 greater pain of separation. Their cabin was 
 reared upon the shores of the Kentucky river, in 
 one of the most blooming valleys of that Eden, 
 which nature seems to have created in a moment 
 of prodigal generosity. They were happy ; though 
 destitute of all that constitutes the felicity of the 
 larger portion of mankind. Without society, with 
 no luxuries, and with few of the comforts of civil- 
 ised life, they were content in the society of each 
 other. My father was a bold and successful hunter ; 
 he delighted to rove over those fertile plains, 
 whose magnificent forests, abounding in game, ancj 
 
J4 THE PIONEER. 
 
 rich in beauty, were so alluring to every lover of 
 sylvan sport. Having selected an excellent tract 
 of land, from which he began to clear the trees, 
 IK- indulged, like others, in flattering anticipations 
 of the wealth and independence which would 
 crown his labours, when these hroa d lands should 
 !. MUG the seat of an industrious population, and 
 when Kentucky, thru tin- paradise of hunters, 
 should be the garden of Western America. These 
 were not visionary dreams ; tl and others 
 
 who indulged them did not live to behold their ac- 
 complishment, their descendan MHII them 
 abundantly fulfilled. 
 
 This spot was the birth-place of my sister. I 
 remember her too, with a fondness that no subse- 
 quent emotion has equalled or effaced. I cannot 
 forget her, for she was my only playmate. The 
 bitter moment when I realised the truth, that this 
 sweet child was separated from us, to be restored 
 no more in this world, caused a gush of anguish, 
 almost too strong for the tenderness of my young 
 atlections, and left a wound which saddened my 
 spirits throughout the years of my early life. 
 
 Year after year rolled away, and my parents 
 continued in the wilderness, almost alone, and 
 exposed to continual danger. At first, the fre- 
 quent alarms caused by the incursions of the 
 savages, and the many vicissitudes incident to 
 their situation, produced discontent, and they 
 
THE PIONEER. 35 
 
 would probably have returned to North Carolina, 
 had it not been for the shame of turning their 
 backs on danger, and leaving others exposed to 
 that which they would have avoided. But the 
 burthen gradually grew lighter, and their strength 
 to bear it increased. The little cabin appeared 
 more and more comfortable, because its inmates 
 became accustomed to its narrow dimensions, and 
 its meagre accommodations. It was their HOME ; 
 it was the spot where they began to live for each 
 other, to enjoy the endearments of conjugal affec- 
 tion, and to accumulate the comforts of domestic 
 life around them ; and every year brought some 
 addition to their little circle of enjoyments, and 
 added new links to the chain of agreeable asso- 
 ciations, which at last rendered this retreat, 
 savage as it was, the dearest place to them on 
 earth. So my mother has told me ; and I well 
 remember the glow of feeling with which she 
 spoke of those years, and of that spot which was 
 her first home in the wilderness. 
 
 She had to endure many sufferings; but they 
 were light when placed in the balance against 
 the pleasures that sweetened her existence. Her 
 husband cherished her with tenderness ; and with 
 the shield of his affection around her, the clouds 
 of sorrow, though they might sadden her heart 
 for a moment, could not chill it with the wither- 
 ing blight which falls on those who are alone in 
 
36 INI i'l"\EER. 
 
 the world. In the labours of husbandry, they 
 toiled as others toil: their hopes were sometimes 
 disappointed the frost blasted their grain, a 
 drought shortened their crops, the enemy ravaged 
 their fields, or drove away their cattle, and they 
 found themselves as poor as when they first began 
 the world. But they lived in a plentiful country ; 
 their neighbours, though few, were hospitable, 
 and they never knew want. The pangs of hun- 
 ger the deeper anguish of listening to the cries 
 of famishing children, are not among the <-\il> 
 which infest the duelling of the American bor- 
 She had her hours of solitude ; when my 
 father was employed in wielding the axe, or 
 guiding the plough, with his loaded rifle at hand, 
 and his dog keeping watch, to prevent surprise 
 by the Indians, she pursued her appropriate 
 duties in silence and pensiveness at home. But 
 she uas working fur him, and this rellertiun sup- 
 ported her in his absence, until his return brought 
 an ample recompense for the temporary depriva- 
 tion of his society. Those who reside in i 
 or in thickly settled neighbourhoods, cannot un- 
 derstand the full force of this language ; but 
 thousands of matrons are daily realising upon the 
 frontiers of our country, that which I describe. 
 The youiiii- wife has left lather and mother t 
 cleave unto her husband she \u\* abandoned the 
 parental roof, the home of childhood, the com- 
 
THE PIONEER. 37 
 
 panions of her infancy the tenderness of a proud 
 father, the care of an experienced mother, are 
 hers no longer she has left the circle of intimate 
 friends by whom she is known and appreciated 
 and she has followed cheerfully, in the buoyancy . 
 of hope and love, the footsteps of the husband of 
 her choice, to some spot beautifully embellished 
 by the hand of nature, where they anticipate all 
 the joys of Arcadian felicity. But their dwelling 
 stands alone, separated from all others by miles 
 of forest, or uninhabited prairie. All her affec- 
 tions are concentrated upon him who is her only 
 friend and sole companion ; and that tie which 
 is ordinarily so sweet, so strong, and so indissolu- 
 ble, becomes more powerful by the absence of all 
 other objects of attachment or companionship. 
 The office of the husband assumes a tenderer 
 and holier character, for he is the only adviser, 
 friend, and protector, of her who has forsaken all 
 for him. In his absence she sits alone, for the 
 time being a widowed and desolate creature. If 
 disease suddenly invade the dwelling there is no 
 friend nor neighbour at hand ; if an accident 
 befal her infant, she has perhaps no messenger ' 
 to send for assistance ; and in those early times, 
 in which the scenes that 1 relate occurred, there 
 was the continual terror of the savage, pressing 
 like the hideous monster of an unquiet dream, 
 upon the bosom of the wife, who, in the absence 
 4 
 
38 THE PIONEER. 
 
 of her husband, was terrified alike by his ex- 
 posure to danger, and her own unprotected con- 
 dition. Often did the young mother, of those 
 days, hide her infant in some secret place, while 
 -h<- pursued her domestic labours. 
 
 My father, fearless himself, placed too little 
 confidence in the reality of such perils; and 
 although generally at home, siiticred himself oc- 
 casionally to be persuaded to join a hunt, 01 a 
 war party. Sometimes a longer hunt than u-ual. 
 or an accident, detained him from home all 
 m;:ht . and then my mother passed the sleepless 
 hours in listening to catch the sound which 
 mii:ht announce hi-; return, and dreading the 
 moment when the stealthy footstep of the Indian 
 miiiht invade the sanctity of her dwelling. On 
 such occasions, she would hide her sleeping 
 infants, in some secret spot, not likely to be 
 suspected, and then retire to her own bed, await- 
 ing the result in anxious suspense. But the 
 severest of all the trials of her fortitude came, 
 when the pioneers were summoned to the field, 
 and my father joined the parties of armed ran- 
 gers, who drove the savages from our settlements, 
 or pursued them to their own villages. Then it 
 was, that day after day, and night after night, she 
 watched, and \\ept, and prayed, and felt herself 
 already bowed down in anticipation, under the 
 hopeless grief of an imaginary widowhood. 
 
THE PIONEER. 39 
 
 At length the blow came. The storm, whose 
 voice had often been heard at a distance, and 
 which had thrown its lengthened shadow over 
 our little dwelling, burst over us in the fulness of 
 its destructive energy. One day my father had 
 gone out to a piece of ground which he was 
 clearing, not far from the house, accompanied 
 by a few of the neighbouring men, who had 
 assembled to assist him in rolling some large 
 logs into heaps, for burning. My mother was 
 employed in sewing, while my little sister and 
 myself played on the floor. She heard the crack 
 of a rifle, in the direction of the newly cleared 
 ground, and as this was always a sound which ex- 
 cited interest in the mind of the wife of a pioneer, 
 in those days of continual warfare, she hastily 
 stepped to the door to listen. A single report 
 did not necessarily imply danger, for the farmers 
 always carried their rifles with them to the field 
 of labour ; and they might have fired at one of 
 the wild animals with which the forest abounded. 
 But another and another report followed in quick 
 succession and then the shrill war-whoop of the 
 Indian that terrific sound, which once heard, 
 is never forgotten. The little party had been 
 attacked by the savages. My mother rushed 
 out of the house. Her first impulse was to 
 hasten to the scene of action, to aid her husband 
 with her feeble strength, or die by his side. But 
 
40 THE PIONEER. 
 
 the recollection of her children, and the com i< - 
 tion that she could render no service in the battle, 
 but might endanger the safety of her little ones 
 by abandoning the spot which was her post of 
 duty, restored her presence of mind ; and she 
 climl>ed to the top of a hiirh fence, to catch, if 
 possible, a view of the combatants. The guns 
 continued to be discharged in rapid succession ; 
 she saw the smoke rising in thin columns from 
 each explosion, and settling in a dense cloud 
 the field of conflict, and, under the dark shadow 
 of the edge of the forest, even the flashes were 
 visible. What a scene for a wife to witness! 
 The yells of the Indians were mingled with the 
 >honts of the white men the screams of anguish, 
 and the horrible exclamations of revenge, were 
 borne together to the ear of the affrighted ;m<I 
 only spectator of this bloody drama. 
 
 In this moment of horror, the distracted mother 
 heard the piercing screams of one of her children, 
 and rushed instinctively to the house, expecting 
 to find that the savages had also approached in 
 that direction. My little sister had fallen into 
 the lire, and was severely burned. She snatched 
 up her child, began to tear the blazing clothes 
 away from it, and soon ascertained, that the 
 injury, though severe, was not dangerous. While 
 thus employed, she became conscious that the 
 war-whoop had died away, and the firing ceased* 
 
THE PIONEER. 41 
 
 What a moment for the wife and mother ! What 
 excruciating torments are inflicted upon the help- 
 less dependents, and inoffensive companions of 
 man, by his ambition, his fierce passions, and 
 his reckless prodigality of life ! The battle was 
 over, and the slain were lying upon the field. 
 She knew not certainly that any had fallen, but 
 the probability was, that even if the white men 
 were victorious, the triumph had been purchased 
 by a heart-breaking loss to some unhappy wife, 
 or wretched mother perhaps to herself. But if 
 the Indians had prevailed, how accumulated the 
 horror of her situation ! The tomahawk might 
 even now be performing its brutal office in 
 despatching the vanquished, or mutilating the 
 dead, and in a few moments she might be com- 
 pelled to witness the expiring agonies of her 
 children ! 
 
 She wept bitterly over her screaming infant, 
 and almost blamed the unconscious child that 
 detained her from rushing to her husband. Un- 
 able to restrain her impatience, she hastened to 
 the door with the babe in her arms, and saw the 
 little party of backwoods-men slowly returning. 
 Why came they with such tardy steps why thus 
 closely crowded together why did they halt so 
 often ? Alas ! they bore one of their number a 
 corpse in their arms ! She ran to meet them. 
 As she came near, the men laid down their bur- 
 4* 
 
42 TIN: PIONEER. 
 
 then under tin.- shade of a large tree, and then 
 stood respectfully back while my poor mother, 
 recognising her husband in the agonies of death, 
 threw hejx'lf on the ground beside him, and had 
 only time to attract one look from the dying man, 
 by her shriek of agony, ere his eyes were closed 
 for ever. 
 
 The remains of my father were buried near 
 the house, and my mother could not be prevailed 
 upon to quit the spot around which her affections 
 lingered. After spending a few weeks at the 
 house of a neighbour, who had kindly taken us 
 home during the confusion of the melancholy 
 event, she returned to her deserted cabin, having, 
 in the mean while, written to an unmarried bro- 
 ther in North Carolina to come to her. He 
 came and remained with us, carrying on the 
 bu>iness of our farm, and acting as a kind pro- 
 tector to us all. 
 
 From this period I date the commencement of 
 my recollections. I remember well the care-worn 
 figure and broken-hearted countenance of my mo- 
 ther. She was so bowed down under affliction 
 that her voice had acquired a tremulous tone, 
 which was very touching to those who knew the 
 cause, and especially to the few who participated 
 in her grief. The neighbours were kind to her ; 
 they gathered her corn, looked after her affairs, 
 and provided for her until my uncle's arrival ; and 
 
THE PIONEER, 43 
 
 continued ever afterwards to treat her with con- 
 siderate attention. There are few who do not 
 feel deep sympathy for the utter desolation of the 
 widow's heart, and for the helpless wretchedness 
 of her unprotected situation ; nor do any people 
 exhibit, in the indulgence of this natural feeling, a 
 more manly benevolence than our backwoodsmen. 
 Continually exposed to danger, and dependent on 
 each other for a thousand charitable offices, which 
 are always rendered without remuneration, they 
 do not become callous to the misery of others, but 
 learn to feel and act as if bound to those around 
 them by the ties of fraternity. They visited my 
 mother often ; and the story of my father's death 
 was repeated so frequently as to be deeply im* 
 pressed upon my memory. Jn the higher circles 
 of life, where a great degree of refinement is said 
 to prevail, it is not customary, I believe, to con- 
 verse with the parties interested upon those sad 
 topics which deeply affect the heart, and throw a 
 gloom over the family circle. In humble life it 
 is different : the fountains of grief are familiarly 
 approached and thrown open, and the bitter waters 
 of affliction suffered to flow freely out. The heart 
 relieves itself by these discussions, and, instead of 
 brooding over its sorrows, gives them vent, and 
 does better than adding imaginary ills to those 
 which are real, by learning to consider the subject 
 
44 THE PION, 
 
 in the same practical light in which it i- \: 
 by others. 
 
 My sister and myself often strolled to the woods 
 in until! T iMit>, nr tf> hunt for the nests of birds 
 or stole away to a neighbouring stream to wade 
 in the water. But we never went fir from the 
 house without having the fear of the Indians be- 
 fore our eyes. We had heard the story of our 
 father's death so often repeated had listened to 
 so many similar legends had so often witnessed 
 the alarm created by a rumoured appearance of 
 the Indians in the vicinity, that our hearts had 
 learned to quail in terror at the thought of a 
 savage. The word Indian conveyed to our mind* 
 all that was fierce, and dangerous, and hateful. 
 We knew what we had ourselves suffered from 
 this ferocious race, and we saw that others li\v<l 
 in continual fear of them. We heard the men 
 talk of " hunting Indians," as they would speak of 
 tracking the beast of prey to his hiir and the 
 women never met without speaking of the abduc- 
 tion of children, or the murder of females, repeat- 
 ing tale after tale, each exceeding the former in 
 horror, until the whole circle became agitated 
 with fear, the candles seemed to burn blue, and 
 the slightest sound was considered as a progi. 
 of instant massacre. 
 
 Many wore our childish discussions and sur- 
 
THE PIONEER. 45 
 
 mises on this all absorbing subject, as we played 
 together. 
 
 " What made the Indians kill our father V my 
 little sister would ask, and we would guess and 
 guess, without coming to any other conclusion 
 than that it was " because they were bad people." 
 
 " Would they kill us?" "Do they kill every 
 body they meet ?" " Do they eat people ?" were 
 some of the questions which naturally occurred to 
 us, and it will be readily believed that the agita- 
 tion of them always led to inferences the most 
 unfavourable to the Indian. If a bush rustled, or 
 a footstep was heard as we strolled abroad, we 
 imagined that the Indians were near ; but, instead 
 of running and screaming, as more civilised chil- 
 dren would have done, we crept silently under the 
 nearest cover, or dropped quietly in the high 
 grass, with the instinct which teaches the young 
 partridge a similar device lying perfectly mo- 
 tionless, and throwing our little wild eyes vigilantly 
 about until the danger had passed. We should 
 not have moved had an Indian stepped over us ; 
 nor have betrayed any signs of life, so long as 
 silence would have afforded concealment. Such 
 are the habits of cunning and of self-command 
 acquired, even in infancy, by those who live on a 
 frontier exposed to hostile incursions who are 
 often in danger, and who hear continually of stra*. 
 tagems and deeds of violence* 
 
46 THE PIONEER. 
 
 Thus two years of my mother's widowhood had 
 rolled away, when one day my sister and myself 
 were amusing ourselves by dabbling in the water 
 of a small branch not far from the house. She 
 was at ;i distance from me and, being intent <>n 
 dillerent objects, we had not spoken for some 
 time when suddenly I heard her utter a most 
 piercing shriek. I looked up, and beheld h-r in 
 the grasp of an Indian \v;mic>r. Instinctively I 
 recoiled behind a thick bush, where I satinbn ath- 
 less silence, keeping my eye fixed on the savage, 
 who, not having discovered me, began to retreat 
 with his terrified prisoner in his arms. Poor 
 child ! I shall never forget the dreadful screams 
 whieh she uttered until the Indian, placing his 
 hand on her mouth and menacing with his knife, 
 gave her to understand that he would kill her 
 unless she ceased to cry. Nor shall I ever tail to 
 remember my own agony when 1 saw her borne 
 a\\ay sobbing, stretching out her little arms, and 
 gazing wildly towards her home for the last time. 
 What rage and grief filled my young heart as 1 
 witnessed her pangs, and felt my own impotence 
 as the most beloved object in existence was torn 
 from me, while 1 could neither prevent nor revenge 
 the violence. 
 
 No sooner was the savage out of sight, than I 
 started up and hurried to the house, taking care 
 to follow the most concealed path, and tre 
 
THE PIONEER. 47 
 
 with the stealthy caution of the prowler of the 
 night. My uncle was not at home, and my poor 
 mother my widowed, mourning mother, whose 
 infants were all that were left to her in this world 
 words cannot describe the acuteness of the grief 
 with which she was overwhelmed. But she acted 
 with courage and prudence : displaying, in this 
 moment of affliction, a self-possession which never 
 forsook her under any circumstances. After my 
 father's death, I was perhaps the dearest object of 
 her affection. She felt at that moment the senti- 
 ment expressed by the patriarch of Israel : " If I 
 be bereaved of my children, 1 am bereaved." 
 Apprehending that the Indians still hovered around 
 the dwelling, and would soon appear to complete 
 their ferocious purpose, she closed the door and 
 placed the heaviest articles of furniture against it, 
 determined to defend herself to the last, She 
 said to me, " Your father is dead, your sister is 
 gone, and you are all that is left to me I must 
 save your life if 1 lose my own ;" and then raising 
 one of the puncheons which formed the floor, she 
 thrust me under it, and charging me to lie still, 
 and neither move nor speak whatever might 
 happen restored the puncheon to its place. The 
 floor was sufficiently open to enable me to see 
 what passed, and sometimes to catch a glimpse of 
 the actors. It was now past sunset. In a few 
 minutes the Indians came to the door, and at- 
 
48 THE PIO> 
 
 tempted to force their way in ; but my n 
 having a loaded rifle, presented it through a 
 creueo of the logs, upon which they retired, 
 uttering as they went the most horrible 
 They soon returned, bearing lighted torches, 
 which they threw upon the roof in a few mi- 
 nnti-s the house was in Jlanies the rifle dropped 
 lnm my mutln-r's hands, and, before she could 
 determine what to do, the door was burst open, 
 and she uas dragged out. Tin- savages, finding 
 no other nhjrct upon which to vent their fury, 
 departed, e;m \ in_i !HT v. ith them. 
 
 1 e;mnot pretend to convey any adequate idea 
 of my own emotions during this scene. The loss 
 of m\ little MStef had gOQfl to ni\ heart the 
 self-possession and energy of my mother had 
 a\\akened my admiration and in the tumult of 
 other feelings, my own danger had scarcely been 
 the subject of a thought. I was naturally bold; 
 and 1 was not given to the indulgence of > 
 reflections. But what a moment of horror wa- 
 it, when the house was fired, and the savages 
 rushed in! When they laid their brutal hands 
 upon my mother, 1 experienced a sensation of 
 agony such as I had never known before. How 
 sacred is the person of a mother ! What pure 
 and hallowed atlections dim: around her ! \N hat 
 sacrilege in the eyes of a sound hearted child, is 
 an act of violence against that parent, whose sex 
 
THE PIONEER. 4$ 
 
 daims the respect of her son, while her tender- 
 ness, her watchful solicitude, her devotion, her 
 maternal pride, have entwined a thousand fond 
 associations among the tendrils of his heart. 
 Besides that intuitive love, which every mother 
 kindles in the bosom of her offspring even before 
 the will begins to exist, 1 had learned, young as I 
 was, to reverence mine on account of her supe- 
 rior worth. Devoted to her children, I had wit- 
 nessed more than one instance of her self-denial, 
 which had penetrated my heart. I had seen her 
 on several occasions display a degree of calmness 
 in the presence of danger, and of patient fortitude 
 under extreme suffering, which amounted; in my 
 eyes, to heroism. I had beheld her widowed and 
 in sorrow ; and had begun to look forward to the 
 time when I should be her protector. I had seen 
 the involuntary tear trickling secretly down her 
 cheek, arid had listened, deeply affected, to the 
 midnigtft prayer for her children, intended for the 
 ear of Him only to whom it was addressed. A 
 deed of violence perpetrated towards any other 
 woman, would have struck me as brutal, but 
 there was a sacredness thrown around the person 
 of my mother which gave to this proceeding a 
 character of desecration. When I saw her 
 forced away, 1 struggled to release myself from 
 my confinement 1 screamed but the shouts of 
 the infuriated incendiaries drowned my cries. 
 5 
 
50 THE PIONEER. 
 
 The flames were raging over my head, but 1 
 thought alone of my mother. The love of life 
 was smothered by more powerful emotions, and I 
 only wished to share her captivity, or to die in 
 her arms. 
 
 The sounds of war died away. 1 no longer 
 heard the footsteps of men, nor the yells of ven- 
 geance. The crackling of flames over my head, 
 and the falling of firebrands upon the floor under 
 which 1 was lying, alone met my ear. I was 
 confused and stupefied by the ferocious deeds I 
 had witnessed. A vague sense of my own danger 
 began to stir within me. I looked round, and 
 discovered that the space between the floor and 
 the ground was snllicient to allow me room to 
 < ia\\l ut. I crept from beneath the blazing pile, 
 and found myself the sole spectator of that heart- 
 rending scene of desolation. The perpetrators of 
 that dark drrd of aggression against the widow 
 and the orphan, had fled with their captives. 
 The flames were consuming the home which had 
 sheltered me all the years of my existence of 
 which I had any recollection where I had 
 lla\eil with my little sister, and had so often 
 fallen asleep with my head upon my mother's 
 bosom, and .felt her warm kiss upon my lips, and 
 had been awakend in the morning by her caresses. 
 Here, morning and evening, had we knelt by her 
 side, with our little hands pressed in hers, as she 
 
THE PIONEER. 51 
 
 prayed God to protect the bereaved and the help- 
 less. A gush of tenderness overwhelmed my 
 heart, as the contemplation of my own desolate 
 wretchedness contrasted itself with past endear- 
 ments. Around me was the darkness of the~ 
 night, rendered more black by the brightness of 
 the fire. I ran to my father's grave for I could 
 not resist the conviction that the spirits of my 
 murdered mother and sister .would hover over a 
 spot which was so sacred to us all. All was 
 silent here. The hand of the murderer, though 
 it may strike terror into the heart of the living, 
 cannot disturb the repose of the dead. I threw 
 myself on the ground. The reflection that I was 
 alone in the world became almost insupportable 
 tears came to my relief 1 wept bitterly. 
 
 In a little while I recovered my composure. I 
 had been reared in habits which were not cal- 
 culated to enervate my faculties ; on the contrary, 1 
 was thoughtful and daring. The idea occurred to 
 me that my mother and sister might still be 
 living, and could be rescued from captivity. No 
 sooner had this thought flashed upon my mind, 
 than I rushed, regardless of my own safety, 
 towards the house of our nearest neighbour. It 
 was two miles distant; but 1 was intimately ac- 
 quainted with the path, and proceeded with a 
 speed which soon brought me to the place. Pale, 
 trembling, and in tears, 1 presented myself before 
 
52 TIM: PIONEER. 
 
 the astonished family, unable, at first, to articulate 
 any thing but the word " Indians !" 
 
 The effect produced by this alarming name, so 
 often heard, and so fraught with danger, was 
 instantaneous. All started up and prepared for 
 defence. The doors were closed, and the rilles 
 grasped. Consternation was painted on every 
 face ; but the men evinced a martial bearing, in 
 the alacrity with whjch they subdued their appre- 
 hensions, and flew to arms. When I told my 
 tale, however, in broken fragments, but intelligi- 
 bly enough for the comprehension of those who 
 were accustomed to such recitals, and it was 
 rendered probable that the savages were already 
 on their retreat, a different direction was given to 
 the feelings of this worthy family. Its head, a 
 strong, muscular man, slow, heavy, and appa- 
 rently indolent, seemed to be irispired with a new 
 life. 
 
 " We must be after them, boys," said he, " they 
 
 haint got much start of us, no how there'll be a 
 
 nice fresh trail in the morning that can't be 
 
 1, and we can out travel the varmints, let 
 
 Vm do their best." 
 
 " John !" exclaimed the wife, " you're a good 
 soul ! I wish I was a man, and could go along. 
 Can't you go to-night? Poor Sally Robinson 
 she'll suffer a heap of misery before morning the 
 distressed creetur !" 
 
THE PIONEER. 53 
 
 " Its no use to try to hunt Indians in the night," 
 replied the man ; " and besides, it will take 'til 
 morning to get the neighbours warned in." 
 
 " Don't cry, Billy," said the woman, putting 
 her arms round my neck, and kissing me affection- 
 ately, " don't cry, my little man they'll bring 
 your mammy back afore to-morrow night no 
 mistake about that its mighty hard for Indians 
 to get away from our people. You shall sleep 
 with my little boys, and be my son, 'til your 
 mammy comes back." 
 
 The backwoodsman now directed several young 
 men, his sons and others, who were present, to 
 mount their horses and spread the alarm through 
 the neighbourhood, and to summon all the men 
 to meet at his house the next morning. The 
 young fellows caught his ardour, and in a few- 
 minutes were dashing off, through the woods, in 
 different directions. 
 
 There was little sleep among the inmates of 
 this cabin on that eventful night. The children 
 were afraid to go to bed. The man of the house, 
 whose name was Hickman, aware of the necessity 
 of husbanding all his powers for the approaching 
 chase, which might last several days, threw him- 
 self down in his clothes, and soon appeared to 
 slumber. His wife sat by the fire, sighing, pour- 
 ing out bitter anathemas upon the Indians, and 
 giving utterance to her lively sympathy in the 
 
54 TIH: PIONEER. 
 
 afflictions of her neighbour, while the children 
 crowded around her, squatted upon the floor with 
 their hare feet gathered under them, each cling- 
 ing to some part of her dress, gazing at one 
 another in mute terror, or asking questions in 
 whispered and tremulous accents about the sa- 
 vages ; and nil of them in turns casting glances 
 of pity at myself, as 1 sat, sometimes weeping 
 bitterly, and at other times staring in tearless 
 agony at the terrified ^mup. At intervals, the 
 kind-hearted matron would articulate my mo- 
 thers name, accompanied by passsionate expres- 
 sions of grief and affection. 
 
 " Poor Sally Robinson ! she has had her own 
 troubles, poor thing ! And she sich a good cree- 
 tnr ! 1 1 \\ as >..rr< u lul enough to be a lone woman, 
 and her man murdered the way he was, right 
 before her -\ es, as a body may say ! The dear 
 knows how she did to stand it ! Law, children, 
 don't pull my gownd so, you'll tear ever}' stitch 
 of clothes off of my back. What are you afeard 
 of! the Indians aint comin' here, no how, the 
 varmints they know better than for to go where 
 there's men about the house, 'drot their vile skins 
 the 'bominable riff- raff cowardly scum of creation ! 
 they haint got the hearts of men, no ho\v ! the\ 
 haint no more courage nor a burnt cracklin, no 
 way they can tix it ! Poor Sally ! ah me ! and 
 the dear child the poor, poor little child !" 
 
THE PIONEER. 55 
 
 " Did the Indians kill little Sue, mammy ?" 
 
 " I don't know, child they carried her off, and 
 Him that's above only knows what has become of 
 her. And they have burnt the very roof over the 
 heads of them that had no one to take care of 
 them." 
 
 "Did they burn Miss Robinson's house up, 
 mammy ?" 
 
 " To be sure they did the cabin, and a beau- 
 tiful piece of cloth that she had in the loom, and 
 all the plunder that the poor thing has been scrapin 
 together by the work of her own hands." 
 
 " Mammy, " 
 
 Hush, what's that ?" 
 
 Then they would all crowd together and listen. 
 
 " It's daddy snoring." 
 
 It was past midnight when the tramping of a 
 horse was heard rapidly approaching. The dogs 
 barked fiercely, as if conscious of the necessity of 
 unusual vigilance, and then ceased all at once. A 
 loud voice called, " Who keeps house ?" 
 
 Those who were sitting up were afraid to move ; 
 but Mr. Hickman, accustomed to awake at the 
 slightest alarm, started up, and proceeded, with 
 his gun in his hand, to open the door cautiously. 
 My uncle entered. He had heard the rumour 
 vaguely repeated, had hurried home, and found, in 
 the smoking embers of his dwelling, a fatal con- 
 firmation of his worst fears. 
 
56 THE PIONEER. 
 
 Between that time and the dawn of day the 
 neighbours poured in, all armed, and prepared to 
 pursue the Indians. Some were ready for action : 
 others, who had repaired more hastily to the 
 rendezvous, upon the moment of receiving the 
 summons, now employed themselves in wiping out 
 their guns, cleaning the locks, changing the flints, 
 ami supplying their pouches with all the munitions 
 required for several days' service. Mr. Hickman 
 seemed to be tacitly agreed upon as the leader. 
 1 watched all his motions, and, young as I was, 
 saw with admiration the coolness and precision 
 with which he made his arrangements. He exa- 
 mined every part of his rifle with the most severe 
 scrutiny. He. placed a handful of bullets on t he- 
 table, and passed them rapidly through his fingers, 
 one by one, to ascertain that they were pert't < tl\ 
 round and smooth, rejecting those that were in 
 the slii:ht M degree defective. His flints and 
 patches underwent the same close inspection. 
 The tomahawk and knife were placed in his belt 
 then withdrawn and placed again until the 
 wary pioneer was satisfied that each was so ar- 
 ranged as to l>e capable of being quickly grasped 
 by the hand, in case of sudden need, and so secured 
 as not to be liable to be lost while the rider \\a> 
 dashing rapidly through the bushes. Grave and 
 taciturn all tin.' time, he was as cool as if preparing 
 for a hunt. 
 
THE PIONEER. 57 
 
 His wife hung round him during these opera- 
 tions, now officiously tendering her services 
 now leaning on his shoulder, and speaking to him 
 in a low voice, then retiring, as if overcome by 
 her fears, and sometimes secretly wiping away a 
 tear with the corner of her apron. 
 
 " John," she would say, " you won't lose no time, 
 I hope. Poor Sally ! she will be mighty bad off 
 'till she sees you comin it's sich a dreadful bad 
 fix for any body to be in." 
 
 " We sha'nt be long, I reckon." 
 
 " Take mighty good care of yourself, John 
 you know, dear, what a poor broken-hearted body 
 I'd be without you. Don't ride Ball, you know 
 he stumbles powerful bad, and falls down some- 
 times and his sight's so bad, he aint no account, 
 no how, in the night." 
 
 " I shall ride Dick no mistake in him." 
 
 " No two ways about Dick," reiterated the wife ; 
 " boys, go and feed Dick, and clean him, and fix 
 him good for your daddy to ride. And, John, 
 when you get up to the miserable varmints, don't 
 be too ambitious you know you're apt to be sort 
 o' quick when you're raised don't be too brash ; 
 if you can only get poor Sally Robinson away 
 from them, don't run no risks. You don't reckon 
 you'll have to fight with them, do you?" 
 
 " It's a little mixed," replied the husband. 
 
 " It would be a droll way to hunt Indians, and 
 
58 THE PIONEER. 
 
 not kill any of them," interrupted one of the 
 party. 
 
 " I'll be dogged if I don't save one of them," 
 added another. 
 
 " I allow to use up one or two," continued a 
 third. 
 
 "I'll never agree to return 'til we use up the 
 whole gang stock, lock, and barrel," added ano- 
 ther. . . 
 
 " They are the darndest puteranimous \\\ 
 gn the face of the whole y earth and 1 go in for 
 puttin the pewter to 'ern, accordin' to law," chimed 
 in a little dried up old man, who was whetting his 
 knit!' against the side nf the lire-place, and looking 
 as savage #s a mrat-axe. It was very obvious 
 that the Indians would get no quarter. 
 
 At daylight the party began to mount. All 
 completely equipped. I'ndrr every saddle 
 was a blanket, to save tin* Imrse's back behind it 
 was tied either a great coat or a blanket to sleep 
 in on this was lashed a wallet, containing several 
 provisions, and a tin cup dangled on the top 
 of the whole. Each man carried a good ritle, in 
 complete order, and had a knife and a tomahawk 
 in his belt. Their legs were covered, to protect 
 them from the briars, with dressed deer-skin not 
 made into any irannent, but rolled tightly round 
 the limb and tied with strings. Some wore shoes, 
 others moccasins some had hats, others rejected 
 
THE PIONEER. 59 
 
 this covering, and wore only a cotton handkerchief 
 bound closely round the head. When mounted 
 they bade adieu to their friends, and set out in 
 high spirits not observing any particular order 
 of march at first, but falling gradually into the 
 single file, as the most convenient arrangement 
 for passing rapidly through the forest. 
 
 Towards evening two of the party returned. 
 They brought the clothes of my sister which had 
 been found by the way, near the bank of the Ohio, 
 torn and bloody, but yet in a state to be identified. 
 There was other evidence, abundant and conclu- 
 sive, that the poor child had been murdered, and 
 her body thrown into the river. I cannot express 
 the poignancy of my sensations on receiving the 
 intelligence of this catastrophe. 1 had, until now, 
 sustained my spirits by the hope of her escape. I 
 would not believe that even a savage could wan- 
 tonly give pain, much less inflict death, upon my 
 innocent companion a sweet, rosy, laughing girl. 
 A girl ! a little girl 1 could not imagine it pos- 
 sible that any human creature, with the form of 
 manhood, would touch the life of a thing so 
 winning, so gentle, so helpless. 1 dreamed away 
 the day in painful excitement in feverish visions 
 of hope and fear ; but when the truth came I sunk 
 down in an agony* of grief and horror. I had not 
 realised the possibility of a catastrophe so terrible. 
 
 Another day was drawing near to a close. I 
 
(10 i in: PIONEER. 
 
 was withering under the pressure of affliction. 
 
 (irirf, watching, excitement, and loss of app 
 had produced a bodily exhaustion, attended with 
 extreme nervon> >eu<ihility. I had wandered off 
 hy myself, and came, I hardly know how, to the 
 blackened ruins of our calin. I seated myself 
 under a tree, in tli 'ed yard. It was a 
 
 bright calm evening ; the sun was sinking towards 
 tin- hori/.on, and the long shadows of the forest 
 extended o\er tin* spot. The cool air fanned my 
 burnini: hn>w, and brought a momentary sense of 
 relief from pain. Before me was a silent 'heap of 
 ashes but all else won- the air of home. A few 
 fruit lives that stood x-attrrrd around, were m 
 full blossom, and tin? UTS \\trc hummiiiir busily 
 among the llowers the birds sang, and the do- 
 nu-tic animals seemed t< \^ : ,\ return. 
 
 The cow, that had ; umnilked. 
 
 me the pii:s ran to meet in'- 
 and the fo\vl> gathered about the place wl. ' 
 sat, as if they r r whose protec- 
 
 tion had lx?eu withdrawn from them. Oh ! how 
 many ties there are to bind the soul to earth 1 
 \\hen the stronin-st are cut asunder, and the 
 spirit feels itself cast loose from every bond winch 
 connects it with mortality, bow imperceptibly 
 does one little tendril after another become en- 
 twined about it, and draw it b:ick \\ith [ 
 violence! lie who thinks he has but one i 
 
THE PIONEER. 61 
 
 always mistaken. The heart may have one 
 overmastering affection, more powerful than all 
 the rest, which, like the main root of the tree, is 
 that which supports it ; but if that be cut away, it 
 will find a thousand minute fibres still clinging to 
 the soil of humanity. An absorbing passion may 
 fill up the soul, and while it lasts, may throw a 
 shade over the various obligations, and the infinite 
 multitudes of little kindnesses, and tender associa- 
 tions, that bind us to mankind ; but when that 
 fades, these are seen to twinkle in the firmament 
 of life, as the stars shine, after the sun has gone 
 down. Even the brute, and the lilies of the field, 
 that neither toil nor spin, put in their silent claims ; 
 and the heart that would have spurned the world, 
 settles quietly down again upon its bosom. A 
 moment before, I was in despair ; and now I was 
 caressing the dumb animals around me. They 
 seemed like friends; and a something like joy 
 revived within me, as I reflected that I was not 
 entirely forsaken. I raised my eyes and my 
 heart to Heaven, with a feeling of thanksgiving, 
 and melted into tenderness. 
 
 I looked up and gazed around me. In the 
 edge of the forest, an object attracted my atten- 
 tion. It was the dim and shadowy representation 
 of a human figure. It moved ; and then seemed 
 to lean against a tree ; again it moved, and halted. 
 Could it be an Indian? Was the savage thirst 
 6 
 
62 THE PIONEER. 
 
 for blood not yet sated? Were they not to be 
 satisfied until all, even the last, of my unhappy 
 family, should have fallen under the tomahawk ? 
 I did not fly : I would not have moved from that 
 spot had a myriad of savages appeared, a legion 
 of devils could not have daunted my spirit in that 
 moment of stubborn- desperation. The figure 
 moved along under the shade of a long point of 
 timber, which approached td within a few yards 
 of the house advancing, and then halting, cau- 
 tiously as an insidious enemy, or painfully like a 
 friend, who came the bearer of unwelcome tidings. 
 I watched it with intense interest, until it came 
 near, and stepped from under the woody covert, 
 which had rendered the form indistinct, and 
 then I recognised, with unerring instinct, the 
 person of my mother. I rushed towards her, and 
 in a moment was in her arms. 1 gazed at her 
 with an overwhelming 'gush of joy and fondness- 
 but, oh ! how changed, how wretched was she I 
 Her bare feet were torn and bloody her clothes 
 were tattered into shreds her eyes red her 
 face pale and emaciated her frame exhausted 
 with fatigue. After being driven forward a whole 
 day, she had effected her escape in the night, and 
 had wandered back to the home which had been 
 desolated by the ruthless hand of the murderer and 
 incendiary. With my assistance she was enabled, 
 with much difficulty, to crawl to the house of our 
 
 
 
THE PIONEER. 63 
 
 kind neighbour, where she sunk down under her 
 bodily and mental sufferings, and remained some 
 days dangerously ill. 
 
 The party who had gone to her assistance, had 
 missed her on the way, but .had overtaken the 
 Indians, and attacked them with such spirit, that 
 one half the savages were slain in the first onset. 
 
 o 
 
 The remainder dispersed, and found safety in 
 flight. 
 
 We did not return to the spot which had proved 
 so calamitous to our unhappy family, but removed 
 to a place which was supposed to be less exposed 
 to danger. 1 had now no companion. The loss 
 of my little sister preyed upon my spirits. She 
 was continually the subject of my thoughts. I 
 often sat for hours together absorbed in visionary 
 speculations, founded upon the possibility of my 
 sister's escape from death. As is the case with 
 all dreamers, I did not examine the evidence for 
 the purpose of learning the truth, nor did I permit 
 the certainty of the catastrophe which had be- 
 fallen her to interfere with my theories ; but 
 assuming the premises which were necessary, I 
 proceeded to erect an airy superstructure, and to 
 luxuriate in the enjoyment of the " baseless fabric 
 of a vision." I exercised my ingenuity in imagin- 
 ing a variety of modes in which she might have 
 escaped from her captors, fancied for her some 
 present state of existence, under the protection of 
 
64 THE PIONEER. 
 
 kind benefactors, and realised the joy of her sud- 
 den and un<;\|)rrt<-d restoration. Sometimes I 
 supposed her to be living in captivity, and fancied 
 myself leading an armed party to her rescue 
 I went through all the stratagems and perils 
 of border warfare signalised myself by a series 
 of acts of almost miraculous daring delivered 
 my beloved sister fnmi bondage, and filled the 
 heart of my bereaved mother with joy and pride. 
 When I slept, the same fancies were ever present. 
 I strolled about with my sister, embarrassed by 
 the endeavour to reconcile the appearances of my 
 dream with the facts indelibly engraved upon my 
 memory. Sometimes she sat by me, with her 
 hand clasped in mine, and narrated a series of 
 adventures, which she had passed through since 
 our parting; but more frequently ^ she seemed to 
 laugh at my credulity, and pronounced our misfor- 
 tunes to have been all a dream. Often did I 
 awake in tears. 
 
 As I grew older, my tenderness began to give 
 way to sterner feelings. Accustomed to fear the 
 Indians from infancy, I began at last to hate them 
 with intense malignity. I had never heard them 
 spoken of but as enemies, to extirpate whom was 
 a duty. I had been taught to consider the si; 
 of an Indian, as an act of praiseworthy public 
 spirit. As my sorrow for the sufferings of those 
 who were dear to me began to harden into indig- 
 
 
THE PIONEER. 65 
 
 nation, the desire of revenge was kindled in my 
 bosom. This feeling was rapidly developed, be- 
 cause it was the only one connected with my 
 reveries which I could trace out to any practical 
 result. I could not bring my sister to life, nor 
 dispel the cloud of grief from the face of my 
 widowed mother : but I could strike the savage, I 
 could burn his dwelling, and desolate his fireside, 
 as he had desolated mine. This passion soon 
 gained a predominating mastery over my mind 
 as a rank weed shoots up and overshadows those 
 around it, the desire of revenge struck deep its 
 roots, grew rapidly into vigour, and smothered 
 the better emotions of my heart. 
 
 I procured a gun, and began to roam the forest. 
 In this country boys are permitted, at an early 
 age, to mingle in the sports of men, and my pro- 
 pensity for hunting did not excite any particular 
 remark. The hunters sometimes took me with 
 them ; but more often I wandered about alone. I 
 soon learned to shoot with precision, and became 
 expert in many of the devices of the backwoods- 
 man. 
 
 When I was about twelve years old, a village 
 was laid out in the neighbourhood in which we 
 then resided. The country was settling rapidly ; 
 several wealthy families from Virginia were 
 among the emigrants ; the frontier had been 
 6* 
 
66 mi: PIONEER. 
 
 further west, and with it had rolled the tide of 
 war. Society began to be organised, and many 
 of the luxuries of social life were introduced. 
 Among other improvements was a school, con- 
 ducted by a person of some erudition, who brought 
 with him a good many books, and was looked 
 upon as a prodigy of knowledge. 
 
 I was sent to school ; entered upon my* studies 
 with eagerness, and made rapid advances in learn- 
 ing. With a mind naturally inquisitive, and ac- 
 customed to rely upon itself, I had no difficulty in 
 mastering any task which was given me, and soon 
 became fond of reading. My teacher had in his 
 possession a number of volumes of history, which 
 f jKJruscd with avidity. A few classics, which 
 fell into my hands, I read over and over, with the 
 delight of a newly awakened admiration. . I com- 
 menced the study of the Latin language, and 
 gained a slight acquaintance with the mythology 
 and history of the ancients. In three years, my 
 character was much changed ; my mind was en- 
 larged, my affections softened, and the tone of my 
 morals considerably ameliorated. I still loved my 
 gun, and indulged my propensity for wandering in 
 the forest ; while my hatred of the Indians, and 
 that thirst for vengeance over which I had so long 
 brooded, were by no means blunted by the perusal 
 of those histories, in which the recitals of military 
 daring form a prominent part, and martial accom- 
 
THE PIONEER. 67 
 
 plishments are held up as exemplary virtues 
 worthy of the highest admiration. 
 
 I was little more than fifteen years of age, when 
 a number of the poorer families in the neighbour- 
 hood formed a party for the purpose of removing 
 to the settlements upon the Mississippi, in Illinois 
 a new country, which just then began to be 
 spoken of. My uncle and mother determined to 
 accompany them. I know., not what infatuation 
 induced them to brave again the perils of the 
 wilderness, after all their fatal experience. It is 
 probable that their only inducement was that love 
 of new lands, of fresh wild scenery, and of the 
 unconstrained habits of border life, which forms a 
 ruling passion with the people of the backwoods, 
 and which no chastening from the hand of adver- 
 sity can eradicate. 
 
 The only settlements of the Americans in Illi- 
 nois, at that time, were in the neighbourhood of 
 the French villages, which were scattered along 
 the American Bottom, on the Mississippi, from 
 Kaskaskia to the vicinity of St. Louis. We 
 embarked in two large boats; and, after -floating 
 quietly down the Ohio to the Mississippi, began 
 to ascend that wonderful river, proceeding slowly 
 against its powerful current. Sometimes a fail- 
 wind invited us to hoist our sails, and enabled us 
 for a while to move forward without labour ; but 
 usually our boats were pushed with poles, by the 
 
68 THE PIONEER. 
 
 most severe manual exertion. To get forward at 
 all in opposition to the current, it was necessary 
 to creep along close to the shore. But there 
 were places where it became impossible to make 
 any headway even by this method : where the 
 bank was perpendicular, the water too deep to 
 allow the use of poles, and the headlong stream 
 >\\ i-|t foaming against the shore. In such emer- 
 gencies it was impossible to proceed, except by 
 means of the cordelle, a strong cable attached to 
 the boat, by which the boatmen, walking on the 
 shore, dragged it past these dangerous places. 
 The shores, on both sides, were inhabited by 
 Indians, and our labours were rendered the more 
 burthensome, by the necessity of keeping up a 
 continual watch to prevent surprise. 
 
 One day we reached a place where the river is 
 closely hemmed in by rock on either side, and the 
 stream, confined within a more narrow space than 
 it usually occupies, rushes with great impetuosity 
 through the strait. It is one of the most difficult 
 passes on the riyer for ascending boats. Here, of 
 course, neither oars nor poles could be of any 
 avail, and arrangements were made for using the 
 con I t-llc. My uncle and mother were in the fore- 
 most borft I had happened to be, for the moment, 
 in the other, which, by some accident, was de- 
 tained, so as to fall a short distance into the rear. 
 The leading boat passed round a little point of 
 
THE PIONEER. 69 
 
 land, which concealed it from our view, and 
 immediately afterwards we heard the reports of 
 several rifles. The Indians had formed an am- 
 buscade at the point where they knew the crew 
 must land to use the cable, and had fallen upon 
 them at a moment when the difficulties of the 
 navigation absorbed their attention so entirely, 
 that they had forgotten their usual precautions, 
 and were not prepared either to fight or fly. On 
 hearing the alarm we endeavoured to hasten to 
 their assistance, aided by a breeze which filled 
 our sail, and bore us rapidly along. But we were 
 too late ; and, on turning the point, beheld the 
 other boat moored fast to the shore, and in pos- 
 . session of a hellish band of savage warriors, who 
 were dashing furiously about on the deck and on 
 the bank, .uttering the -most hideous yells. We 
 came near enough to see the bodies of our friends 
 stretched lifeless on the ground, or struggling in 
 the agonies of death surrounded by the monsters, 
 who were still beating them with clubs, and grati- 
 fying their demoniac thirst for blood in gashing 
 with their knives the already mutilated corpses. 
 Never did I behold a scene of such horror : lan- 
 guage has.no power to describe it, nor the mind 
 capacity to obliterate its impressions. Men, women, 
 and children, were alike the victims of an indis- 
 criminating carnage. The hell-hounds were lite- 
 rally tearing them in pieces, exulting, shouting, 
 
70 THE PIONEER. 
 
 smearing themselves with blood, and trampling on 
 the remains of their "wretched victims. 
 
 On our approach, they prepared for a new 
 triumph ; for their numbers so greatly exceeded 
 our own as to render victory certain. We had 
 advanced so near as to be within the range of a 
 heavy fire which they poured in, and the foaming 
 current seemed to be dashing us upon the rocks 
 on which they stood when our steersman, a cool 
 experienced man, suddenly threw the head of the 
 boat across the river, in the opposite direction, 
 and causing the sail to be trimmed suitably, shot 
 rapidly away from the scene of the massacre. A 
 shout of rage and disappointment burst from our 
 crew, who were thoughtlessly preparing to revenge 
 their friends. It was well that a more prudent 
 head directed our motions. The dead were be- 
 yond the reach of our aid, and the infuriated 
 savages, mad with victory, greatly outnumbered 
 ourselves. We found safety on the opposite shore, 
 where we remained in painful suspense until the 
 murderers retired, when we repaired to the me- 
 lancholy spot, and rendered, in silent fcgony, the 
 last sad rites to the remains of the fallen. Not 
 one of all that crew had escaped. I recognised, 
 with difficulty, the mangled bodies of my mother 
 and my uncle ; and kneeling beside the remains 
 of my parent, swore eternal vengeance against her 
 murderers against that race who had poisoned 
 
THE PIONEER. 71 
 
 the cup of her existence, -and, not content with 
 robbing her of all that made life dear, and of life 
 itself, had insulted her inanimate remains. 
 
 Enough of this. I cannot express the feelings 
 of a son under such circumstances the only son 
 of a widowed mother who had been almost her 
 sole companion, had shared her adversity, wit- 
 nessed her afflictions, and appreciated her mater- 
 nal fondness. I pass them over. 
 
 I began to lead a new life. I found myself at 
 Kaskaskia, a stranger. I had not a relative living, 
 and in this place I had no acquaintances. But my 
 story gained me much sympathy ; I was kindly 
 received every door was open to me, and every 
 heart seemed to feel that I had claims upon my 
 countrymen. 
 
 No degree of kindness, however, could soothe 
 my excited feelings. The determination to avenge 
 my mother's death, to be revenged for the loss 
 of a father, a sister, and an uncle, was unalterably 
 formed^ and thirst for the blood of the savage was 
 become an uncontrollable passion. I wandered 
 about in the woods and over the prairies spend- 
 ing my whole time in hunting, in increasing my 
 skill in the use of the rifle, and in rendering more 
 perfect my proficiency in the various devices of 
 the hunter. In my wanderings I became ac- 
 quainted with a Frenchman, who lived almost 
 entirely in the forest. He was a small, slender, 
 
72 Tin-: PIONEER. 
 
 quiet man, past the meridian of life. Taciturn 
 and inoffensive, he subsisted by hunting and fish- 
 ing, and had little communion with his own species. 
 He was never engaged in war, or in any kind of 
 altercation. Equally friendly with the whites and 
 tin; Indians, he visited the villages and the camps 
 of both, and was well received, although occasion- 
 ally suspected by each of acting as a spy for the 
 other. This suspicion was founded on the singu- 
 larity of his character, in which a great degree of 
 ignorance and childish simplicity was combined 
 with a, remarkable shrewdness in matters con- 
 nected with his own vocation. The latter was 
 very naturally supposed to arise from native saga- 
 rit\ . and the former to be the result of profound 
 divMinulation. What the trulh might be, I never 
 knew; but, to me, Peter seemed to be the most 
 unsophisticated of human beings; How it hap- 
 pened that I gained his confidence, does not now 
 occur to me ; for he was unsocial in his habits 
 and although, when he visited the French villages, 
 he cheerfully partook of the hospitality of his 
 countrymen* conversed freely, and was a delighted 
 spectator of their festivities, he soon wandered off, 
 and was not seen again for weeks, or even months. 
 To this singular being I attached myself, and 
 became the companion of his voluntary banishment 
 from society. We retired far from the 
 ments, avoiding equally the hunting grounds of 
 
THE PIONEER. 73 
 
 the Indians and the haunts of the white people. 
 Sometimes we encamped at a secluded spot on the 
 margin of a river, and spent our time in fishing. 
 Then we wandered away to the pastures of the 
 deer, living upon venison, and drying the skins of 
 our game. Again, we sought the- retreats of the 
 beaver, and, setting our traps, reposed quietly in 
 the neighbouring coverts to witness the success of 
 our arts. Occasionally we crept upon the elk or 
 the buffalo, and engaged, with the hunter's ardour, 
 in the pursuit of these noble animals ; and some- 
 times we circumvented the cunning of the wild 
 cat, or planned the destruction of the wolf or the 
 panther. To add variety to our meals, we plun- 
 dered the hoard of the wild bee ; and Peter soon 
 taught me to trace the industrious insect through 
 the air, from the flowery prairie, to his distant 
 home in the forest. When our supply of furs 
 became considerable, we collected them from their 
 different places of deposit at some point on the 
 river, and, embarking in a canoe, floated down to 
 the nearest village, where we exchanged them for 
 powder, lead, and other necessaries. 
 
 But I did not spend all my time in hunting and 
 fishing. Naturally observant, the little education 
 I had received had quickened my mental powers, 
 and rendered me keenly inquisitive into all the 
 arcana of nature. I noticed every thing around 
 me ; the appearances of the clouds, and the 
 7 
 
74 THE riONEEH. 
 
 changes of the weather the foliage of the trees, 
 and the growth of the multitudinous vegetal i 
 the wilderness the habits of animals, and the 
 various notes of the inhabitants of the forest, 
 but especially all the appearances of nature all 
 tin? varieties of sunlight and shade all the diver- 
 sities in the aspect of the natural scenery, from 
 midnight to noon, attracted my attention. Peter, 
 although not a naturalist, was an admirable teacher 
 in these studies. Accustomed to observe nature 
 in mi his infancy, he had become acquainted with 
 the secrets of the great volume, which all profess 
 to admire and but few understand. He could anti- 
 cipate the changes of the weather. He knew 
 when the moon would rise, and when the deer 
 would be stirring. He could select, with ready 
 tact, the most suitable pool for fishing, and could 
 tell the hour at which the fish would bite. Hi- 
 ear was acute in distinguishing sounds : if a wolf 
 stole past in tin; dark, he muld detect tlie fall of 
 his stealthy footstep in the rustling of the leal" or 
 the cracking of the twigs; and when the owl 
 hooted at midnight, he knew whether that scream 
 denoted the presence of an intruder, or was the 
 ordinary note with which the solitary bird so 
 his hour of recreation. There were few appear- 
 ances, and few sounds, which Peter could not 
 explain. He knew the points of the compass 
 and the landmarks of the country, and could find 
 
. THE PIONEER. 75 
 
 his way in the dark as well as in the daylight, 
 and under a clouded atmosphere as easily as in 
 the blaze of noon. 
 
 Under such tuition, I soon became also an ex- 
 pert woodsman. With an enterprising mind, a 
 frame naturally vigorous, and habits formed from 
 infancy upon the frontier, 1 had little to learn. 1 
 only needed experience, and this 1 now gained in 
 the school of practice. The backwoodsman ac- 
 quires great skill in the use of the rifle, because he 
 employs that weapon not merely in sport, but in the 
 pursuit of a serious occupation. It was particularly 
 so in those early times. If he made war, it was 
 usually at his own cost ; if he hunted, it was to pro- 
 cure a livelihood. In his long marches through the 
 woods, when he is absent several days, or perhaps 
 weeks, from home, he can cany but little ammu- 
 nition, and has no means of renewing his supply 
 when it becomes expended. Powder and lead are 
 scarce and costly in these secluded neighbour- 
 hoods. He is therefore cautious not to throw 
 away a charge, and seldom fires at random. He 
 creeps upon his enemy, or his game, gains every 
 available advantage, measures his distance, and 
 takes his aim, with great deliberation and accu- 
 racy, in any attainment, it is not practice 
 merely which secures perfection, but it is the 
 habit of careful practice, of always doing well that 
 which is to be done, and of aiming continually at 
 
76 THE PIONEER. 
 
 improvement. Such is the habit of our hunters, 
 who seldom discharge their rifles unnecessarily, 
 and who feel their own characters, and that of 
 their guns, at stake in ever^r shot which they fire. 
 There was one subject, however, which occu- 
 pied my mind especially one master purpose, 
 to which every feeling of my heart, and every 
 employment of my life, was subservient. My 
 thirst for revenge was unbounded. It filled up 
 my whole soul. I thought of little else than 
 schemes for the destruction of the savage. 1 was 
 maturing a stupendous plan of vengeance, and 
 bringing all the resources of my mind to bear* 
 upon this one subject. The feet of men are swift 
 to shed blood. I improved rapidly in the arts of 
 destruction. I practised all the deceptive strata- 
 gems, by which the hunter conceals himself from 
 an enemy, or baffles the instinct of the brute. I 
 could lie for hours so still, that a person, within a 
 few feet of me, would not liave suspected that a 
 living creature was near him ; and concealed my- 
 self so successfully, that even the Indian would 
 not have discovered me, unless he stepped by ac- 
 cident on my body. I could swim, and dive, and 
 lie all day in the water, with my head hidden 
 among the rushes, watching for prey. I learned 
 especially that patience, that forbearance, that 
 entire mastery over my appetites, fears, and pas- 
 sions, which enables the Indian to submit to any 
 
THE PIONEER. 77 
 
 privation, and to delay the impending blow until 
 all his plans are ripe, however alluring may be 
 the temptation for premature action. 
 
 I concealed my design from all, even from my 
 companion, Peter, while I was every day getting 
 from him the information requisite to advance 
 my purpose. I ascertained the names of the sur- 
 rounding tribes, their dispositions in respect to 
 the whites, and the location of their villages. I 
 obtained the names of their most celebrated 
 warriors, and particularly of such as were dis- 
 tinguished by deeds of violence against my coun- 
 trymen. But the information to which I listened 
 with the most thrilling interest, and treasured in 
 my inmost heart, related to the massacre of my 
 mother. I learned from the Frenchmen, that the 
 party which perpetrated that bloody deed, con- 
 sisted of a number of desperate individuals from 
 different villages, led by a lawless chief, who still 
 occasionally assembled the band for similar out- 
 rages. I treasured with pertinacious care the 
 names of those Indians, and the distinctive marks 
 by which they might be known. More than once, 
 when I heard that they were hunting in our neigh- 
 bourhood, I left my companion, silently tracked 
 their footsteps day after day, laid concealed by 
 the jpath along which they passed, or crept 
 secretly upon their camp ; until by close observa- 
 tion I made myself acquainted with their persons. 
 7* 
 
78 PIONEER. 
 
 All this was- the more difficult, because this band, 
 aware of the indignation which that unprovoked 
 murder had excited, avoided the white people, and 
 were constantly on their guard against surprise. 
 But what vigilance can guard against-the watch- 
 ful cunning of revenge revenge for the cold- 
 blooded butchery of a mother, a sister, and a 
 father, and the disruption of evr\ n> which hinds 
 a young and generous heart to existence ! 
 
 At length the long sought opportunity presented 
 itself. In the fall of the year succeeding that of 
 the massacre, I discovered that the hated band 
 were hunting on the margin of the Mississippi, 
 and were in the custom of retiring for safety, 
 every night, to an island in that river first 
 making thru- tin-, and arranging their camp on 
 the shore of the main land, as if with the inten- 
 tion of spen night there, and then secretly 
 < tea ling away to the island under the cover of 
 darkness. 
 
 I went to the nearest settlement where m\ 
 was well known, and had awakened a gener- 
 ous sympathy and laving aside my usual reserve, 
 boldly announced my plan, and asked for a band 
 of volunteers to assist in its execution. Such a 
 call was, at that period, seldom made in vain. 
 Warlike in their habits, and invt lostile 
 
 to the savages, the people of the frontier were 
 always ready for excursions of this character. 
 
THE PIONEER. 79 
 
 On this occasion the excitement was the more 
 easily kindled, because others had been bereaved 
 of relatives and friends, in the same catastrophe 
 which deprived me of my last parent, and all were 
 indignant at that outrage. The plan was well 
 matured, and rapidly executed. A company was 
 raised, equal in number to the Indians, all picked 
 men, and completely equipped. At midnight, 
 we assembled secretly on the bank of the river, 
 far above the island, and embarking in canoes, 
 floated quietly down. The night was cloudy, and 
 so perfectly dark, as to render it impossible that 
 we should be discovered from either shore. The 
 stream bore us along, and the noiseless paddle 
 accelerated and directed the motion of the canoe, 
 without creating the slightest sound which could 
 awaken alarm. We landed on the island without 
 confusion, and pursued the meanders of the shore 
 until we found the canoes of the enemy. These 
 we cut adrift, and pursuing a dim path, came to 
 the camp where the savages were lying asleep, 
 around the embers of a fire, all but a sentinel, 
 who, half awake, sat upon a log. Each man 
 selected his object, in accordance with a precon- 
 certed plan took a deliberate aim, and fired ; 
 and then drawing our tomahawks, we rushed in, 
 and ^grappled the astonished savages as they 
 sprung to their feet. So complete was the sur- 
 prise, that they had not time to grasp their arms 
 
80 THE PIONEER. 
 
 before the tomahawk was busy among them. A 
 few seized the nearest weapon, and fought with 
 desperation. But the conflict was soon over : 
 not one of that fated hand escaped to tell of their 
 r. Morning dawned over a scene reposing 
 in beautiful and majestic quiet; its rosy light 
 streaming over the variegated foliage, and glanc- 
 ing from the eddies and ripples of the turbid river 
 and there we sat, a grim and bloody company, 
 brooding over the gashod and mutilated bodies of 
 the slain, while a few scouts were busily ex- 
 ploring the island, to ascertain whether any of the 
 enemy were yet lurking in the bushes. Not one 
 was found ; and we departed in triumph, in that 
 silent and subdued triumph \\hich the sight of the 
 slain inspires in the box mi of the generous fi 
 hut yet with the emotions of satisfaction which 
 men feel, who believe that they have performed a 
 duty. 
 
 1 had supposed, previous to this event, that the 
 gratification of my revenge would give peace to 
 my bosom ; but this is a passion which grows 
 stronger by indulgence ; and no sooner had 1 
 tasted the sweets of vengeance, than I began to 
 feel an insatiable thirst for the blood of the savage. 
 U -iiinino my secluded habits, but without rejoin- 
 ing my former companion, I now lived entir 
 the woods, occupied with my own thoughts, and 
 pursuing, systematically, a plan of warfare against 
 
THE PIONEER. 81 
 
 that hated race whom I regarded with invincible 
 animosity. 1 followed the footsteps of their hunt- 
 ing parties, eagerly watching for an opportunity 
 to cut off any straggler who might wander away 
 from the others. For whole days 1 would lie con- 
 cealed by the paths which they travelled, or near 
 a spring which they frequented ; and if a single 
 Indian presented himself, I shot him down without 
 remorse, as I would have slain a wolf, or crushed 
 a rattlesnake. Sometimes 1 met a single warrior 
 openly, and we fought manfully, hand to hand : 
 that f was successful in those conflicts, is proved 
 by the fact that I am alive for those single com- 
 bats are usually fatal to one of the parties. But 
 more frequently 1 sought to engage them under 
 every advantage which might ensure success, not 
 feeling the obligation of any point of honour 
 which obliged me to meet an Indian on fair terms. 
 It happened, of course, that the advantage was 
 sometimes on their side ; occasionally, 1 fell in, 
 accidentally, with several of their warriors, or was 
 tracked and pursued by a party and then I 
 eluded them by cunning, or escaped by superior 
 swiftness of foot. They soon learned to know me 
 as their enemy, and scoured the woods in search 
 of me, with an eagerness equal to my own ; but 
 while they sought my life by every artifice known 
 to savage warfare, few of them were willing to 
 meet me single-handed ; for it is well understood. 
 
82 THE PIONEER. 
 
 that where the white man is trained to this species 
 of hostility, he is superior to the Indian, because 
 his physical powers are greater, and his courage 
 of a higher and more generous tone. 
 
 At length, tired of the monotony of the life I 
 led, and sated with carnage, I retired from the 
 woods, and betook myself to farming, living a 
 quirt and industrious life, and only resuming my 
 !<>i IIKT habits to join a hunting party, or to assist 
 \\ith others in the defence of the frontiers, in case 
 of an alarm. Once in a great while, however, 
 after a longer interval of quiet than usual, I took 
 my rifle, and strolled off to the woods to kill an 
 Indian, as another man would seek recreation in 
 hunting a deer or a panther. 
 
 It seems unnatural that a man should pur- 
 sue a life that may appear so ferocious and even 
 unprincipled. Hut you must not forget that i had 
 been raised upon the frontier ; that I had been 
 accustomed from infancy to hear the Indian 
 spoken of as an enemy as a cowardly, malevo- 
 lent, and cruel savage, who stole upon the unpro- 
 tected, in the hour of repose, and murdered with- 
 out respect to age or sex ; that many atrocities 
 had been perpetrated within my own knowledge, 
 or related to me by those who had seen them; 
 and that 1 h;ul suffered more than others by this 
 detested race. Those who know the relations of 
 mutual aggression, and continual alarm, which 
 
THE PIONEER. 83 
 
 existed between the pioneers and the Indians, in 
 the first settlement of the country, can easily 
 imagine that the hatred they felt towards each 
 other was intense and permanent; and that an 
 individual, who considered himself more deeply 
 injured than the rest, might naturally have sup- 
 posed himself justifiable in seeking a more than 
 ordinary measure of retaliation* 
 
 I come now to a circumstance which changed 
 the tone of my feelings, and the whole colour of 
 my life. One day, towards the close of summer, 
 I had gone out bee-hunting. Our practice was to 
 find the bee-trees, at our leisure, during the sum- 
 mer, and mark them with a tomahawk ; each 
 hunter used his own mark, and respected those of 
 others ; and at the proper season, we went out 
 with some axe-men, and proper vessels, cut down 
 the trees, and collected the honey. I had set out 
 early, and spent the day in roaming over a wild 
 unfrequented tract, in search of trees. To find 
 them, I watched the bees, observing, as they left 
 the flowers, clogged with honey, the course they 
 flew or I set bee-bait, usually a little salt and 
 water, in an open vessel, which these insects sip 
 greedily, and then marked the direction of their 
 flight. The bee, in returning home, always flies 
 in a direct line ; and the experienced hunter, hav- 
 ing observed the course, can follow it so accu- 
 rately, that he seldom fails to find the tree. This 
 
84 THE PIONEER. 
 
 he is enabled to do, partly by knowing the 
 kind of trees to examine, and partly by the 
 acuteness of his eye and ear, which enables him, 
 when near the place, to see the insects hover- 
 ing about it, or to hear the hum of those busy 
 labourers. 
 
 I delighted in this employment. I loved to sit 
 in the edge of the prairie, and gaze upon its un- 
 dulating surface, to see the waving of the tall 
 grass as the wind swept over it, to mark the 
 various colours of the flowers, to follow the labo- 
 rious bee in her active flight along the plain, to 
 behold the celerity and skill with which she 
 gathered her harvest of sweets from this immense 
 garden, and to trace her through the air as she 
 darted away, laden with spoil, to her forest home. 
 1 loved the quirt of this solitary sport. The 
 admirer of nature always reaps instruction in gaz- 
 ing upon her scenes of native luxuriance. The 
 wisdom of Providence is so infinite, the ingenuity 
 displayed in all the arcana of the animal and 
 vegetable creation is so diversified, that every day 
 thus spent discloses new facts, and suggests a 
 novel train of reflection. In the few years I had 
 spent at school, 1 had read enough to excite 
 curiosity, and to invigorate the powers of thought ; 
 and so indelibly were those studies impressed upon 
 my memory, that the classic images of the 
 ancient writers arose continually in my mind, and 
 
THE PIONEER. 85 
 
 famished pleasing illustrations of those natural 
 appearances by which I was surrounded. 
 
 On that day, my mind, thus calmed by an agree- 
 able train of association, had wandered back to 
 the period of childhood, and I thought of the sister 
 who had been my companion, and whose death I 
 had so amply revenged. I tried to recall her fea- 
 tures, and the sports in which we had engaged 
 together. 1 speculated on what she might have 
 become, had the ruthless hand of the savage 
 spared her to grow up to maturity. She would 
 now have attained the bloom of womanhood, and 
 her softness would have restrained those fierce 
 passions, the long indulgence of which had hard- 
 ened my heart, and thrown a gloom over my 
 mind. She would perhaps have been a wife and 
 a mother ; my affections would have become en- 
 twined with those of other beings, and, instead of 
 being a solitary man, standing alone in the world, 
 like the blasted and wind-shaken tree of the 
 prairie, I should have grown up surrounded by 
 hearts allied to my own, and have struck down my 
 roots into the soil, and interlocked my branches 
 with those of my kindred. 
 
 I had begun, very recently, to doubt the pro* 
 priety of cherishing those feelings of implacable 
 resentment, which I had indulged through my 
 whole life, of brooding over the melancholy disas- 
 ters of my youth, and of pursuing that systematic 
 6 
 
86 THE PIONEER. 
 
 plan of destruction, which kept my h;m<l con- 
 tinually imbued in blood, and my mind agitated 
 by the tempest of passion. Not that I quest i 
 for a moment my right to destroy the savage: 
 that was a principle too deeply ingrained in my 
 nature to be eradicated the dreadful maxim of 
 LTG was pricked upon my heart with the point 
 of a sharp instrument, and the characters stood 
 there indelibly recorded. Filial piety sanctioned 
 the promptings of nature ; and I believed that in 
 killing a savage I performed my duty as a man, 
 and served my country as a citizen. But I had 
 begun to discover the injurious effects of my mode 
 of life upon my own character and happiness. It 
 had rendered me moody and unsocial. It kept 
 me estranged from society, encouraged a habit of 
 self-torture, and perpetuated a chain of indignant 
 and sorrowful reflections. 1 saw that others for- 
 gave injury, and forgot bereavement; the cloud 
 passed over them, like the storm of the summer 
 da\ . Mack nn<l terrible in its fury, but brief in its 
 continuance', and the sunshine of peace beamed 
 out again upon them while I had disdained con- 
 solation, had fled the kindness of fellow-creatures, 
 and had repelled the healing balm which Provi- 
 dence pours into the wounds of the afflicted. 
 
 Occupied by such thoughts, the day wore away, 
 the sun was sinking in the west, and I entered a 
 thick wood, for the purpose of making my camp 
 
THE PIONEER. 87 
 
 for the night, on the margin of a small river that 
 meandered through it. Habitually cautious, I ap- 
 proached the place with noiseless steps, when I 
 perceived, on the bank of the stream, the hunting- 
 lodge of an Indian a slight shelter, made by 
 throwing a few mats over some poles which were 
 stuck in the ground. I examined the priming of 
 my rifle, loosened my knife in its sheath, changed 
 a little my direction, so as to advance against the 
 wind, and crept stealthily upon the unguarded 
 hunter. He was stretched on the ground, lazily 
 sleeping away the afternoon, and was not armed 
 nor painted having evidently sought this quiet 
 spot, with his family, for the purpose of supporting 
 them by fishing. His wife, whose back was to- 
 ^ards me, was busily engaged in some domestic 
 employment ; a child, perfectly naked, was wal- 
 lowing in the sand, and another, an infant, was 
 lashed to a board which leaned against a tree near 
 the mother. All were silent. I crept up with 
 the noiseless motion of a disembodied spirit, in- 
 tending to despatch the hunter as he lay inert 
 upon the ground. I had never yet spared a 
 warrior of that race ; and, as my contempt for 
 them prevented me from feeling any pride in such 
 exploits, I exulted in the prospect of an easy 
 victory. All the reasoning of that day faded at 
 once from my mind ; but the recollections of my 
 childhood, which had been called up, gave a fresh- 
 
88 TJIE PIONEER. 
 
 ness to my desire for revenge. I had never aimed 
 a blow against a woman or a child ; they were 
 sacred from any violence at my hand. But when 
 I saw that Indian father, with his wife and his two 
 children, the coincidence in the number and ages 
 of the family reminded me of the fireside of my 
 father, as it must have been when desolated by his 
 death ; and I felt a malignant delight in the idea 
 of invading this family as mine had been invaded, 
 and blasting their peace by crushing their protec- 
 tor, there, on that \t-ry -]>>!, in the presence of his 
 innocent and helpless dependents. He was com- 
 pletely in my power : I could shoot him from the 
 spot where I stood. There was no chance for his 
 escape. But I approached still nearer. We \N i < 
 separated but a few paces, and I stood behind the 
 trunk of a large tree, which completely concealed 
 me. Once he expanded his nostrils, as if the scent 
 of a white man had reached him and once he 
 turned his ear towards the ground, as if the sound 
 of a footstep vibrated upon it ; but his indolence 
 prevailed over his vigilance. 
 
 I was about to raise my rifle, for the purpose of 
 tiring, when the woman turned her face towards 
 inr and stood erect. I had before remarked that 
 her stature was taller than that of the squaws, >\ hu 
 are usually *hort, and that her hair, which hung 
 plaited in one thick roll down her back, was not 
 black, ami 1 now saw that she was not of Indian 
 
THE PIONEER. 89 
 
 descent. Although browned by long exposure to 
 the weather, her features and complexion were 
 those of my own countrywomen. But what struck 
 me most, and almost deprived me of my self-pos- 
 session, was her likeness to my deceased mother. 
 Had it not been for the difference of age, I should 
 have been persuaded that my parent stood before 
 me. The height, the figure, the complexion, the 
 expression of countenance, were all so similar, 
 that, notwithstanding the Indian costume in which 
 the female before me was clad, she was the exact 
 representation of my mother, as I recollected her 
 in my early years not as I remembered her in 
 after times, when broken down by widowhood and 
 suffering. 
 
 A thought rushed across my mind. The age 
 of that young woman corresponded with the years 
 to which my sister would have attained, had she 
 lived. What a gush of feeling overwhelmed and 
 almost burst my heart, as this suspicion arose 
 what delight, what indignation ! Could it be pos- 
 sjible that my sister had survived, and that I found 
 her thus the wife of a savage, the mother of a 
 spurious offspring of that degraded race ! My 
 arm sunk, the gun rested on the ground, and I 
 leaned against the tree. I stood for a long while 
 watching the group with intense interest pur- 
 suing the female especially with an eye of eager 
 curiosity. In what slight circumstances do we 
 8* 
 
90 THE PIONEER. 
 
 discover resemblance ! When she moved, there 
 was the air of my mother ; if she spoke to her 
 children, there was the voice ; if she smiled, there 
 was my mother's smile. My parent had been 
 handsomer than most women, and this young fe- 
 male, though her features were hardened by toil 
 and weather, though the wildness of the Indian 
 glance was in her eye, and the vacancy of igno- 
 rance was in her countenance, was yet beautiful, 
 and like my mother! 
 
 Convinced that 1 saw my sister, conflicting 
 (motions took possession of my mind, and I be- 
 came irresolute of purpose. At one moment I 
 felt more determined than ever to slay the Indian, 
 whose alliance with my only relative I considered 
 a new insult, and a deeper injury than all others ; 
 then I melted into tenderness as I gazed on her. 
 I looked at her children, and recoiled at the idea 
 of the unnatural union which had brought them 
 into existence 1 looked at herself, and felt the 
 stirrings of a brother's affection. 
 
 At last I determined to resolve my doubts ; and, 
 subduing every appearance of emotion, I emerged 
 from my concealment and walked slowly towards 
 the lodge. On discovering me, the woman, with- 
 out betraying her surprise, uttered a low admo- 
 nition to her husband, who arose to receive me, 
 watchful, yet assured by the pacific manner of my 
 approach. I seated myself on a log the Indian 
 
THE PIONEER. 91 
 
 followed my example, with an appearance of per- 
 fect indifference, while his vigilant eye wandered 
 covertly to my gun, and then to the lodge where 
 his own was deposited. The woman, with a simi- 
 lar expression of apathy in her countenance, threw 
 her glance hastily into the forest, and listened, as 
 if to discover whether other footsteps were ap- 
 proaching. There was a silence for some minutes 
 all parties were equally jealous, but all assumed 
 the same careless air of indifference. At last the 
 Indian, who spoke English tolerably well, said, 
 
 " Is the white man hungry ?" 
 
 I replied, " No." 
 
 " Does the white man require a cup of water ?" 
 
 " I am not thirsty." 
 
 "Is the white hunter seeking for a place to 
 sleep? There is my lodge, and the night is 
 coming." 
 
 " I am not tired, and I never rest in a wigwam ; 
 when I sleep, the earth is my bed and the heavens 
 my covering ; I am not a fox, to hide myself in a 
 hole." 
 
 " The white stranger is wise," said the Indian 
 with a mock gravity. 
 
 " I come," said I, " with the words of peace in 
 my mouth I wish to hold council with a friend." 
 
 "It is not usual for friends to talk together, 
 when one of them holds a gun in his hand." 
 
 I took the hint, and laid down my rifle. 
 
9'J THE PIONEER. 
 
 " Let us smoke," said I, " I have something of 
 great importance to say." 
 
 The Indian made a sign to his wife, who went 
 into the lodge and brought a pipe. It was lighted ; 
 each smoked a few whiffs in silence, and passed it 
 gravely to the other. 
 
 I now enquired into the lineage of the female, 
 wh<> had so much interested me, but found both 
 herself and her husband vny unwilling to com- 
 municate any intelligence on the subject. They 
 affected to misunderstand my questions, and gave 
 vague and cold replies. Determined to unveil the 
 mystery, I threw off all leserve, told them I had 
 lost a sister, and repeated some of the circum- 
 stances of her capture. They listened attent 
 and the woman became interested. They admit tfl 
 that she had been stolen from the whites when a 
 <-hil<], but at first disclaimed all knowledge of any 
 of the facts. At length the woman, giving way to 
 her curiosity, which became excited, began to re- 
 peat some reminiscences which she said remained 
 dimly impressed on her mind. She thought she 
 remembered a little boy that used to play with 
 her, and repeated some circumstances which I 
 well recollected. She distinctly remembered that 
 she was playing with her little brother near a 
 small stream, in a valley, when the Indians seized 
 her and carried her away. Other facts were 
 related, which had been gathered from the In- 
 
THE PIONEER. 93 
 
 dians who composed the party such as the burn- 
 ing of the house, and the capture and escape of 
 the mother and it was rendered certain that I 
 had found my long lost sister ! The recognition 
 was mutual ,* all parties being satisfied that we 
 were indeed the children of the same parents. 
 
 This conversation lasted until night, when I de- 
 clined an invitation to. sleep in the lodge, and set 
 out in a direction towards home; but no sooner 
 was I out of sight of the Indian camp, than I made 
 a circuit through the woods, and having reached 
 a spot directly 'opposite to the course on which 1 
 started, prepared to rest until morning. Such 
 was my habitual caution, and such my distrust of 
 an Indian, even though married to my sister. 
 
 Early in the morning I sought their camp. 
 They were not surprised to see me having under- 
 stood, and no doubt applauded, the caution which 
 induced me to lodge apart from them. We break- 
 fasted together ; and my sister conversed with me 
 more freely than before. The Indians had treated 
 her kindly, and she was satisfied with her condi- 
 tion. When I asked her if she was happy, she 
 cast an enquiring glance at her husband, and 
 shook her head, as if she did riot understand the 
 question. I desired to know if her husband 
 treated her kindly, when she replied, that he 
 was a good hunter, and supplied her well with 
 food, that he seldom got drunk, and had never. 
 
94 THE PIONEER. 
 
 beaten her but once, when, she had no doubt, she 
 deserved it ; to which the husband added, that she 
 behaved so well as to require but little correction. 
 As the restraint, caused by my presence, began to 
 wear away, and 1 was left to converse with her 
 more freely, I invited her to forsake her savage 
 companion, to place herself under my protection, 
 and to resume the habits of civilised life. She 
 received my proposition coldly, and declined it 
 with a slight smile of contempt. 
 
 The whole interview was painful and embar- 
 rassing. I could not look at the 'Indian husband 
 of my sister without aversion, and her children, 
 with their wild dark eyes, and savage features, 
 were to me objects of inexpressible loathing. 
 Between my sister and myself there were no 
 points of sympathy, no common attach n 
 nothing to bind us by any tie of affection or 
 esteem, or to render the society of either agree- 
 able to the other. The bond of consanguinity 
 becomes a feeble and tuneless chord, when it 
 ceases to unite hearts which throb in unison ; like 
 the loosened and detached string of a m musical 
 instrument, it has no melody in itself, but only 
 yields its delightful notes when attuned in har- 
 mony with the other various affections of the 
 heart. There had been a time, when the name of 
 sister was music to my ear, when it was sur- 
 rounded with tender and romantic associations, 
 
THE PIONEER. 95 
 
 and when it called up those mingled emotions of 
 love, respect, and gallantry, with which we regard 
 a cherished female relative. But I had seen her, 
 and the illusion was destroyed. Instead of the 
 lovely woman, endued with the appropriate graces 
 of her sex, I found her in the garb of the wilder- 
 ness, the voluntary companion of a savage, the 
 mother of squalid imps, who were destined to a 
 life of rapine ; instead of a gentle and rational 
 being, I saw her coarse, sunburned, and ignorant 
 without sensibility, without feminine pride, and 
 with scarcely a perception of the moral distinc- 
 tions between right and wrong. I left her. We 
 parted as we had met, in coldness and suspicion. 
 She gave me no invitation to repeat my visit, and 
 I had secretly resolved never to see her again. 
 
 In sorrow did I begin to retrace my steps 
 towards my own dwelling. Slowly, and under a 
 sense of deep humiliation, did I wander back to 
 the habitations of my own people. My heart was 
 changed. A shadow had fallen upon my spirit, 
 which gave a new hue to all my feelings. I could 
 feel that I was an altered man. 
 
 I reached the. edge of the prairie, and seated 
 myself upon an elevated spot, under the shade of a 
 large tree. The wide lawn was spread before me, 
 glowing with the beams of the noon-day sun. A 
 gentle breeze fanned my temples that were throb- 
 bing with the excitement of deep emotion. The 
 
96 TIM-: PIONEER. 
 
 angry passions of my heart were all hushed. The 
 storm of the soul had ceased to rage. Revenge 
 was obliterated. The blight of disappointment 
 IKK! fallen upon me, and withered all the currents 
 of feeling. The past was a dream a chaos. 
 New-born feelings struggled for existence. I pro- 
 nounced my sister's name, and burst into tears. 
 
 How grateful it is to weep when the heart is 
 oppressed ! How soothing is that gush of tender* 
 ness, which, as it pours itself out, seems to relieve 
 the bursting fountains of sensibility, and to draw 
 off a flood of bitterness from the soul ! 
 
 A more calm and a more wholesome train of 
 reflection succeeded. I had long cherished a 
 vision, which one moment had destroyed. In the 
 place of an infant sister who was lost to me, I had 
 created the image of an ideal being, who became 
 invested with all the loveliness which an ardent 
 fancy could depict and giving the rein to my 
 imagination, I had alternately revenged her death, 
 or had indulged the fond anticipation of meeting 
 her a^ain, not only in the bloom of womanhood, 
 but in the possession of those virtues and attrac- 
 tions which give dignity and beauty to the female 
 character. She had been the companion of my 
 childish sports ; and while I cherished an intense 
 fondness for my early playmate, could I doubt that 
 her heart, if still in existence, throbbed with a 
 responsive feeling ? I had seen her, and the illusion 
 
THE PIONEER. 9*7 
 
 was dispelled. The murderers of our mother 
 and our father had taken her to their bosoms, and 
 her destiny was linked with theirs. She was the 
 wife and mother of savages. 
 
 Yes my sister -, she, for whom I would have 
 willingly offered up my life, and whose image had 
 so long been treasured in my memory, was con- 
 tented, perhaps happy, in the embraces of a 
 savage, at the very time when I was lying in 
 ambush by the war-path, or painfully following 
 the trace of the painted warrior, to revenge her 
 supposed wrongs. And she had witnessed from 
 childhood those atrocious rites, the very mention 
 of which causes the white man's blood to curdle 
 with horror, and had grown familiar with scenes 
 of torture and murder, with the slaughter of the 
 defenceless prisoner, and the shriek of the dying 
 victim. She had assisted in decking her warrior 
 husband for the battle field, and received him to 
 her arms, while the guilty flush of the midnight 
 massacre was still upon his cheek. She had 
 heard him recount his exploits. She had listened 
 to the boastful repetition of his warlike deeds, 
 wherein he spake of the stealthy march towards 
 the habitations of the white man of the darkness 
 that hung around the settler's cabin of the silence 
 and repose within of the sudden onset of the 
 anguish of that little family, aroused from slumber 
 by the flames curling over their heads, and the 
 9 
 
98 THE FIOXEER. 
 
 \ells of savages around them of the children 
 clin<rinir to their mother, and the wife slaughtered 
 upon her hu-band's hosom with all the revolting 
 particulars of those demoniac scenes of carnage. 
 Sin- had been an attentive and an approving audi- 
 tor, for h<?r husband was the narrator and the 
 hero, and her children were destined to acquire 
 reputation by emulating hi^ achievements. 
 
 It was enough to have met her in that hated 
 _jarh 1< ha\e seen her sallow ch wary 
 
 eye, and her countenance veiled in the insipid 
 ignorance of an uncivilised woman to have found 
 her the drudge of an Indian hunter to have 
 learned that .she had forgotten her brother, and 
 become estranged from the people of her blood 
 but the conviction that I !hn^ com- 
 
 panion of murd irift "fa trained assassin, 
 
 weighed down my heart with a pang of unutterable 
 anguish. 
 
 " But if t, K I .'" 
 
 1 was startled. I looked around; for it seemed 
 
 as if a TOIQe had addressed me. But ther- 
 
 no one ni^li no form was to be seen, and not a 
 
 footstep rustled the grass. It was conscience that 
 
 that question. It was the inward ino\ing 
 
 of m\ nt. There was nothing around me 
 
 to surest it. I looked abroad upon the plain, 
 
 ami all was silent, and beautiful, and bright. The 
 
 sun was shining in unclouded 1 r the 
 
THE PIONEER. 99 
 
 spacious lawn, the flowers bloomed in gaudy 
 splendour, the bee was busy, and the bird sang. 
 The face of nature was reposing in serene beauty, 
 and every living thing was cheerful, except my- 
 self. 
 
 And why was 1 unhappy ? A blight had fallen 
 upon my youth, and every tie that bound me to 
 my race was severed. True : but others had 
 been thus bereaved, without becoming thus incur- 
 ably miserable. They had formed new ties, and 
 become re-united to humanity by other affections, 
 while I had refused to be comforted. They had 
 submitted to the will of God, while I had followed 
 the devices of my own heart. 
 
 These reflections were painful, and I tried to 
 resume my former train of thought. But con- 
 science had spoken, and no man can hush its 
 voice. We may wander long in error, the per- 
 verted mind may grope for years in guilt or in 
 mistake, but there is a time when that faithful 
 monitor within, which is ever true, will speak. 
 That small still voice, which cannot be suppressed, 
 again and again repeated 'the appalling question: 
 
 " If they are murderers, what are you ?" 
 
 The difference, 1 replied, is that between the 
 aggressor and the injured party. They burned 
 the home of my childhood, arid murdered all my 
 kindred. I have revenged the wrong. They 
 made war upon my country, ravaged its borders, 
 
100 THE PIONEER. 
 
 i<!\v its people. 1 have struck them in re- 
 taliation. 
 
 Hut had they suffered no injury? Was it true 
 that they were the first agressors ? I had n< \ r 
 examined this question. Revenge is a poor casu- 
 ist ; and, for the first time in my life, I began to 
 think it possible, that mutual aggressions had 
 placed both parties in the wrong, and that either 
 might justly complain of the aggressions of the 
 other. 
 
 That which gave me the most acute pain, and 
 which was the immediate cause of the self-accusa- 
 tory train of reflection into which 1 had fallm, 
 no conviction that nearly my whole life had 
 been passed in delusion. I had imii-ined the 
 death of a sister who was living I had punished, 
 as her destroyers, those who had treated her \\\\\\ 
 kindness I had spent years in a retaliating \\ar- 
 fare, which, so far as she was concerned, was 
 unjust. I had watched, and fought, and H. 
 incredible hardships, for one who neither needed 
 m\ interference, claimed my protection, nor was 
 capable of feeling any gratitude for the sacrifices 
 which I had made. If, in respect to her, I had 
 been thus far deluded, might 1 not have been in 
 error in regard to other parts of my scheme ? 
 Admitting that it was justifiable to revenge the 
 murder of my parents, had I not exceeded the 
 equitable measure of retaliation ? It is one of tbc 
 
THE PIONEILIU v i'Ol 
 
 strongest arguments against. -the ^incipie, of re- 
 venge, that it is directed by no rule, and bounded 
 by no limit. The aggrieved party is the judge of 
 his own wrong, and the executioner of his own 
 sentence ; and the measure of recompense is sel- 
 dom in proportion to the degree of offence. 
 
 When once the heart is disturbed by suspicions 
 of its own rectitude, and the work of repentance is 
 commenced, there is no longer any neutral ground 
 upon which it is satisfied to rest. It must smother 
 the suggestions of conscience, or carry them out 
 to complete conviction* Adopting the latter 
 course, I went mournfully home, resolved to study 
 my own heart. Resorting to that sublime code of 
 morals, some of whose precepts had been im- 
 pressed upon my infant mind by the careful solici- 
 tude of a mot-her, and testing my conduct by its 
 unerring rules, I learned to look back with horror 
 upon the bloody path which I had trod through 
 life ; and I determined, by the usefulness of my 
 future years, to endeavour to make some atone- 
 ment for rny former guilty career of crime and 
 passion. 
 
 The garb I now wear, and the employment in 
 which you find me, sufficiently explain the result 
 of my reflections, 'and the extent of my reforma- 
 tion. 
 
102 
 
 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 On the borders of the Mississippi may be seen 
 mains of an old French village, which once 
 boasted a numerous population of as happy and as 
 thoughtless souls as ever danced to a violin. It 
 content is wealth, as philosophers would fain per- 
 suade us, they wen <>|>ul<-nt : hut th**y would have 
 been reckoned miserably poor by those who esti- 
 mate worldly rich - hy the more popular standard. 
 Their houses were scattered in disorder, like the 
 tents of a wandering tribe, along the margin of a 
 deep bayou, and not far from its confluence with 
 the river, between which and the town was a strip 
 of rich alluvion, covered with a gigantic growth 
 of forest trees. Beyond the bayou was a swamp, 
 which, during the summer heats, was nearly dry, 
 but in the rainy season presented a vast lake of 
 several miles in extent. The whole of this morass 
 was thickly set with cypress, whose interwoven 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 103 
 
 branches, and close foliage, excluded the sun, and 
 rendered this as gloomy a spot as the most melan- 
 choly poet ever dreamt of. And yet it was not 
 tenantless and there were seasons when its dark 
 recesses were enlivened by notes peculiar to itself. 
 Here the young Indian, not yet entrusted to wield 
 the tomahawk, might be seen paddling his light 
 canoe among the tall weeds, darting his arrows at 
 the paroquets that chattered among the boughs, 
 and screaming and laughing with delight as he 
 stripped their gaudy plumage. Here myriads of 
 musquitoes filled the air with an incessant hum, 
 and thousands of frogs attuned their voices in har- 
 monious concert, as if endeavouring to rival the 
 sprightly fiddles of their neighbours ; and the owl, 
 peeping out from the hollow of a blasted tree, 
 screeched forth his wailing note, as if moved by 
 the terrific energy of grief. From this gloomy 
 spot, clouds of miasm rolled over the village, 
 spreading volumes of bile and dyspepsia abroad 
 upon the land ; and sometimes countless multi- 
 tudes of musquitoes, issuing from the humid 
 desert, assailed the devoted village with incon- 
 ceivable fury, threatening to draw from its inha- 
 bitants every drop of French blood which yet 
 circulated in their veins. But these evils by no 
 means dismayed, or even interrupted the gaiety of 
 this happy people. When the musquitoes came, 
 the monsieurs lighted their pipes, and kept up not 
 
104 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 only a brisk fire, but a dense smoke, airainst the 
 assailants; and when the fever threatened, the 
 priest, \\lx> was also the doctor, flourished his 
 lancet, the fiddler flourished his bow, and the 
 happy villagers flourished their heels, and sang, 
 and laughed, and fairly cheated death, disease, 
 and the doctor, of patient and of prey. 
 
 Beyond the town, on the other side, was an 
 
 \(< n-ivc pr.iirie a vast unbroken plain of rich 
 green, embellished with innumerable flowers of 
 every tint, and whose beautiful surface presented 
 no other variety than here and there a huge 
 mound the veii'-rable monument of departed ages 
 or a solitary tiro of stinted growth, shattered 
 by the blast, and pining alone in the gay <: 
 The prospect was bounded by a range of tall 
 Mull's, which overlooked the prairie covered at 
 some points with Droves of timber, and at others 
 exhibiting their naked sides, or high, bald peaks, 
 to the eye of the beholder. Herds of di T miirht 
 be seen here at sunrise, slyly retiring to their co- 
 verts, after rioting away the night on the rich 
 pasturage. Here the lowing kine lived, if not in 
 
 lover, at least in something equally nutritious; 
 and here might be seen immense droves of French 
 ponies, roaming untamed, the common stock of 
 the village, ready to be reduced to servitude by 
 any lady or gentleman who chose t<> Pike the 
 trouble. 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 105 
 
 With their Indian neighbours the inhabitants 
 had maintained a cordial intercourse, which had 
 never yet been interrupted by a single act of ag- 
 gression on either side. It is worthy of remark, 
 that the French have invariably been more suc- 
 cessful in securing the confidence and affection of 
 the Indian tribes than any other nation. Others 
 have had leagues with them, which, for a time, 
 have been faithfully observed ; but the French 
 alone have won them to the familiar intercourse 
 of social life, lived with them in the mutual inter- 
 change of kindness ; and, by treating them as 
 friends and equals, gained their entire confidence. 
 This result, which has been attributed to the saga- 
 cious policy of their government, is perhaps more 
 owing to the conciliatory manners of that amiable 
 people, and the absence among them of that insa- 
 tiable avarice, that boundless ambition, that reck- 
 less prodigality of human life, that unprincipled 
 disregard of public and solemn leagues, which, in 
 the conquests of the British and the Spaniards, 
 have marked their footsteps with misery, and 
 blood, and desolation. 
 
 This little colony was composed, partly, of emi^ 
 grants from France, and partly of natives not 
 Indians but bonajide French, born in America; 
 but preserving their language, their manners, and 
 their agility in dancing, although several genera- 
 tions had passed away since their first settlement* 
 
106 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 Here they lived perfectly happy, arid well th< -\ 
 might for they enjoyed, to the full extent, those 
 Nestings on which our declaration of inde- 
 pendence has laid so much stress life, liberty, 
 and the pursuit of happiness. Their lives, it is 
 true, were sometimes threatened hy the mia-m 
 aforesaid ; but this was soon ascertained to be an 
 imaginary danger. For whether it was owing to 
 their temperance, or their cheerfulness, or their 
 activity, or to their being acclimated, or to the 
 want of attraction between French people and 
 fever, or to all these together certain it is, that 
 they were blessed with a degree of health only 
 enjoyed by the most favoured nations. As to 
 liberty, the wild Indian scarcely possessed more; 
 for, although the " grand monarque" had not more 
 loyal subjects in his wide domains, he had never 
 condescended to honour them with a single act of 
 oppression, unless the occasional visits of the com- 
 mandant could be so called ; who sometimes, when 
 levying supplies, called upon the village for its 
 portion, which they always contributed .with many 
 protestations of gratitude for the honour conferred 
 on them. And as for happiness, they pursued no- 
 thing else. Inverting the usual order, to enjoy 
 life was their daily business, to provide 1 
 wants an occasional labour, sweetened by its brief 
 continuance and its abundant fruit. They had a 
 large body of land around the village, held in par- 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 107 
 
 eels by individuals, to whom it was granted by the 
 crown. Most of this was allowed to remain in 
 open pasturage ; but a considerable tract, including 
 the lands of a number of individuals, was inclosed 
 in a single fence, and called the " common field," 
 in which all worked harmoniously, though each 
 cultivated his own acres. They were not an agri- 
 cultural people, further than the rearing of a few 
 esculents for the table made them such ; relying 
 chiefly on their large herds, and on the produce 
 of the chase, for support. With the Indians they 
 drove an amicable, though not extensive, trade 
 for furs and peltry ; giving them in exchange mer- 
 chandise and trinkets, which they procured from 
 their countrymen at St. Louis. To the latter 
 place they annually carried their skins, bringing 
 back a fresh supply of goods for barter, together 
 with such articles as their own wants required ; 
 not forgetting a large portion of finery for the 
 ladies, a plentiful supply of rosin arid catgut for 
 the fiddler, and liberal presents for his reverence, 
 the priest. 
 
 If this village had no other recommendation, it 
 is endeared to my recollection as the birth-place 
 and residence of Monsieur Baptiste Menou, who 
 was one of its principal inhabitants when I first 
 visited it. He was a bachelor of forty, a tall, 
 lank, hard-featured personage, as straight as a 
 ramrod, and almost as thin, with stiff, black hair, 
 
108 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 sunken cheeks, and a complexion a tinge darker 
 than that of the aborigines. His person was re- 
 markahly erect, his countenance grave, his gait 
 deliberate ; and when to all this be added an enor- 
 mous pair of sable whiskers, it will be admitted 
 that Mons. Baptiste was no insignificant person. 
 Me had many estimable qualities of mind and 
 person, which endeared him to his friends, whose 
 respect HIM mumped by the fact of hi^ 1 
 been a soldier anil a traveller. In bis youth be 
 had followed the French commandant in two cam- 
 i- ; and not a comrade in the ranks was better 
 dressed, or cleaner shaved, on parade than Bap- 
 tittej who fought, besides, with the characteristic 
 bravery of the nation to which be owed bis lineage. 
 Me pcfcttOiriedged, i Mrat war was not as 
 
 pleasant a business as is generally supposed. Ac- 
 customed to a life totally free from < on-tramt, the 
 discipline of the camp ill accorded with hi- 
 tory habits, lie complained of being obliged to 
 eat. and drink, and sleep, at the call of the drum. 
 Burnishing a gun, and brushing a coat, and polish- 
 ing shoes, were duties beneath a gentleman ; and, 
 after all, Baptiste saw but little honour in tracking 
 the wily Indians through endless swamps. Be- 
 <ides, he be^an to have some scruples as to the 
 propriety of cutting the throats of the respectable 
 gentry whom be bad been in th-: habit of consi- 
 dering as the original and lawful possessors of the 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 109 
 
 soil. He therefore proposed to resign, and was 
 surprised when his commander informed him that 
 he was enlisted for a term, which was not yet 
 expired. He bowed, shrugged his shoulders, and 
 submitted to his fate. He had too much honour 
 to desert, and was too loyal, and too polite, to 
 murmur ; but he, forthwith, made a solemn vow 
 to his patron saint, never again to get into a scrape 
 from which he could not retreat whenever it suited 
 his convenience. It was thought that he owed 
 his celibacy, in some measure, to this vow. He 
 had since accompanied the friendly Indians on 
 several hunting expeditions, towards the sources 
 of the Mississippi, and had made a trading voyage 
 to New Orleans. Thus accomplished, he had 
 been more than once called upon by the com- 
 mandant to act as a guide, or an interpreter 
 honours which failed not to elicit suitable marks 
 of respect from his fellow villagers, but which had 
 not inflated the honest heart of Baptiste with any 
 unbecoming pride; on the contrary, there was 
 not a more modest man in the village. 
 
 In his habits, he was the most regular of men. 
 He might be seen at any hour of the day, either 
 sauntering through the village, or seated in front 
 of his own door, smoking a large pipe formed of a 
 piece of buck-horn, curiously hollowed out, and 
 lined with tin ; to which was affixed a short stem 
 of cane from the neighbouring swamp. This pipe 
 10 
 
110 THE FBENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 was his inseparable companion; and he evinced 
 towards it a constancy which would have immor- 
 talized his name, had it been displayed in a better 
 cause. When he walked abroad, it was to stroll 
 leisurely from door to door, chatting familiarly 
 with his neighbours, patting the white-haired 
 children on the head, and continuing his lounge 
 until he had peregrinated the village. His gra- 
 vity was not a " mysterious carriage of the body 
 to conceal the defects of the mind," but a consti- 
 tutional seriousness of aspect, which covered as 
 happy and as humane a spirit as ever existed. It 
 was simply a want of sympathy between his mus- 
 cles and his brains ; the former utterly refusing to 
 express any agreeable sensation which might haply 
 titillate the organs of the latter. Honest Baptistc- 
 loved a joke, and uttered many and good ones; 
 but his rigid features refused to smile even at his 
 own wit a circumstance which I am the more 
 particular in mentioning, as it is not common. 
 He had an orphan niece, whom he had reared 
 from childhood to maturity, a lovely girl, of 
 whose beautiful complexion a poet might say, that 
 its roses were cushioned upon ermine. A sweeter 
 flower bloomed not upon the prairie, than Gabrielle 
 Menou. But as she was never afflicted with weak 
 nerves, dyspepsia, or consumption, and had but 
 one avowed lover, whom she treated with uniform 
 kindness, and married with the consent of all par- 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE, 111 
 
 ties, she has no claim to be considered as the 
 heroine of this history. That station will be 
 cheerfully awarded, by every sensible reader, to 
 the more important personage who will be pre- 
 sently introduced. 
 
 Across the street, immediately opposite to Mons. 
 Baptiste, lived Mademoiselle Jeanette Duval, a lady 
 who resembled him in some respects, but in many 
 others was his very antipode. Like him, she was 
 cheerful, and happy, and single but unlike him, 
 she was brisk, and fat, and plump. Monsieur was 
 the very pink of gravity ; and Mademoiselle was 
 blessed with a goodly portion thereof, but hers 
 was specific gravity. Her hair was dark, but her 
 heart was light ; and her eyes, though black, were 
 as brilliant a pair of orbs as ever beamed upon the 
 dreary solitude of a bachelor's heart. Jeanette's 
 heels were as light as her heart, and her tongue 
 as active as her heels; so that, notwithstanding 
 her rotundity, she was as brisk a Frenchwoman 
 as ever frisked through the mazes of a cotillion. 
 To sum her perfections, her complexion was of a 
 darker olive than the genial sun of France confers 
 on her brunettes, and her skin was as smooth and 
 shining as polished mahogany. Her whole house- 
 hold consisted of herself and a female negro ser- 
 vant. A spacious garden, which surrounded her 
 house, a pony, and a herd of cattle, constituted, in 
 addition to her personal charms, all the wealth of 
 
112 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 this amiable spinster. But with these she was 
 rich, as they supplied her table without adding 
 much to her cares. Her quadrupeds, according 
 to the example set by their superiors, pursued 
 their own happiness, without let or molestation, 
 wherever they could find it waxing fat or lean, 
 as nature was more or less bountiful in supplying 
 their wants ; and when they strayed too far, or 
 when her agricultural labours became too arduous 
 for the feminine strength of herself and her sable 
 assistant, every monsieur of the village was proud 
 of an occasion to serve Mam'selle. And well they 
 might be ; for she was the most notable lady in 
 the village, the life of every party, the soul of 
 every frolic. She participated in every fe-tive 
 meeting, and every sad solemnity. Not a neigh- 
 bour could get up a dance, or get down a dose of 
 bark, without her assistance. If the ball grew 
 dull, Mam'selle bounced on the floor, and infused 
 new spirit into the weary dancers. If the conver- 
 sation flagged, Jeanette, who occupied a kind of 
 neutral ground between the young and the old, the 
 married and the single, chatted with all, and loos- 
 ened all tongues. If the girls wished to stroll in 
 the woods, or romp on the prairie, Mam'selle was 
 taken along to keep off the wolves and the rude 
 young men ; and, in respect to the latter, she 
 faithfully performed her office by attracting them 
 around her own person. Then she was the best 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 113 
 
 neighbour and the kindest soul ! She made the 
 richest soup, the clearest coffee, and the neatest 
 pastry in the village ; and, in virtue of her con- 
 fectionary, was the prime favourite of all the 
 children. Her hospitality was not confined to 
 her own domicil, but found its way, in the shape 
 of sundry savoury viands, to every table in the 
 vicinity. In the sick chamber she was the most 
 assiduous nurse, her step was the lightest, and her 
 voice the most cheerful so that the priest must 
 inevitably have become jealous of her skill, had it 
 not been for divers plates of rich soup, and bottles 
 of cordial, with which she conciliated his favour, 
 and purchased absolution for these and other of- 
 fences. 
 
 Baptiste and Jeanette were the best of neigh- 
 bours. He always rose at the dawn, and, after 
 lighting his pipe, sallied forth into the open air, 
 where Jeanette usually made her appearance at 
 the same time ; for there was an emulation of long 
 standing between them, which should be the ear- 
 liest riser. 
 
 " Bon jour ! Mam'selle Jeanette," was his daily 
 salutation. 
 
 " Ah ! bon jour ! bon jour ! Mons. Menou," was 
 her daily reply. 
 
 Then, as he gradually approximated the little 
 paling which surrounded her door, he hoped Mam'- 
 selle was well this morning; and she reiterated 
 10* 
 
114 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 the kind enquiry, but with increased emphasis. 
 Then Monsieur enquired after Mam'selle's pony, 
 and Mam'selle's cow, and her garden, and every 
 thing appertaining to her, real, personal, and 
 mixed ; and she displayed a corresponding inte- 
 rest in all concerns of her kind neighbour. These 
 <lis< Missions were mutually beneficial. If Mam'- 
 selle's cattle ailed, or if her pony was guilty of 
 any^ impropriety, who so able to advise her as 
 Mons. Baptiste ? and if his plants drooped, or his 
 poultry died, who so skilful in such matters as 
 Mam'selle Jeanette? Sometimes Baptiste forgot 
 his pipe, in the superior interest of the " tete a 
 tete," and must needs step in to light it at Jean- 
 etftt'f fire, which caused the gossips of the village 
 to say, that he purposely let his pipe go out, in 
 order that ho mi^ht himself go in. But he denied 
 this; and, indeed, before offering to enter the 
 dwelling of Mam'selle on such occasions, he usu- 
 ally solicited permission to light his pipe at Jean- 
 ette's sparkling eyes a compliment at which, 
 although it had been repeated some scores of 
 times, Mam'selle never failed to laugh and curtsey 
 with great good humour and good breeding. 
 
 It cannot be supposed that a bachelor of so much 
 discernment could long remain insensible to the 
 galaxy of charms which centred in the person of 
 Mam'selle Jeanette; and, accordingly, it was cur- 
 rently reported that a courtship, of some ten years 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 115 
 
 standing, had been slyly conducted on his part, 
 and as cunningly eluded on hers. It was not 
 averred that Baptiste had actually gone the fear- 
 ful length of offering his hand, or that Jeanette 
 had been so imprudent as to discourage, far less 
 reject, a lover of such respectable pretensions. 
 But there was thought to exist a strong hankering 
 on the part of the gentleman, which the lady had 
 managed so skilfully as to keep his mind in a kind 
 of equilibrium, like that of the patient animal be- 
 tween the two bundles of hay so that he would 
 sometimes halt in the street, midway between the 
 two cottages, and cast furtive glances, first at the 
 one, and then at the other, as if weighing the 
 balance of comfort ; while the increased volumes 
 of smoke, which issued from his mouth, seemed 
 to argue that the fire of his love had other fuel 
 than tobacco, and was literally consuming the in- 
 ward man. The wary spinster was always on the 
 alert on such occasions, manoeuvring like a skil- 
 ful general according to circumstances. If honest 
 Baptiste, after such a consultation, turned on his 
 heel, and retired to his former cautious position at 
 his own door, Mam'selle rallied all her attractions, 
 and by a sudden demonstration drew him again 
 into the field ; but if he marched with an embar- 
 rassed air .towards her gate, she retired into her 
 castle, or kept shy, and, by able evolutions, avoided 
 every thing which might bring matters to an issue. 
 
110 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 Thus the courtship continued longer than the siege 
 ol Troy, and Jeanette maintained her freedom, 
 while l>a{)ti>tc, with a magnanimity superior to 
 that of Agamemnon, kept his temper, and smoked 
 his pipe in good humour with Jeanette and all the 
 world. 
 
 Such was the situation of affairs when I first 
 visited this village, about the time of the cession 
 of Louisiana to the United States. The news of 
 that event had just reached this sequestered spot, 
 and was hut indifferently relished. Independently 
 of the national attachment which all men feel, and 
 the French so justly, the inhabitants of this region 
 had reason to prefer, to all others, tho government 
 whirh had afforded them protection without con- 
 straining their freedom, or subjecting them to any 
 burthens; and with the kindest feelings towards 
 the Americans, they would willingly have dis- 
 pensed with any nearer connection than that 
 which already existed. They, however, said little 
 on the subject; and that little was expressive of 
 their cheerful acquiescence in the honour done 
 them by the American people, in buying the coun- 
 try, which the emperor had done them the honour 
 to sell. 
 
 It was on the first day of the Carnival that I 
 arrived in the village, about sunset, seeking shelter 
 only for the night, and intending to proceed on my 
 journey in the morning. The notes of the violin. 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 117 
 
 and the groups of gaily attired people who thronged 
 the street, attracted my attention, and induced me 
 to enquire the occasion of this merriment. My 
 host informed me that a " king ball" was to be 
 given at the house of a neighbour, adding the 
 agreeable intimation, that strangers were always 
 expected to attend without invitation. Young and 
 ardent, little persuasion was required to induce me 
 to change my dress, and hasten to the scene of 
 festivity. The moment I entered the room, I felt 
 that I was welcome. Not -a single look of sur- 
 prise, not a glance of more than ordinary atten- 
 tion, denoted me as a stranger or an unexpected 
 guest. The gentlemen nearest the door bowed as 
 they opened a passage for me through the crowd, 
 in which for a time I mingled, apparently unno- 
 ticed. At length a young gentleman, adorned 
 with a large nosegay, approached me, invited 
 me to join the dancers, and, after enquiring my 
 name, introduced me to several females, among 
 whom I had no difficulty in selecting a graceful 
 partner. I was passionately fond of dancing, so 
 that, readily imbibing the joyous spirit of those 
 around me, I advanced rapidly in their estimation. 
 The native ease and elegance of the females, reared 
 in the wilderness and unhackriied in the forms of 
 society, surprised and delighted me as much as 
 the amiable frankness of all classes. By and by 
 the dancing ceased, and four young ladies of ex> 
 
118 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 quisite beauty, who had appeared during the even- 
 ing to assume more consequence than the others, 
 stood alone on the floor. For a moment their 
 arch glances wandered over the company who 
 stood silently around, when one of them, advanc- 
 ing to a young gentleman, led him into the circle, 
 and. taking a large bouquet from her own bosom, 
 pinned it upon the left breast of his coat, and pro- 
 nounced him "KING!" The gentleman ki- 
 
 Star, :nid led her to a seat. Two others 
 were selected almost at the same moment. The 
 fourth lady hesitated for an instant, then advancing 
 to the spot where I stood, presented me her hand, 
 led me forward, and placed the symbol on my 
 lnv;M, hi -tu I could recover from the surprise 
 into which the incident had thrown me. I re- 
 
 1 my presence of mind, however, in time to 
 salute my lovely consort; and never did king 
 enjoy, with more delight, the first fruits of his 
 elevation for the beautiful Gabrielle, with whom 
 I had just danced, and who had so unexpectedly 
 raised me, as it were, to the purple, was the fresh- 
 est and fairest flower in this gay assemblage. 
 
 This ceremony was soon explained to me. On 
 the first day of the Carnival, four self-appointed 
 
 , having selected their queens, give a ball, at 
 their own proper costs, to the .whole village. In 
 the course of that evening the queens select, in 
 the manner described, the kings for the ensuing 
 
THE TRENCH VILLAGE. 119 
 
 day, who choose their queens, in turn, by present- 
 ing the nosegay and the kiss. This is repeated 
 every evening in the week ; the kings, for the 
 time being, giving the ball at their own expense, 
 and all the inhabitants attending without invita- 
 tion. On the morning after each ball, the kings 
 of the preceding evening make small presents to 
 their late queens, and their temporary alliance is 
 dissolved. Thus commenced my acquaintance 
 with Gabrielle Menou, who, if she cost me a few 
 sleepless nights, amply repaid me in the many 
 happy hours for which I was indebted to her 
 friendship. 
 
 I remained several weeks at this hospitable vil- 
 lage. Few evenings passed without a dance, at 
 which all were assembled, young and old ; the 
 mothers vying in agility with their daughters, 
 and the old men setting examples of gallantry to 
 the young. I accompanied their young men to 
 the Indian towns, and was hospitably entertained. 
 I followed them to the chase, and witnessed the 
 fall of many a noble buck. In their light canoes 
 I glided over the turbid waters of the Mississippi, 
 or through the labyrinths of the morass, in pursuit 
 of water fowl. I visited the mounds, where the 
 bones of thousands of warriors were mouldering, 
 . overgrown with prairie violets and thousands of 
 nameless flowers. I saw the mocasin snake bask- 
 ing in the sun, the elk feeding on the prairie ; and 
 
120 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 returned to mingle in the amusements of a circle, 
 where, if there was not Parisian elegance, there 
 was more than Parisian cordiality. 
 
 Several years passed away before I again visited 
 this country. The jurisdiction of the Amenran 
 government was now extended over this imni' n-< 
 region, and its beneficial Hil-<-t> \\ere l^Mnming to 
 be widely disseminated. The roads were crowded 
 with the t'-ams, and herds, and families of emi- 
 grant s, hastening to the land of promise.. Steam- 
 boats navigated every stream, the axe was heard 
 in every forest, and the plough broke the sod 
 whose verdure had covered the prairie for ages. 
 
 It was sunset when I reached the margin of the 
 prairie on which the village is situated. My horse, 
 retried \\ith u long day's travel, sprung forward 
 with new vigour when his hoof >tnirk the smooth, 
 linn road which led across the plain. It was a 
 narrow path, winding among the tall grass, now 
 tinged with the mellow hues of autumn. I gazed 
 with delight over the beautiful surface. The 
 mounds and the solitary trees were there, just 
 as I had left them, and they w.ere familiar to my 
 e\e as the objects of yesterday. It was eight 
 miles across the prairie, and I had not \< 
 half the distance when night set in. I strained 
 my eyes to catch a glimpse, of the village, but 
 two large mounds, and a clump of trees which 
 intervened, defeated my purpose. I thought of 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE 121 
 
 Gabrielle, and Jeanette, and Baptiste, and the 
 priest the fiddles, dances, and French ponies; 
 and fancied every minute an hour, and every foot 
 a mile, which separated me from scenes and per- 
 sons so deeply impressed on my imagination. 
 
 At length I passed the mounds, and beheld the 
 lights twinkling in the village, now about two 
 miles off, like a brilliant constellation in- the hori- 
 zon. The lights seemed very numerous I thought 
 they moved, and at last discovered that they were 
 rapidly passing about. " What can be going on 
 in the. village ?" thought I then a strain of music 
 met my ear " they are going to dance," said I, 
 striking my spurs into my jaded nag, " and I shall 
 see all my friends together." But as I drew near 
 a volume of sounds burst upon me, such as defied 
 all conjecture. Fiddles, flutes and tambourines, 
 drums, cow-horns, tin trumpets, and kettles, min- 
 gled their discordant notes with a strange accom- 
 paniment of laughter, shouts, and singing. This 
 singular concert proceeded from a mob of men 
 and boys -who paraded through the streets, pre- 
 ceded by 'one who blew an immense tin horn, and 
 ever and anon shouted, " Cha-ri-va-ry ! Charivary !" 
 to which the mob responded, " Charivary !" I 
 now recollected to have heard of a custom which 
 prevails among the American French, of serenad- 
 ing, at ttye marriage of a widow or widower, with 
 such a concert as I now witnessed ; and I rode 
 11 
 
122 THE FBENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 towards the crowd, who had halted before a well- 
 known door, to ascertain who were the happy 
 parties. 
 
 K ( 'harivary !" shouted the leader. 
 
 " Pour qui '?" said another voice. 
 
 " Pour Mons. Baptiste Menou, il est marie !" 
 
 " Avec qui V 
 
 u Avec Mam'selle Jeanette Duval Charivary 1" 
 
 " Charivary !" shouted the whole company, and 
 a torrent of music poured from the full band tin 
 kettles, cow-horns and ail. 
 
 The door of the little cabin, whose hospitable 
 threshold I had so often crossed, now opened, and 
 Baptiste made his appearance the identical, lank, 
 sallow, erect personage, with whom I had parted 
 several years before, with the same pipe in his 
 mouth. His visage was as long and as melancholy 
 as ever, except that there was a slight tinge of 
 triumph in its expression, and a bashful casting 
 down of the eye reminding one of a conqueror, 
 proud but modest in his glory. He gazed with an 
 embarrassed air at the serenaders, bowed repeat- 
 edly, as if conscious that he was the hero of the 
 night, and then exclaimed 
 
 " For what you make this charivary ?" 
 
 "Charivary!" shouted the mob; and the tin 
 trumpets gave an exquisite flourish. 
 
 u Gentlemen !" expostulated the bryjegroom, 
 "for why you make this charivary for me? 1 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 123 
 
 have never been marry before and Mam'selle 
 Jeanette bas never been marry before !" 
 
 Roll went the drum ! cow-horns, kettles, tin 
 trumpets, and fiddles, poured forth volumes of 
 sound, and the mob shouted in unison, 
 
 " Gentlemen ! pardonnez-moi " supplicated the 
 distressed Baptiste. " If I understan dis custom, 
 which have long prevail vid us, it is vat I say 
 ven a gentilman, who has been marry before, shall 
 marry de second time or ven a lady have de 
 misfortune to loose her husban, and be so happy 
 to marry some odder gentilman, den we make de 
 charivary but 'tis not so wid Mam'selle Duval 
 and me. Upon my honour we have ' never been 
 marry before dis time !" 
 
 " Why, Baptiste," said one, " you certainly have- 
 been married, and have a daughter grown." 
 
 "Oh, excuse me, sir! Madame St. Marie is 
 my niece ; I have never been so happy to be marry, 
 until Mam'selle Duval have do me dis honneur." 
 
 " Well, well ! it's all one. If you have not been 
 married, you ought to have been, long ago : and 
 might have -been, if you had said the word." 
 
 " Ah, gentilrnen, you mistake." 
 
 " No, no ! there's no mistake about it. Mam'- 
 selle Jeanette would have had you ten years ago, 
 if you had asked her." 
 
 " You flatter too much," said Baptiste, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders ; and finding there was no 
 
124 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 means of avoiding the charivary, he, with great 
 good humour, accepted the serenade, and, accord- 
 ing to custom, invited the whole party into his 
 house. 
 
 I retired to my former quarters, at the house of 
 an old settler a little, shrivelled, facetious French- 
 man, whom I found in his red flannel night-cap, 
 smoking his pipe, and seated like Jupiter in the 
 midst of clouds of his own creating. 
 
 " Merry doings in the village !" said I, after we 
 had shaken hands. 
 
 " Eh, bien ! Moos. Baptiste is marry to Mam'- 
 selle Jeanette." 
 
 " I see the boys are making merry on the occa- 
 sion." 
 
 " Ah, sacre ! de dem boy ! they have play hell 
 to night." 
 
 "Indeed! how so?" 
 
 " For make dis charivary dat is how so, my 
 friend. Dis come for have d' Americain govern- 
 ment to rule de count rie. Parbleu ! they make 
 charivary for de old maid and de old bachelor !" 
 
 I now fotind thut some of the new settlers, who 
 had witnessed this ludicrous ceremony without 
 exactly understanding its application, had been 
 foremost in promoting the present irregular exhi- 
 bition, in conjunction with a few degenerate French, 
 whose love of fun outstripped their veneration for 
 their ancient usages. The old inhabitants, aJ- 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 125 
 
 though they joined in the laugh, were nevertheless 
 not a little scandalised at the innovation. Indeed, 
 they had good reason to be alarmed ; for their 
 ancient customs, like their mud-walled cottages, 
 were crumbling to ruins around them, and every 
 day destroyed some vestige of former years. 
 
 Upon enquiry, I found that many causes of dis- 
 content had combined to embitter the lot of my 
 simple-hearted friends. Their ancient allies, the 
 Indians, had sold their hunting grounds, and their 
 removal deprived the village of its only branch of 
 commerce. Surveyors were busily employed in 
 measuring off the whole country, with the avowed 
 intention, on the part of the government, of con- 
 verting into private, property those beautiful regions 
 which had heretofore been free to all who trod 
 the soil or breathed the air. Portions of it were 
 already thus occupied. Farms and villages were 
 spreading over the country with alarming rapidity, 
 deforming the face of nature, and scaring the elk 
 and the buffalo from their long frequented ranges. 
 Yankees and Kerituckians were pouring in, bring- 
 ing with them the selfish distinctions and destruc- 
 tive spirit of society. Settlements were planted 
 in the immediate vicinity of the village ; and the 
 ancient heritage of the 'ponies was invaded by the 
 ignoble beasts of the interlopers. Certain preg- 
 nant indications of civil degeneration were alive 
 in the land. A county had been established, with 
 
126 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 a judge, a clerk, and a sheriff; a court-house and 
 jail were about to be built; two lawyers had 
 aln -,id\ made a lodgment at the county site; and 
 a number of justices of the peace, and constables, 
 were dispersed throughout a small neighbourhood 
 of not more than fifty miles in extent. A brace 
 uf physicians had floated in with the stream of 
 population, and several other persons of the same 
 cloth were seen passing about, brandishing their 
 lancets in the most hostile manner. The French 
 argued very reasonably from all these premises 
 that a people who brought their own doctors ex- 
 1 to be sick, and that those who commenced 
 operations in a new country, by providing so many 
 engines and ollicers of justice, must certainly intend 
 to be very wicked and litigious. But when the 
 new comers went the fearful length of enrolling 
 them in tlie militia; when the sheriff, arrayed in 
 all the terrors of his office, rode into the village, 
 and summoned them to attend the court as jurors; 
 when they heard the judge enumerate to the grand 
 jury the long list of offences which fell within their 
 coniii/uK-e; these good folks shook their heads, 
 and declared that this was no longer a country for 
 them. 
 
 From that time the village began to depopulate. 
 Some of its inhabitants followed the footsteps of 
 the Indians, and continue, to this day, to trade 
 between them and the whites forming a kind of 
 
THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 127 
 
 link between civilised and savage men. A larger 
 portion, headed by the priest, floated down the 
 Mississippi, to seek congenial society among the 
 sugar plantations of their countrymen in the south. 
 They found a pleasant spot on the margin of a 
 large bayou, whose placid stream was enlivened 
 by droves of alligators, sporting their innocent 
 gambols on its surface. Swamps, extending in 
 every direction, protected them from further intru- 
 sion. Here a new village arose, and a young 
 generation of French was born, as happy and as 
 careless as that which is passing away. 
 
 Baptiste alone adhered to the soil of his fathers, 
 and Jeanette, in obedience to her marriage vow, 
 cleaved to Baptiste. He sometimes talked of fol- 
 lowing his clan, but when the hour came he could 
 never summon fortitude to pull up his stakes. He 
 had passed so many happy years of single blessed- 
 ness in his own cabin, and had been so long accus- 
 tomed to view that of Jeanette with a wistful eye, 
 that they had become necessary to his happiness. 
 Like other idle bachelors, he had had his day- 
 dreams, pointing to future enjoyment. He had 
 been, for years, planning the junction of his do- 
 mains with those of his fair neighbour ; had 
 arranged how the fences were to intersect, the 
 fields to be enlarged, and the whole to be managed 
 by the thrifty economy of his partner. All these 
 plans were now about to be realised ; and he wisely 
 
128 THE FRENCH VILLAGE. 
 
 concluded that he could smoke his pipe, and talk 
 to Jeanette, as comfortably here as elsewhere; 
 and as ho had not danced for many years, and 
 Jeanette was growing rather too corpulent for 
 that exercise, he reasoned that even the depriva- 
 tion of the fiddles and king balls could be borne. 
 Jeanette loved comfort too ; but having, besides, 
 a sharp eye for the main chance, was governed 
 by a deeper policy. By a prudent appropriation 
 of JUT own savings, and those of her husband, she 
 purchased from the emigrants many of the fairest 
 acres in the village, and thus secured an ample 
 property. 
 
 A large log house has since been erected in tin 
 space between the cottages of Baptiste and Jean- 
 ette, which form wings to the main building, and 
 are carefully preserved in remembrance of old 
 times. All the neighbouring houses have fallen 
 down, and a few heaps of rubbish, surrounded by 
 corn fields, show where they stood. All is changed, 
 except the two proprietors, who live here in ease 
 and plenty, exhibiting, in their old age, the same 
 amiable character, which, in early life, won for 
 them the respect and love of their neighbours and 
 of each other. 
 
129 
 
 THE SPY. 
 
 A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 Although the title which we have chosen for 
 this volume, would seem to confine us, in the 
 selection of our scenes, to an imaginary line 
 which forms the boundary of our settled popula- 
 tion, yet, in fact, the limit which it imposes refers 
 rather to -time than place, for ours is a moving 
 frontier, which is continually upon the advance. 
 What is now the border, has but recently as- 
 sumed that character, and if we trace back the 
 history of our country to its earliest period, in 
 search of the stirring scenes attendant upon a 
 state of war, we shall find ourselves rapidly tra- 
 velling towards the shores of the Atlantic. There 
 has been a point in the history of every state in 
 the Union, when a portion of its territory was a 
 wilderness, and a part, at least of its settlements, 
 subjected to invasion ; and there have been more 
 
130 THE SPY. 
 
 | 
 
 recent and longer periods, when every state con- 
 tained extensive districts which were thinly set- 
 tled, and but little frequented by strangers, and 
 where all the vicissitudes and adventures of the 
 border life were experienced by the inhabitants. 
 It is this circumstance which renders the whole of 
 our broad empire so rich in materials for the 
 novelist for every part of it has been the seat of 
 war, or the scene of border conflict, and there is 
 scarcely a spot where some tradition of a romantic 
 character may not be gathered. I hope, there- 
 fore, that the following legend will not be con- 
 sidered as inappropriately grouped with the others 
 which form this little collection. 
 
 In a secluded neighbourhood, on the banks of 
 the romantic Susquehanna, stands a large old- 
 fashioned brick house, which, at a period prj\ in* 
 to the revolutionary is a very imp 
 
 man-inn, but lias now a mean and dilapidated 
 rancc. It was, when erected, the only re- 
 spectable building in the whole region of count r\ 
 in which it stands, and was thought to be a noble 
 specimen of architectural skill and magnificence, 
 h was surrounded by a very .large plantation, ap- 
 propriated chiefly to the culture of tobacco and 
 corn, and studded in every direction with little 
 < -al>ins inhabited by negroes. A fine .garden, an 
 -ive orchard, and a meadow, in which a 
 number of high-bred horses sported their graceful 
 
THE SPY. 131 
 
 limbs, showed the proprietor to be a gentleman of 
 easy fortune. 
 
 He was indeed, as I learned -from tradition, a 
 very wealthy and excellent old gentleman. His 
 portrait, which I used to gaze at with admiration 
 in my childhood, still hangs in the ancient hall, 
 and sufficiently denotes the character of the ori- 
 ginal. It is that of an elderly robust man, with a 
 fine high forehead, and a mild, though firm ex- 
 pression of countenance. One would pronounce 
 him to have been an unsophisticated man, who 
 had mingled but little with the world, but whose 
 natural understanding was strong. He was a 
 grave, taciturn person, of even temper, and of 
 benevolent and hospitable feelings. His eye was 
 remarkably fine a large blue orb, full of mildness 
 and love but with a quiet self-command about it, 
 and a dash of something which said that the owner 
 was accustomed to be obeyed. He was dressed 
 in a snuff-coloured suit, of goodly dimensions; the 
 coat single-breasted, and without a collar, and the 
 wrists ornamented with hand-ruffles. 
 
 The portrait of the good lady, which hung by 
 that of her lord, exhibited a stately and very 
 beautiful woman, dressed in all the formal finery 
 of that age. Her complexion was delicately fair, 
 her mouth exquisitely sweet, and her eye proud 
 but whether that pride arose from the conscious- 
 ness of her own beauty, or of her dominion over 
 
1 32 THE SPY. 
 
 the handsome gentleman whose name she bore, I 
 cannot, at this distance of time, pretend to deter- 
 mine. It is whispered, however, that although 
 Mr. B. for this designation will serve our pre- 
 sent purpose ruled his dependents with absolute 
 authority, and influenced the affairs of the neigh- 
 bourhood, yet Mrs. B. usually carried her points. 
 I shall not attempt to describe the lady's dress, as 
 I am unlearned in those matters. If Mrs. Hale, 
 or Mrs. Child, or Mrs. Sigourney, or Mrs. Hentz, 
 or Miss Leslie, or Miss Sedgewick, or Miss Gould, 
 or any other of the hundred and one Mistresses or 
 Misses of our country, who 
 
 M Grace this latter age with noble deeds" 
 
 in the way of authorship, had the handling of this 
 delicate subject, it might be treated with ability, 
 and the lair writer would luxuriate among the 
 folds and ruffles of that curious specimen of the 
 ancient costume ; suffice it, however, to say that 
 the venerable matron in question wore the hoop, 
 the stays, the close sleeves, and the high head- 
 dress ornamented with trinkets, which were com- 
 mon, among well-born dames, in those aristocratic 
 times. There was altogether, in addition to her 
 surpassing beauty, an air of pride, a lady-like ele- 
 gance, and a matronly dignity, about this lady, 
 which showed that she thought, and had a right 
 to think, well of herself; and which gave her a 
 
THE SPY. 133 
 
 well founded claim to the obedience of her hus- 
 band, and all others who might choose to submit 
 to her sway. 
 
 But to our story. It was during the most 
 stormy period of the revolution, and Squire B. * 
 for he was a magistrate and Mrs. B. were both 
 stanch whigs. Not " young whigs," nor modern 
 whigs but the good old republican rebellious 
 whigs of the revolution. They had given two 
 gallant sons to their country, who were then fight- 
 ing under the banners of Washington ; and were 
 training up the remainder of a large progeny in 
 the hatred of tyranny, and the love of indepen- 
 dence. The neighbourhood in which they lived 
 was obscure, arid thinly settled ; there was no pub- 
 lic house of any description within many miles ; 
 and genteel strangers, who happened to pass along 
 towards night-fall, were generally, on enquiring 
 for lodgings, directed to the house of Squire B., 
 where they were always sure of a cordial reception, 
 and a gratuitous and most hospitable entertain- 
 ment. So far from considering such a call as 
 an intrusion, this worthy couple deemed it a great 
 compliment ; and would have thought themselves 
 slighted, had a reputable stranger visited the 
 neighbourhood without making their house his 
 home. And a most agreeable home it was to a 
 weary wayfarer. There was kindness without 
 bustle, and profusion without any affectation of 
 12 
 
134 THE SPY. 
 
 display. The self-invited guest was treated as an 
 honoured friend, and an invitation to remain an- 
 other and another day, was usually accorded to 
 him. Indeed, when one of these chance guests 
 happened to be more agreeable than ordinary, the 
 hospitable Mary lander never allowed him to depart 
 in less than a week, nor then without a present of 
 a bridle, a saddle, or perhaps a horse. 
 
 It was, as we remarked before, during a perilous 
 time of the revolution, when the hearts of our pa- 
 triot ancestors were filled with doubt and anxiety, 
 that a solitary traveller rode up one evening to the 
 door of Mr. B. Several negro boys ran to meet 
 him ; one opened the gate, another took his horse 
 by the bridle, and a third prepared to seize upon 
 his saddlebags. The stranger hesitated, looked 
 cautiously around, and enquired timidly for Mr. B. 
 
 " Ole massa in de house, readcn he book ;" an- 
 swered one of the young Africans. 
 
 " Do you think I can get permission to spend 
 the night here ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, massa, for sartin. All de quality 
 stops here." 
 
 The stranger still paused, and then alighted 
 slowly, and paused again, as if conscious of the 
 awkwardness of intruding without invitation into 
 the house of one to whom he was entirely un- 
 known. The appearance of the portly owner of 
 the mansion, who now presented himself at the 
 
THE SPY. 135 
 
 door, seemed to increase his embarrasment, and 
 he began, rather bashfully, to make the explana- 
 tions which appeared to be necessary. 
 
 " I have ridden far to-day," said he, " I am 
 tired, and my horse almost broken down I am 
 told there is no tavern in the neighbourhood and 
 was directed here but I fear I intrude." 
 
 " Glad to see you," interrupted Mr. B. " come, 
 sir, walk in the boys will take care of your 
 horse you are quite welcome ; do ye hear, boys, 
 rub down that nag, and feed him well no apolo- 
 gies are necessary, sir make my house your 
 home, while you stay in the country come, sir, 
 walk in" and so the old gentleman talked on 
 until he had got his guest fairly housed, stripped 
 of his overcoat and spurs, and seated by the fire, 
 on one side of which sat the lady of the house, en- 
 throned in suitable state, in a high-backed arm 
 chair, while her consort placed himself in a 
 cushioned seat in the other corner. A group of 
 handsome daughters were clustered round the 
 worthy dame, like the bright satellites of a 
 brighter planet seated on low stools, that they 
 might learn to sit upright without leaning, and 
 sewing away industriously under the supervision 
 of the experienced matron. In the back ground, 
 immediately behind the ladies of the family, sat a 
 number of neatly dressed negro girls, carding, 
 knitting, and sewing in the process of being 
 
136 THE SPY. 
 
 trained up .in the way that they should go, in 
 order that, when old, they should not depart from 
 it. These were intended for household domestics, 
 or fur personal attendants upon the young ladiea, 
 and were carefully taught all the thrifty arts of 
 female industry. Not the least remarkable cir- 
 cumstance which was calculated to attract the eye 
 of a stranger, was the scrupulous neatness of the 
 apartment, the stainless purity of the uncarpeted 
 floor, which was as polished, and shining, and al- 
 most as slippery, as ice, with other evidences 
 which attested the vigilant administration of an 
 admirable system of internal police. 
 
 The arrival of an unexpected guest caused no 
 di-turbance in the well regulated household of 
 Mrs. B., whose ample board was always spread 
 with such a profusion of eatables, that the addition 
 of a compam f gtMftdjimi to her already nume- 
 rous family, would hardly have been an inconve- 
 nience. But there were ceitain little hospitalities 
 requisite for the honour of the house, and to teach 
 the traveller that he was \\< k-ome ; the good lady, 
 therefore, ver\ formally laid aside her knitting 
 and retired, while a servant added several logs to 
 the fire. Mr. B. produced a pipe, in which he 
 sometimes indulged, and having filled it with 
 tobacco, presented it to the stranger, who, b< 'inir a 
 mner of the poisonous weed, declined smok- 
 ing ; and the bost, for want of something to say, 
 
THE SPY. 137 
 
 lighted it for himself. A negro girl now entered 
 with a basket of apples, fresh from the orchard, 
 for it was October, and this fine fruit was in its 
 perfection ; and presently the lady of the mansion 
 made her appearance, followed by a servant bear- 
 ing upon a waiter a curiously ornamented silver 
 bowl, filled with toddy, made by her own fair 
 hands for no other less dignified personage than 
 herself was ever permitted to discharge this most 
 sacred of all the functions of hospitality. Squire 
 B., as was the invariable custom, approached the 
 bowl, and having stirred the delicious beverage 
 with a spoon, tasted it, in order that he might 
 have an opportunity of complimenting his good 
 dame, as he called her, and of remarking, with a 
 wink, that it " was made strong to suit the ladies." 
 Then taking the bowl in both hands, he presented 
 it first, with a formal bow, to his lady-wife, who 
 touched her fair lips to the brim, then to each of 
 his daughters, beginning with the oldest, who 
 successively " kissed the bowl," as Goldsmith 
 hath it, and lastly to the guest, who did ample 
 honour to its refreshing contents. Such was the 
 ceremony invariably observed by this worthy 
 couple, towards their most cherished friends, and 
 as invariably extended to the stranger who sought 
 a shelter at their fireside. Such were the primi- 
 tive and courteous habits of our venerable fore- 
 fathers and foremothers, in those days when there 
 12* 
 
138 THE SPY. 
 
 no temperance societies, and when a cordial 
 n ( < [.ti.iii always included a social cup. They had 
 no newspapers, nor periodicals, neither albums?, nor 
 scrap-books, nor any of the modern devices for de- 
 stroying the monotony of an idle hour; and the 
 bowl must have been found an able auxiliary in 
 
 :iin; the dullness of a country fireside. 
 In the meanwhile, the female part of the com- 
 pany \ avouring to read something of the 
 stranger's character in his countenance; and as 
 they were too well-bred to stare him in the face, 
 adopted the feminine expedient of stealing a 
 glance occasionally, when his attention was turned 
 another way. In this hasty perusal they found 
 more to excite, than to satisfy, their curiosity ; for 
 the person before them possessed a set of features, 
 in which different emotions were so strangely 
 blended, as to baffle the penetration of such inex- 
 
 ;iced observers. He was so young as to 
 
 i it doubtful whether he had more than 
 merely reached the years of manhood. He was 
 tall and raw-boned ; his large ill-shaped limbs 
 were loosely hung together, and his manners were 
 awkward. His face was singularly ugly, being a 
 collection of angular prominences, in which the 
 chin, nose, cheek-bones, and forehead, se 
 each to be ambitious of obtruding beyond the 
 other. But it was an intelligent face, with lines 
 of thought and observation too strongly drawn 
 
THE SPY. 139 
 
 upon it to be mistaken. There was, however, 
 about the muscles of the mouth, and the corners of 
 the eye, a lurking expression of humour, which 
 showed itself, particularly when a local phrase, or 
 a word susceptible of a different meaning from 
 that in which it was intended to be used, dropped 
 in his hearing. Under an assumed gravity, and 
 an affected air of unconcern, there was a watchful- 
 ness which could not be wholly concealed, though 
 it betrayed itself only in his eye, which rolled sus- 
 piciously about, like that of a cur, who, having, 
 contrary to a standing rule of the house, intruded 
 into the parlour, gazes in every face to learn if he 
 is welcome, and watches every movement as if 
 under a sense of danger. Every attempt to draw 
 him into conversation upon subjects connected 
 with the politics or news of the day, was fruitless ; 
 he seemed to be entirely ignorant, or stupidly 
 careless, in relation to the principles and the 
 events of the great controversy which agitated the 
 colonies. On other subjects, of less dangerous 
 import, he spoke .well and freely, uttering his 
 opinions in brief, pointed, and sententious remarks, 
 sometimes dropping a sly joke, but always relaps- 
 ing immediately into his gravity; and shortly after * 
 a plentiful supper, he begged permission to retire, 
 which was cheerfully accorded by those whoi>egan 
 to be weary of vain efforts to entertain one, who 
 seemed determined to commune only with himself. 
 
140 THE SPY. 
 
 The next morning the stranger's stiff and jaded 
 pronounced to be unfit to travel, and he 
 cheerfully accepted an invitation to spend the re- 
 mainder of the day with his kind entertainers; 
 and when, on the following day, his host again 
 pressed him to remain, he again acquiesced. Dur- 
 ing all this time he had but little intercourse with 
 tin family. Mrs. B. was provoked at his tacitur- 
 nity, the young ladies were out of patience with 
 his want of gallantry, and the worthy squire was 
 puzzled what to make of him. The mtfn was 
 quiet and inoffensive, but had not disclosed either 
 his name, his business, or bis destination. He 
 sallied forth on each morning, and spent the whole 
 day in roaming about the woods, or along the pic- 
 turesque borders of the Susquehanna : and when 
 the negroes happened to encounter him, he was 
 usually perched on a log, or lying at his length on 
 the brow of a hill, with a pencil and paper in his 
 hand. These employments, so different from those 
 of their young masters, struck the honest blacks 
 with astonishment; and they fuiled not to report 
 what they had seen in the kitchen, from which, 
 the tale, with suitable exaggerations, soon found 
 ;iy to the hall, where the whole family agreed 
 in opinion that their guest was a most incompre- 
 hensible and mysterious person. 
 
 When, therefore, on the third morning, he an- 
 nounced his intention to depart, no polite obstacle 
 
THE SPY. 141 
 
 was thrown in his way; the worthy squire con- 
 tenting himself with thanking his guest for the 
 honour of his visit, and urging him to call again 
 whenever he should revisit the country. He took 
 leave with his characteristic awkwardness, and 
 was no sooner out of hearing than the whole 
 family united in pronouncing him a disagreeable, 
 unsocial, ill-dressed, incomprehensible, ugly, ill- 
 mannered person, who had no pretensions to the 
 character of a gentleman. An hour was spent in 
 this discussion, when a servant girl came grinning 
 into the hall with a pair of shabby, black-looking 
 saddlebags in her hand, which the stranger had 
 left in his chamber. Mrs. B. took them in her 
 hands, wiped her spectacles, and examined them 
 carefully, while her husband proposed to send a 
 boy on horseback to .restore the property to its 
 owner. But Mrs. B. continued to gaze uneasily 
 at the saddlebags, turning them over, and pressing 
 them, to ascertain the character of the contents. 
 
 " Mr. B.," said she, at length, " as sure as you 
 live, there are papers in these saddlebags." 
 
 " Well, what then ?" said the squire composedly. 
 
 " You are a magistrate, and this man is a suspi- 
 cious character." 
 
 " What have I to do with his character, my 
 dear?" 
 
 " You are a justice of the peace, a whig, and a 
 friend to your country this man is perhaps a spy, 
 
14*2 TUT: SPY. 
 
 or a bearer of despatches, and it is your duty to 
 open these saddlebags. 1 ' 
 
 The squire seemed startled, but shook his head. 
 
 "Well, my dear," pursued the lady, u \<>u 
 always think you know best but how can you 
 tell that there is not another Arnold plot among 
 these papers? You know, Mr. B., that you hold 
 a responsible office." 
 
 " I know, too, that I am a gentleman. 7 ' 
 
 " We all know that, my dear." 
 
 " And did you ever know a gentleman to rob 
 tin- lnggage of his guest?" 
 
 The lady looked disconcerted, for the last was a 
 home argument ; her pride was even greater than 
 that of her husband, and her regard for the rites 
 of hospitality equal to his. 
 
 But what could a man be doing with papers in 
 his saddlebags, unless he was. a spy, or some in- 
 cendiary agent of the royal cause? The fellow 
 had a hang-dog look, the saddlebags were suspi- 
 cious in their appearance, and the papers had a 
 dishonest rustle. There was treason in all his 
 actions, and tyranny in every tone of his voice. 
 Even the negroes had noticed that he was a bad 
 horseman, which was a sure sign of an English- 
 man, and that he was mounted on a wretched 
 nag, which was evidence enough that the animal 
 was not his own, or else that he was not a gentle- 
 man. 
 
THE SPY. 143 
 
 The lady turned these matters in her mind, as 
 she tossed the saddlebags about in her hands. 
 
 " You may depend upon it, my dear," said she, 
 " that this is a more serious matter than you have 
 any idea of." 
 
 " Yery likely," replied the worthy man. 
 
 " What shall we do ?" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Let one of the boys gallop after the gentleman 
 with his saddlebags," replied the husband, com- 
 posedly. 
 
 " I am surprised at you, Mr. B. You know 
 not what treason may be in them." 
 
 " If the devil was in them, or Arnold himself," 
 replied the squire, with more than usual vehe- 
 mence, " he might stay there for me. The gen- 
 tleman asked the hospitality of my roof, he came 
 as a friend, and it shall not be said that I treated 
 him as an enemy." 
 
 " Then, Mr. B., if you have no objection, I will 
 open them myself." 
 
 " None in the world, my dear, if you will take 
 the shame upon yourself." . 
 
 The worthy lady dropped the penknife with 
 which she was preparing to rip open the seams of 
 the unlucky saddlebags, and asked, " Do you 
 really think it would be wrong ?" 
 
 " Decidedly so," replied the husband. 
 
 At this juncture, the negro girl, who had been 
 prying about the leathern receptacle, discovered 
 
144 THE SPY. 
 
 that the padlock was unfastened, and pointed out 
 the fact to her mistress, who exclaimed, 
 
 " Nay, then, 1 will see the inside ! And as no 
 lock is to be broken, nor any breach comu 
 we may serve our country, and, at the same time, 
 save the honour of our h< 
 
 In a moment, the contents of the travelling con- 
 venience were spread on thr !l.<.r. From one end 
 was produced a scanty wardrobe, consist ing of but 
 few articles ; from the other, several handfuls of 
 manuscript. Tin eyes of the worthy lady glis- 
 tened as the suspicious papers came to- light, and 
 her handsome cheek, on which the pencil of time 
 had not yet drawn a wrinkle, was Hushed with 
 patriotism and curiosity. 
 
 " Now you see, Mr. B.," she exclaimed, with a 
 kind of wife-ish exultation, "you see it is well to 
 listen to advice sometimes. Here's a prett 
 covery, truly !" 
 
 She now proceeded to open one of the manu- 
 scripts, which was folded and stitched into the 
 form of a small book, and read aloud, "one 
 hundred and nineteenth psalm," " de"ar me, 
 what's all this ?" " The beautiful and pathetic 
 passage which I have selected, my Christian 
 friend s y for your edif cation" " Why it's a ser- 
 mon!" 
 
 " The devil can quote scripture, you know, my 
 dear," said the squire, sarcastically, " perhaps, 
 
THE SPY. 145 
 
 as your hand is in, you had better examine a little 
 further." 
 
 The remainder of the papers seemed to be of a 
 similar character; and the worthy couple were 
 fully satisfied of the clerical vocation of their late 
 visiter, when the lady inquisitor picked up a loose 
 sheet containing a copy of verses. 
 
 " A hymn, no doubt," quoth the lady, " which 
 the worthy man has composed in his solitary ram- 
 bles." 
 
 " Read it for our edification," returned the 
 squire. 
 
 " Do, mamma !" cried all the girls at once. 
 
 So the old lady began : 
 
 " Hail, beauteous shade ! secure from eye profane, 
 Where chaste Diana, with her vestal train" 
 
 Here the door opened, and, to the utter confu- 
 sion of the whole company, the stranger stood 
 before them. It was a scene for a painter. There 
 sat the lady of the mansion, on a low chair, with 
 the unlucky saddlebags at her feet, arid the con- 
 tents thereof piled up in her lap. Three beautiful 
 girls leaned on the back of her chair, looking 
 eagerly over her shoulder. The head of the 
 family, who sat on the opposite side of the fire, 
 had taken the pipe from his mouth, dropped his 
 elbows upon his knees, and was gazing arid listen- 
 ing with as much interest as any of the circle ; 
 13 
 
146 THE SPY. 
 
 while a half dozen young blacks, with eyes and 
 mouth open, surveyed the scene with surprise. In 
 the open door stood the stranger, quite as much 
 embarrassed as any of the party, who, on discover- 
 ing him, gazed at each other in mute dismay. 
 The dismal looks of the host and hostess, when 
 thus caught in the fact, were really pitiable. 
 They were a virtuous, honourable couple ; above 
 fear, but keenly sensitive of shame. The lady 
 was of gentle blood and nurture, and was proud of 
 herself, her husband, and her family. The gen- 
 tleman, though he despised, and never practised 
 the little affectations and stratagems of pride, 
 valued himself on his gentility, and on never 
 doing any act beneath the dignity of a gentleman. 
 This truly respectable pair had travelled through 
 life together, and neither of them had ever before 
 had cause to blush for the act of the other ; and 
 now, when they stood detected in the disgraceful 
 fact of opening the private papers of a guest, they 
 were covered with confusion. Squire B. was the 
 first to recover his composure ; nor did he, like 
 our great progenitor, attempt to excuse his own 
 fault by saying " it was the woman." On the 
 contrary, being a plain spoken man, and a lover of 
 truth, he at once disclosed the whole of the reasons 
 which led to this ludicrous procedure, only plac- 
 ing himself in the position which had 1 , in fact, been 
 occupied by his wife. He alluded to the perilous 
 
THE SPY. 147 
 
 state of the country, to the fact that treason had 
 more than once threatened its liberties, to his own 
 duty as a magistrate, and to the suspicious conduct 
 of the stranger " Considering all these things," 
 continued he, " our guest will not think it strange, 
 that we have pryed a little more curiously into his 
 private concerns, than would, under other circum- 
 stances, have become our wonted respect for the 
 rites of hospitality. 
 
 " And yet," resumed the old man, " I am grieved 
 particularly that a clergyman should have been 
 treated uncivilly in my house" for -the squire 
 and his dame were pillars of the church, and 
 revered the clergy. 
 
 The stranger, happy in recovering his property, 
 most cheerfully admitted that his kind entertainers 
 had acted for the best. 
 
 " And now," said the squire, " to complete our 
 reconciliation, I insist on your spending a week or 
 two with us. On Sunday next you shall preach 
 in our church, and in the meanwhile there are 
 several couples to be married, who have been 
 waiting until they could procure the services of a 
 minister." 
 
 This invitation the stranger civilly but peremp- 
 torily declined, and taking a hasty leave, retreated 
 to his horse. 
 
 Mr. B. accompanied him across the little lawn 
 in front of the house, and the stranger, before he 
 
148 THE SPY. 
 
 mounted, addressed him thus : " We are now 
 alone^ sir, and some explanation is due to you. I 
 am not, as you at first supposed, a spy, but a na- 
 tive born American, as true to my country as any 
 patriot who fights her battles. Neither am I a 
 clergyman, though I confess, to my shame, that I 
 have assumed that character. I am a student, 
 preparing for the profession of law, but the coun- 
 try wants men in her armies ; and although I have 
 removed from town to town, and from one neigh- 
 bourhood to another, I cannot escape the importu- 
 nity of recruiting officers, or the ridicule of my 
 friends, fox not devoting these sturdy limbs of mine 
 to the common cause." 
 
 " Really, young man, I cannot see why you wish 
 to evade military duty in such times as these." 
 
 " The gifts of Providence are various," said the 
 young man ; " Washington was born a soldier, 
 and I was born a coward !" 
 
 The elder gentleman drew back as if he had 
 seen a rattlesnake in his path. 
 
 " It is a melancholy truth," resumed the young 
 man ; " I have had a liberal education, my talents 
 are thought to be respectable, and I am gifted 
 with a fund of humour which enables me to mimic 
 whatever I see, and to convulse the gravest com- 
 pany with laughter. Yet I am not happy ; for 
 the fear of bodily harm is continually before my 
 eyes. I have an instinctive dread of death ; the 
 
THE SPY. 149 
 
 report of a cannon causes me to shudder ; war is 
 my abhorrence ; I covet fame ; but the idea of 
 having a knife drawn across my throat, or a rusty 
 bayonet thrust through my body, curdles every 
 drop of blood in my veins." 
 
 " This is an uncommon case." 
 
 " It is uncommon, and therefore I bear it with 
 composure ; courage is so ordinary a quality, that 
 it is no disgrace to want it. Cowardice is an 
 extraordinary gift, bestowed on susceptible minds, 
 courage is a quality which man shares with the 
 bull-dog and the tiger. I was born a timid crea- 
 ture, and no reasoning can cure my sensibility of 
 danger, and my abhorrence of death. I shrink at 
 the idea of pain, and suffer anguish in the contem- 
 plation of personal exposure." 
 
 " But why assume the character of a preacher?" 
 
 " Partly because I am willing to serve my coun- 
 try, according to the nature of my gifts; but 
 chiefly, to be exempt from military duty, and safe 
 from danger. My garb protects me from my 
 enemies, as well as from my friends from that 
 side which would make me a hero, as- well as from 
 the others who would hang me up like a dog. To 
 avoid being a soldier, I have become a saint. I 
 go from camp to camp, and preach up rebellion to 
 our troops. I can declaim with fervour about 
 liberty, for I love it ; and I can exhort others to 
 fight bravely, for none can talk so big as a coward." 
 
150 . THE SPY. 
 
 " But what if you fall in with the enemy?" 
 " To them I preach peace and good will towards 
 all men with a secret prayer that they will prac- 
 tise it especially towards myself. I carry a few 
 orthodox sermons with me, such as you have seen, 
 that suit any emergency. Those I make use of 
 when my auditors belong to the royal party ; and, 
 if I do them no good, I am sure that I am doing 
 my country no evil. My patriotic efforts are all 
 extemporaneous. My ambition does not point to 
 martyrdom, any more than to military glory, and 
 I carry no seditious manuscripts. The recent 
 course of literal studies, through which I have 
 passed, has imbued my mind with arguments in 
 favour of patriotism and military glory. I take 
 my text from the scripture, my sermon from the 
 classics. He who would disseminate the gospel of 
 peace, or promote the happiness of man, must im- 
 bibe wisdom from the oracles of God ; but for him 
 whose purpose is to promote bloodshed and per- 
 petuate war, the elegant productions of enlightened 
 Greece, and cultivated Rome, afford a copious 
 stream of reasoning and illustration." 
 
 The young man extended his hand to his host, 
 thanked him heartily for his hospitable treatment, 
 mounted his horse, and rode slowly away leaving 
 the whole family amused and puzzled with the 
 events of this singular visit. 
 
151 
 
 THE CAPUCHIN. 
 
 [There is a tradition preserved among the French of a 
 celebrated missionary of their nation, who was one of -the 
 earliest of the explorers of the Mississippi and its tributa- 
 ries, and who died at some spot which is now unknown. 
 We have endeavoured to preserve some of the circum- 
 stances, 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 by hills .enclosed, 
 
 By rocky barriers curbed, 
 Where shade and silence have reposed 
 
 For ages undisturbed, 
 
t 
 
 152 THE CAPUCHIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 skiff 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. 
 
THE CAPUCHIN. 153 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
154 THE CAPUCHIN. 
 
 "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. 
 
 44 The blessed cross ! that long hath been 
 
 Companion of my path 
 Preserved me in the tempest's din, 
 
 Or stayed the heathen's wrath 
 
 44 Shall guard us still from threatened harm, 
 
 What form soe'er it take : 
 The hurricane, the savage arm, 
 
 Or spirit of the lake." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 
THE CAPUCHIN. 155 
 
 " 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. 
 
 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 ! 
 
156 THE CAPUCHIN. 
 
 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, when he tells the tale, 
 Speaks of the wrath that fell 
 
 On him that dared an altar raise, 
 In the Indian's spirit-dell. 
 
157 
 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 A TALE OF MISSOURI. 
 
 [For the facts detailed in this story, the author is in- 
 debted to a very ingenious friend, now deceased. He has 
 done little else to it than to correct the phraseology so as 
 to render it suitable for publication.] 
 
 Some twelve or thirteen years ago, when the 
 good land on the northern frontier of Missouri 
 was beginning to be found out, and the village of 
 Palmyra had been recently located on the extreme 
 verge of the settlements of the white men, uncle 
 Moses, who had built his cabin hard by, went into 
 that promising village one day, in hopes of finding 
 a letter from his cousin David, then at Louisville, 
 and to whom he had written to come to Missouri. 
 Three hours' pleasant ride brought him to town. 
 
 He soon found Major Obadiah , who had 
 
 been lately appointed postmaster, and who had 
 such an aversion to confinement, that he appro- 
 priated his hat to all the purposes of a post-office 
 an arrangement by which he complied with the 
 14 
 
158 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 law, requiring him to take special care of all 
 letters and papers committed to his keeping, and 
 the instructions directing him to be always found 
 in his office, and, at the same time, enjoyed such 
 locomotive freedom, as permitted him to go hunt- 
 ing or fishing, at his pleasure. He was thus 
 ready at all times, wherever he might be, to an- 
 swer any call on his department, promptly. 
 
 The major, seating himself on the grass, emp- 
 tied his hat of its contents, and requested uncle 
 Moses to assist him in hunting for his letter : 
 " whenever you come to any that looks dirty and 
 greasy, like these," said he, " just throw them in 
 that pile ; they are all dead letters, and I intend 
 to send them off to head quarters, the very next 
 time the post rider comes, for I can't afford to tote 
 them any longer, encumbering up the office for 
 nothing." tlncle Moses thought that they were at 
 head quarters already, but made no remark, and 
 quietly putting on his spectacles, gave his assist- 
 ance as required. 
 
 After a quarter of an hour's careful examina- 
 tion, it was agreed by both, that there was no f 
 letter in the office for uncle Moses. 
 
 "But stop," said the postmaster, as" uncle Moses 
 was preparing to mount his horse, " you are a 
 trading character, come let me sell you a lot of 
 goods at wholesale. Willy Wan, the owner, has 
 gone to St. Louis to lay in a fresh supply, and has 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 159 
 
 left me to keep store for him 'til he returns. He 
 had almost sold out, and I hate to be cramped up 
 in a house all day, so I have packed up the whole 
 stock in these two bundles'^hauling them out of 
 his coat pockets. 
 
 Uncle Moses looked over them without ever 
 cracking a smile, for it was a grave business. He 
 wiped his spectacles, to examine the whole assort- 
 ment. 
 
 " Here, examine them calicoes, ribbons, laces, 
 &c. all as good as new no mistake I'll take ten 
 dollars in coon skins for the whole invoice, which 
 is less than cost, rather than tote them any longer." 
 
 Uncle Moses was, in truth, a trading character. 
 He belonged to a numerous and respectable class 
 in our country, who are, by courtesy, called farm- 
 ers'; but who, in fact, spend their whole lives in 
 buying and selling. He was raised in North 
 Carolina, and had /egularly emigrated westwardly, 
 once in every three or four years, until he had 
 passed through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois, 
 to the frontier of Missouri. Nothing ever made 
 him so happy as an offer to buy his farm. The 
 worthy man would snap his fingers, ask a little 
 more than was offered, and at last take what he 
 could get, pack up his moveables at an hour's 
 notice, and push out further back. He was a 
 famous hand at finding good land ; and was sure 
 to get a mill-seat, a stone quarry, or a fine spring, 
 
160 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 which made his tract the best in the country, and 
 himself the happiest man in the world. He 
 worked hard and made good improvements ; but 
 no sooner was his cabin built, his fences made, 
 and his family comfortably settled, than he was 
 sure to find that the neighbours were getting too 
 thick around him, the outlet for his cattle was cir- 
 cumscribed, and there was a better country some- 
 where else. He was not a discontented man far 
 from it. There never was a better tempered old 
 soul than uncle Moses. But he liked money, 
 loved to be moving, and, above all things, gloried 
 in " a good trade." He would buy any thing that 
 was offered cheap, and sell any thing for which he 
 could get the value. He never travelled without 
 exchanging his horse, nor visited a neighbour with- 
 out proposing a speculation. 
 
 Of course, the .Major's offer of a lot of store 
 goods, for less than cost, struck him favourably* 
 and he offered three dozen racoon skins for the 
 whole. " Take them," said the Major " it is 
 too little but if Wan does'nt like the trade, IT! 
 pay the balance myself." 
 
 " Now," said the postmaster, " let us go down 
 to the river, where Hunt, and the balance of the 
 boys, are fishing. We have been holding an 
 election here for the last two days, and as nobody 
 came in to vote to-day, we all concluded to go 
 fishing." 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 161 
 
 " But what election is it ?" 
 
 " Why, to elect delegates to form our state 
 constitution." 
 
 " I have heard of it, but had forgot it. I am 
 entitled to a vote." 
 
 " Certainly you are. Hunt and I are two of 
 the judges. He has taken the poll-books along 
 with him come along, we will take your vote at 
 the river just as good as if it was done in town 
 I hate formalities, and this three days' election 
 every body could as well do all their voting in 
 one." 
 
 Down they went to the river ; the judges and 
 clerks were called together, and recorded the first 
 vote that ever uncle Moses gave in Missouri, on 
 the bank of North river, a little below where 
 Massie's mill now stands. I like to be particular 
 about matters of importance. 
 
 The parties were soon distributed in quietness 
 along the shore, angling for the finny tribe, which 
 sported, unconscious of danger, in the limpid ele- 
 ment. Every tongue was silent, and all eyes 
 resting on the lines, when Sam Smoke made his 
 appearance, cracking his way through the bushes. 
 " Mose ! come this way," said he. Uncle Moses, 
 discovering something momentous in his air, met 
 him at a respectful distance. "Now, Moses," 
 said the odd old genius, " I know, very well, you 
 14* 
 
162 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 have some notion of entering* Wolf .Harbour. I 
 have located that place myself long ago; but I 
 don't believe you know it. I will now let you into 
 a secret that you have been some time hunting for, 
 if you-will not enter the land about Wolf Harbour 
 before I get my money from Kentucky. The 
 quarter section, including the big spring, is all I 
 want the balance is not worth entering and if I 
 can get that, I shall have all the elbow room I 
 want." 
 
 "But what is the secret?" said uncle Moses, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " You have been hunting for a silver mine 
 hav'n't you ?" 
 
 " I have ; do you know where it is t" 
 
 " No, I do not ; but I have left an Indian in a 
 swing that I have just completed for the major's 
 amusement. He will swing himself until my re- 
 turn. He has a piece of the ore, and will show 
 us the place where he found it, for a gallon of 
 whiskey. Now, say I shall have Wolf Harbour, 
 and you may have the silver mine." 
 
 " Agreed," said uncle Moses, " and for fear 
 somebody else should take a fancy to it, if you 
 will go home with me, I will loan you the money 
 to pay for it." 
 
 " No, I am much obliged to you," said Sam, 
 
 * Buying from the government 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 163 
 
 "all I want, is the chance, after my money 
 comes." 
 
 Uncle. Moses found the Indian, as was expected, 
 and took him home with him, where he found his 
 cousin David, just arrived from Kentucky. " Ah ! 
 Davy, my boy, I am glad to see you. I have 
 found, or rather I am about to find, the silver 
 mine that I wrote to you about. See here ! this 
 is as pure silver ore as ever was seen. This 
 yellow fellow knows where it is, and is to show it 
 to me in the morning." 
 
 " That's very well," said David, " but do you 
 know you will find this fellow here in the morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " No doubt of it. I know too much of the . 
 Indian not. to know how to manage him. I will 
 give him a taste out of that keg, and let him un- 
 derstand that there is more, and you could not 
 whip him away." 
 
 Early the next morning, our miners had every 
 thing ready for the expedition. The best- horse 
 was packed with the tools, and provisions enough 
 for several days. The Indian guide was directed 
 to lead the way. He hesitated for a moment, as if 
 deliberating upon the course, and then, having 
 fixed it in his mind, set off on a bee line towards 
 the hidden treasure. Uncle Moses and David led 
 the pack-horse, and plodded on foot at a half trot ; 
 for that is the gait of an Indian, when he has a 
 
164 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 journey before him. After about two hours' rough 
 travelling through the woods and thickets, the 
 miners were saluted with an " Ah ! ho ! ah !" from 
 the Indian, who had stopped on the side of a hill a 
 little in advance. " Plentee bel-le good chomac," 
 said he,, holding up a piece of the precious ore, 
 glistening in his hand. " By the wars, Davy," 
 exclaimed uncle Moses, as he walked up and sur- 
 veyed the spot, " this. is a pretty good prospect 
 this looks well, to be sure a right smart chance 
 of metal, I declare !" 
 
 The horse was soon unpacked, coats off, and 
 every thing ready for deeper research. Davy 
 took the pick and shovel, and commenced remov- 
 ing the ground which seemed to cover the vein. 
 Uncle Moses sauntered about to examine the line 
 trees, and discover the number of the section ; 
 and the guide, having fulfilled his part of the bar- 
 gain, was left in full possession of the jug, and in 
 a few minutes, was as happy as if he had millions 
 in store. 
 
 Uncle Moses returned in a short time, having 
 traced the lines of the tract, and found David as 
 wet with sweat, as if he had been in the river. 
 "Stop, David," said uncle Moses, " you will kill 
 yourself if you go on at this rate give me the 
 shovel, and rest awhile you have blistered your 
 hands already." This was literally true, and is 
 usually the case with the first essay in mining ; 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 165 
 
 the fascination is so great, that the young miner, 
 continually imagining himself almost in sight of 
 boundless wealth, delves on harder and hajrder, 
 and exhausts his strength, while his hopes yet re- 
 main fresh. Uncle Moses proceeded more sys- 
 tematically, and, in about two hours, uncovered 
 the bright vein. What a glorious sight met their 
 eyes ! How were their hearts . gladdened by the 
 brilliant success of their enterprise ! They paused, 
 and silently contemplated the shining mass, which 
 lay in a perpendicular stratum, several inches in 
 thickness, and extended along the whole length of 
 the opening. Again they resumed their labours, 
 traced the vein into the side of the hill, and 
 satisfied themselves, that, according to uncle Mo- 
 ses' estimate and he was not slow at a calcula- 
 tion there was, at least, fifty thousand dollars' 
 worth of pure silver then within their grasp. 
 " That is enough to make us both rich," said 
 David. 
 
 " Why, it is better than nothing," replied the 
 old speculator, gravely, and with all the import- 
 ance of one who felt the inward dignity of a nabob ; 
 " yes, it is better than making corn, or trading in 
 store goods fifty thousand dollars is a clever little 
 sum. But it is nothing to what is coming no- 
 thing to the balance that lies in the -bowels of the 
 earth." 
 
 Having rested a little from their labour, the 
 
166 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 dinner-bag was produced, and they sat down to a 
 cold luncheon, which Davy pronounced to be the' 
 sweetest morsel he ever ate in his life. " I don't 
 doubt it," replied uncle Moses; "this is one of 
 the real enjoyments of this world.' And now, 
 David, since I have made your fortune, I hope 
 you may so manage it as never to lose your relish 
 for the substantial, by indulging too much in the 
 luxuries of life." 
 
 " Never fear that," said David ; " I have been 
 raised to industry I intend to go to the legisla- 
 ture. It takes less head than any thing 'else that 
 I know of, and I never heard of a member losing 
 his appetite for meat or liquor. But who have we 
 here?" 
 
 "If it aint that old Hibbard and his hungry 
 gang of tall boys," exclaimed uncle Moses ; ". he 
 has been hunting for this very mine for several 
 months. They have been watching us they have 
 a canoe at the river, and will try to be at St. Louis 
 first to enter the land. You are a light rider, 
 Davy, and there is my horse I gave a hundred 
 and fifty dollars for him better stuff was never 
 wrapped in a surcingle fix the saddle, mount him, 
 and put off." 
 
 Davy was soon ready. Uncle Moses slipped a 
 roll of bank notes in his hand, and the junior part- 
 ner in the silver mine wrapped them carefully in 
 a handkerchief, which he bound round his body 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 167 
 
 conducting the whole operation with an apparent 
 carelessness, to deceive those who were looking on. 
 
 " There is the money," whispered uncle Moses, 
 " and two hundred dollars over, to buy horses if 
 needful. Ride slowly off, as if you were going 
 home, and when out of sight take a dead aim for 
 St. Louis. Don't lose any time looking for roads 
 a road is of no account, no how, when a man is 
 in a hurry. l)on't spare horse flesh. We can 
 afford to use up a few nags in securing a silver 
 mine. If any body asks your business, you know 
 what to say it's nothing to nobody. Buy the 
 land before you sleep. I'll camp here till you 
 return, and keep these wolves off." 
 
 David obeyed orders, and was soon on a high 
 prairie of parallel ridges extending southward. 
 He involuntarily stopped and gazed with wonder 
 and delight on the first specimen which his optics 
 had ever beheld, on so large a scale, f Nature's 
 meadows. He was naturally of a sanguine tem- 
 perament and lively imagination, and enjoyed the 
 scene with a higher relish, from its sudden and 
 unexpected appearance. " It beats all," thought 
 he ; " I'd give a thousand dollars, (an hour before 
 he would have said a dollar ,) to know who cleared 
 up all this land. The day has been, when thou- 
 sands of acres of tobacco have been raised on these 
 old fields but who raised it ? When I get the 
 silver mine I'll find it out. Yes, I'll hire a half a 
 
168 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 dozen Yankee schoolmasters by the job, and pay 
 them in pigs of cast silver." The importance of 
 his journey, however, soon compelled him to col- 
 lect his scattered wits, and exert them in deter- 
 mining his course. His geographical knowledge 
 of this country was very limited, as he had passed 
 up the Mississippi in a keel boat, and knew nothing 
 of the interior. But he was aware that his course 
 ought to be nearly south, and that, as the country 
 was thinly settled, he would in all probability have 
 to pass most of the distance without a road or trace 
 of any kind. 
 
 He followed the direction of one of the ridges 
 of the prairie, and travelled rapidly, until his pro- 
 gress was suddenly arrested by a deep stream, 
 about a hundred yards in width, margined on each 
 side with a heavy growth of tall timber. " This 
 must be Salt River," said he. It was too deep to 
 ford, and the only alternative was to swim a feat 
 he would sooner have attempted at some place 
 where assistance might be had in case of accident. 
 But knowing that the defeat of his enterprise, and 
 certain loss of his expected wealth, awaited him if 
 he did not cross, he sc rewed up his resolution, and 
 determined to pass or drown in the attempt. His 
 money was placed in his hat, and he plunged in ; 
 his horse was of powerful muscle, and bore him 
 safely to the opposite shore. 
 
 The sun was gilding the west as he emerged 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 169 
 
 into another beautiful prairie, carpeted with the 
 matchless verdure of the season, which extended 
 further than his vision could reach. The evening 
 was calm and pleasant ; a soft breeze only moving 
 to fan the sweet perfume of the various flowers 
 which spotted the plain. Not a cloud was to be 
 seen. The lark, whistling on the rosin-weed, or 
 a solitary hawk, circling through the air, now 
 poised aloft, and now darting, with the swiftness of 
 an arrow, on the half concealed sparrow below, 
 were the only moving objects on which to rest the 
 eye of the traveller. The scene was solitary as 
 it was grand, and naturally led our weary adven- 
 turer into a contemplative mood. He thought of 
 the many instances he had known of the misappli- 
 cation of the gifts of fortune, and determined, in 
 his own mind, as he was now heir, apparently, to 
 a princely estate, that he would use it in such 
 a manner as to afford the most solid advantages to 
 himself and his country. He resolved to found 
 schools for the education of all classes, to make 
 roads, and to build bridges especially one over 
 Salt River. He had a mortal antipathy to the 
 aristocracy of wealth, and vowed that he would 
 level the rich down to an equality with the poor ; 
 or, if that should be impracticable, he would level 
 the poor up to the standing of the rich. His fond- 
 ness for the fair sex induced him to wish to confer 
 15 
 
170 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 happiness on as many of them as possible ; but as 
 impracticable, under the present organiza- 
 tion of society, to confer supreme bliss on more 
 than one, he determined to make one happy 
 woman, at least, without delay. 
 
 At length, night began to drop her curtain 
 around him, and to stud the skies with her twin- 
 kling lamps. The dew rested on the tall grass, 
 and, as the tops of the latter were sometimes 
 higher than his horse's back, his own clothes soon 
 dripped large drops of water. Still he pushed on, 
 until the weary animal, by often stopping to nip 
 the green herbage, admonished him that food and 
 rest are necessary to brute creatures, however 
 non-essential they may be to the proprietors of 
 silver mines. But it was not until drowsiness 
 had so overpowered him that he was several 
 times on the point of losing his balance, that he 
 determined to rest for the night. He then dis- 
 mounted, tied his horse's feet together with the 
 reins of the bridle, supped on some cold venison 
 and corn bread, that unole Moses had put into his 
 saddlebags, and crawling into a matted hazel 
 thicket, nestled among the leaves, and slept soundly 
 until morning. 
 
 \\ith the first blush of the dawn, David was 
 again on his way, somewhat refreshed. But the 
 wolves having robbed his saddlebags of the re- 
 maining provisions, he had nothing wherewith 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 171 
 
 to break his fast. He jogged on at a pretty rapid 
 gait, however, fully determined to compensate his 
 appetite hereafter, in the most ample manner, for 
 the privation it was now suffering. " Poor devils, 
 that have neither house nor land," said he, " may 
 travel upon empty stomachs, and camp out in the 
 bushes at night, but that will not- be my case. 1 
 intend to have old bacon all the year round ; and 
 let them eat venison who can get nothing bet- 
 ter." 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, he stopped 
 at the first cabin he had seen, and enquired of a 
 homespun lady, who appeared at the door, if he 
 could get something for himself and horse to eat. 
 After asking him a dozen questions about " where 
 he was from where he was going how the 
 election had gone whether he thought the con- 
 vention would make this a free or slave state- 
 wide he staid last night and if he war'nt mighty 
 tired ?" she at last told him "to light." She 
 soon had every thing ready, and invited him to 
 " set up" and help himself, remarking " that it 
 was not very good fare, no how, but if she had 
 known of his coming, she would have had some- 
 thing better." 
 
 From this place, he found a road leading to St. 
 Charles, where he expected to cross the Missouri. 
 Sleepy and weary, every rod seemed now a mile, 
 and he had not gone far from the cabin, when he 
 
172 Tin: SILVER MINE. 
 
 a traveller, that he met, to enquire the 
 distance to St. Charles; " thirty miles," was the 
 reply. 
 
 After proceeding half a mile further, he fell 
 in with another, who told him it was " fifteen 
 miles" a boy, to whom he put the same question, 
 replied that " k was a or,</ It f fie bit" and a^ 
 farmer, a little further on, informed him that the 
 exact distance was " twenty-one miles from the 
 big oak at the foot of his lane." 
 
 It was dark, when he concluded, for the last 
 time, that he must certainly be within a short 
 distance of the river ; and, at length, meeting a 
 negro on the brink of a hill, was assured that it 
 was "not no distance at all." He was soon in the 
 village nlvSt. Charles, and had no difficulty in find- 
 ing the ferryman, who refused, positively, to carry 
 him across the river that night. David had too 
 much at stake to be thus delayed. He stormed 
 threatened to cut off the ears of the boatman 
 swore he would kick the mud-walled house from 
 over the head of the unaccommodating French- 
 man and, finally, talked about regulating the 
 whole town. 
 
 " Monsieur Kentuck," said the ferryman, " vat 
 make you so dem hangry ? are you in von great 
 bi: 1 mrry !" 
 
 u I am on business of importance more depends 
 on it than your paltry gumbo town is worth so, 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 173 
 
 stir yourself, or I'll be shot if I don't make a 
 fuss." 
 
 " Very much horry, eh ?" replied the French- 
 mana dark, swarthy fellow, with straight, black 
 hair, and an eye which began to flash with an 
 amiable expression, resembling that of an enraged 
 wild-cat. " 'Spose den you vait for your horry 
 over mean time, you cut off ma hear for keep 
 yoursef warm !" 
 
 Davy, finding he was on the wrong scent, changed 
 his tone, said he had no wish to affront any gentle- 
 man, and enquired, in a soothing tone, if money 
 could procure him a passage. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur, now you talk like von genti- 
 man 'spose you pay me five dollar, may be you 
 cross de Missouri 'spose you no pay me dat, you 
 may go sleep on dis side, sacre !" 
 
 Davy accepted the terms : the ferry boat, con- 
 sisting of two canoes covered with a platform, was 
 hauled up, the horse carefully placed in the middle, 
 and the savage river, which roared and bubbled 
 around them, was soon passed. The ferryman 
 pointed out the road, and in a few hours our im- 
 patient Kentuckian was at the door of the receiver 
 of public monies in St. Louis, shouting manfully, 
 "Who keeps house?" Colonel S., the receiver, 
 from an upper window, told him that he could not 
 enter the land, nor the land office, that night ; it 
 15* 
 
174 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 was positively contrary to all rule and Davy, 
 much chagrined, was obliged to sneak off to a 
 hotel. In the morning he hied by times to the 
 land office, and found, to his mortification, that 
 the whole section was covered by a New Madrid 
 claim ! Excited now to desperation, he declared 
 that he would work the silver mine, any how, in 
 spite of big guns and little men he did'nt vally 
 the government a cent not he it was no account, 
 no how then he jumped up, struck his heels to- 
 ^iluT, and said he was a horse, a steam-boat, an 
 earthquake and that he and uncle Mose, with a 
 hundred Kcntuckians, could take Gibraltar ! 
 
 I lam: mi: his hat on one side of his head, he 
 strutted out of the office, endeavouring to control 
 his rage, and half inclined to gratify it, by whip- 
 ping the first man he should meet. Finally, how- 
 ever, he concluded to send an express to uncle 
 Moses, and set out for Kentucky himself, to raise 
 volunteers enough to set the land officers at defi- 
 qcp, nullity the government, and work the 
 mine, ri et armis. Meeting with Mons. Donja, an 
 old acquaintance who was a silversmith, he exult - 
 iniily produced a specimen of the precious ore, and 
 asked his opinion of it. 
 
 " Vat you call dis ?" said the dealer in bright 
 metals. 
 
 " Pure silver ore the real stuff." 
 
THE SILVER MINE. 175 
 
 "You mistake, sair; dat is no silvare, but be 
 ver good brimstone !" 
 
 " Brimstone, the devil !" shouted the enraged 
 adventurer. 
 
 " Ah, oui," replied the mechanic, with a shrug, 
 " very good brimstone for diable ; suppose you go 
 in my shop, you shall be satisfy." 
 
 Davy went, and was soon convinced, by being 
 almost suffocated with the fumes of sulphur. 
 
 This was the climax of disappointment ; but 
 David was blessed with a sanguine temperament, 
 and, although easily irritated, had the faculty of 
 as easily abandoning a favourite scheme, in favour 
 of some new project; and, after giving a long 
 whistle, he strolled back to the hotel with an air 
 of so much unconcern, that no one would have 
 dreamed that any sinister event had befallen him. 
 " It all comes of trusting too much to uncle Mose," 
 thought he ; " the old man used to be as true on 
 the scent of money as an old 'coon dog on a pest 
 trail but he is barking up the wrong tree this 
 time." 
 
 He now ordered his horse. " Sorry to inform 
 you," replied the landlord, " very sorry, sir but, 
 your horse is dead." 
 
 Dead !" 
 
 " Dead as a house log." 
 
 " Misfortunes never come single," said David ; 
 
176 THE SILVER MINE. 
 
 and quietly throwing his saddle over his shoulder, 
 he walked off, singing, from Hudibras or some 
 other celebrated poet, 
 
 lit: that's rich may rjde astraddle, 
 
 But be that's poor must tote his saddle.'' 
 
 
177 
 
 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, be- 
 lieved that they had found a terrestrial paradise. 
 Never before was such a desert of flowers pre- 
 sented to the astonished eye of man never before 
 was there exhibited an expanse so wide, so fertile, 
 so splendidly adorned. If the beauty of this region 
 delighted them, its immensity filled them with 
 astonishment, and awakened the most extravagant 
 expectations. Their warm and sprightly imagi- 
 nations 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 with amazement ; while the 
 reputed wealth, and fancied productions of the 
 country, awakened both avarice and curiosity. 
 
178 THE DARK MAID 
 
 We can scarcely realise 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 aflijestic 
 and attractive. , The freshness and verdure of new 
 lands, unspoiled and unimpoverished by the hand 
 of cultivation, is iu itself delightful.' It is pleasing 
 to see the works of nature in their original cha- 
 racter, as they came from the creative hand ; and 
 that pleasure was here greatly enhanced by the 
 infinite variety, and magnificent extent, of the 
 romantic scenery. The plains seemed as bound- 
 less as they were beautiful, and the splendid groves, 
 which ilivcrsiiiod the surface of these exquisitely 
 graceful lawns, invested them with a peculi; 
 of rural elegance. 
 
 Delighted with this extensive and fertile region, 
 they roamed far and wide over its boundless prai- 
 ries, and pushed their little barks into every navi- 
 gable Stream. Their inpffensive manners 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 colli- 
 sion and with little concert. One sought fame, 
 another searched for mines of gold- as opulent as 
 which had enriched the Spaniards in a more 
 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 179 
 
 southern part of the same continent. One aspired 
 simply to the honour of discovering new lands, 
 another came to collect rare and nondescript speci- 
 mens of natural curiosities ; one travelled 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 
 were certainly, in one respect, the most successful 
 of adventurers. They traversed these wide plains 
 with impunity. They penetrated far into the inte- 
 rior of the trackless wilderness. Their canoes 
 were seen tracing the meanders of the longest 
 rivers ; and these fearless explorers had already 
 found their way into the heart of this immense 
 continent, while other Europeans obtained, with 
 difficulty, a footing upon the sea coast. 
 
 Among the earliest who thus came was Pierre 
 Blondo, who, having served a regular apprentice- 
 ship to an eminent barber at Paris, had recently 
 commenced the world on his own account, in the 
 character of valet to an excejlent 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 
 
180 JIM: DAKK MAID 
 
 unlike than they. The worthy Dominican ft a 
 gentlemanly and j)iiest-like personage, and Pin-re 
 a very nna miiiiiir plebeian. The master was 
 1< am- (1 and benevolent, jrrave, austere, and self- 
 deming; the valet \\a- 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 n-ht to be equally obliging to him- 
 and neither mortified his own flesh nor* his 
 
 .hour's feelings. The priest mourned over 
 the depravity of the human race, and especially 
 deprecated the frivolous habits of his countrymen; 
 the valet not only believed this to be the best of 
 all pnih!< >nt piided himself particularly 
 
 in 1> niL r a native of a country \\hich produces the 
 
 fiddlers, cooks, and barbers, on the habitable 
 iil'.h'-. In short, the master was a priest and the 
 man a hair-.li- v both loved and endea- 
 
 voured 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 
 MM a mysterious, silent, ascetic man; Pierre was 
 as mercurial and as merry a lad as ever flour 
 a pair of scissnrs. 
 
 However they mi<rht differ in other respects, 
 there was one particular in which Father Fi 
 and his man, Pierre, exactly agreed; naraeh , in 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 181 
 
 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 Illi- 
 nois. Pierre's researches into American history 
 had been considerable, and his opportunities for 
 acquiring a knowledge of the new world singularly 
 felicitous. He had- snaved 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 'delicious odours of Florida, the land of flowers. 
 He had listened with admiration to their wonder- 
 ful 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 transportation, 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 mar- 
 vellous, that the birds should be snowy white, and 
 16 
 
182 THE DARK MAID 
 
 the ladies black ; that the men should be beardless, 
 and the lions lia\e horns; and that gold-dust, 
 grapes, and oranges, should grow and glitter in 
 a wilderness, where there were none but wolves 
 and wild men to gather them. 
 
 It is proper to state here, in order to prevent 
 any misunderstanding in a matter of so much im- 
 portance, that, although Pierre was a barl> 
 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 
 ullspring in habits of industry. He had a fine 
 figure and a very prepossessing countenance. 
 His eye was good, his teeth white, and his smile 
 agreeable. He was, in short, a gentleman on a 
 small scale, and a most excellent person in his 
 way. 
 
 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 happy 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 now world. 
 He thought himself a second Columbus, and had 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 183 
 
 no doubt that high honours would be conferred 
 upon him on his return the king would make 
 him a count or a marquis ; and M. Corneille, who 
 was then in the meridian of his fame, would write 
 a play, arid tell his exploits in poetry. The prime 
 minister would probably offer him his daughter in 
 marriage* and a cloud passed over the 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, arid 
 she loves me dearly. I really think she would 
 break her heart if I should not marry her. Poor 
 girl ! she thinks there is no body in the world 
 equal to Pierre and I have no reason to dispute 
 her judgment. 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 elevate her to my 
 own rank ; and I will hang strings of pearl, and 
 ornaments of solid gold, about her pretty peck, 
 and her slender waist, in such profusion, that the 
 
184 THE DARK MAID 
 
 meanness of her birth will be forgotten in the glit- 
 ter of her attire." Thus did Pierre enjoy the 
 luxury of hope, and revel iu anticipation upon the 
 bright prospects that beamed upon his delighted 
 fan<\. The vessel flew rapidly over the waves; 
 and, after a prosperous .voyage, the new world 
 spread its illimitable shores, its gigantic moun- 
 tains, and its wooded vales, before the enraptured 
 eyes of the weary voyagers. 
 
 Pierre was in the new world. It was very 
 much unlike the old one. Yet its great superiority 
 did not Mrike 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 
 1 MVII 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 expe- 
 dition was concerted to the newly discovered re- 
 gion of the Upper Mississippi, and Father Francis 
 made his arrangements to accompany the party. 
 Pierre, who, in the long voyage across the Atlan- 
 tic, comparatively agreeable as it was, had become 
 wearied of the confinement and privations incident 
 to this mode of travelling, looked at the little boats 
 launched on the St. Lawrence, for the tronsporta- 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 185 
 
 tion of the party, with some distrust, and evinced 
 a considerable deal of reluctance against embark- 
 ing 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 barbers 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 which, 
 he could be seated in a snug confessional, when 
 he went to confess his sins to the priest, and in 
 the other he could dance without knocking his 
 head against a spar, or running the risk of jump- 
 ing overboard. Other considerations, however, 
 weighed against his indolence and love of pleasure. 
 He longed to discover the fountain of rejuvenes- 
 cence, to bathe in its renovating waters, and 
 secure 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 minister's daughter, and the pride of mak- 
 ing Annette a peeress. Incited by hopes so bril- 
 liant, and so remarkably reasonable, the spirit of 
 adventure was re-animated in his bosom, and he 
 embarked with newly invigorated alacrity. 
 
 They ascended, with much toil, the rapid cur- 
 rent of the noble Lawrence, meandering among, its 
 thousand isles, and gazing with delight on its, 
 16* 
 
186 THE DARK MAID 
 
 rocky and luxuriant shores. They coasted the 
 grand and beautiful lakes of the north, enraptured 
 with the freshness and variety of the scenery; and 
 surveyed with amazement, the great cataract, 
 which has been the wonder of succeeding genera- 
 Every night they encamped upon the 
 banks, and the forest rang with the cheerful 
 sounds of merriment. Sometimes they met the 
 Indians who gazed upon them as superior beings, 
 and either fled in terror, or endeavoured to con- 
 ciliate them by kindness and hospitality. It was 
 thus that the Europeans were usually received by 
 tii. luitm'sof this continent, before little 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 civilised adventurers 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 appearance excited. 
 
 When they reached the southern end of Lake 
 Michigan, 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, running 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 187 
 
 towards the south. Here they halted for some 
 days to hunt, and repair their boats; and when 
 they reached the Illinois, a large, but placid river, 
 one of the noblest tributaries of the Mississippi, 
 the flood had subsided, arid the waters were flow- 
 ing quietly within their natural channel, through 
 the silent forest. 
 
 With what emotions of wonder must those ad- 
 venturous travellers have gazed upon these wild 
 scenes ! How singular must have been their sen- 
 sations, when they reflected on their distance 
 from the civilised world, arid thought of the im- 
 mensity of that immeasurable waste that was 
 spread around them. They had never imagined, 
 far less witnessed, a desert so blooming or so 
 extensive. There was a magnificence of beauty 
 in its prolific vegetation and gorgeous verdure, 
 and a grandeur in the idea of the boundless extent 
 of this splendid wilderness, 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 river; 
 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 current so gentle as to be almost impercep- 
 tible, while the overhanging trees protect it from 
 the winds, keeping it as still and inviolate as the 
 fountain that sleeps in its native cave. The 
 
188 THE DABR MAID 
 
 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 
 dippi-d their limbs in the water. Here and there 
 11 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 pf buffalo, 
 win ling in the tide, sometimes the lazy bear, wal- 
 l<\\iii in the mire, and, occasionally, the slender 
 deer, standing in the timid attitude of attention ; 
 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, surrounded by his wise 
 men, and his warriors, painted in gay colours, 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 to do them 
 honour. The hump of the buffalo, the head of 
 the elk, and the marrowy tail of the beaver, were 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 189 
 
 dressed /OP them, with all the skill of aboriginal 
 gourmandism ; they were feasted, besides, upon 
 bear's oil, jerked venison, hominy, and delicately 
 roasted puppies ; and the juicy steams of these 
 delicious viands, unvitiated by the villanous artifi- 
 cial mixtures of European cookery, were plea- 
 santly 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 eating, 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 improve so favourable an opportu- 
 nity of suggesting the propriety of seasoning such 
 gross meats with a few wholesome condiments ; 
 for, to his taste, the devouring of flesh without 
 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 adding the buffalo's tongue and hump, and the 
 elk's head, to the luxuries 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 
 
190 THE DARK MAID 
 
 the list of solid edibles, was not worthy *>f much 
 
 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 fifteen 
 beautiful young girls, but the good man, as any 
 prudent man would have done, wisely declined the 
 acceptance of a present that might prove so trou- 
 blesomer Pierre thought he would have ordered 
 things differently : he winked, shrugged, hinted, 
 and ut 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 rattlesnake, 
 in preference. Finally, when that worthy and 
 highly honoured ecclesiastic had been feasted 
 to repletion, and loaded to weariness with defe- 
 rential civilities, a soft couch of buffalo robes 
 was spread for him, and a number of young girls 
 stood round him, as he reposed, fanning him with 
 the snowy wings of the swan, and driving away 
 the musquitoes with bunches of gaudy feathers. 
 Pierre thought this JL very grand ceremony, and 
 quite comfortable withal ; and determined, that, 
 whenever he should become proprietor of a gold 
 mine, he would enjoy the luxury of slumber with 
 similar attendance. 
 
 It would be a question worthy the attention of 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 191 
 
 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 aborigines. The vanity of show- 
 ing off a travelled " lion" at our parties is cer- 
 tainly not original. If it be not an inherent pas- 
 sion 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 different 
 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 afford 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 better 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 
 
192 THE DARK MAID 
 
 primitive people recorded their hospitality in terms 
 of grateful acknowledgment. We have pursued 
 a similar course of conduct towards other Euro- 
 peans, and have been sadly traduced and ridiculed 
 for our pains. 
 
 Father Francis took an early occasion to say a 
 word in season to the savages on the great business 
 of his mission. They heard him with grave re- 
 spect, and promised to talte 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 endeavoured 
 to explain their several properties ; they listened 
 with attention, offered food to the watch, which 
 they supposed to be a Jiving animal, looked with 
 fear at the telescope, and picked the old man's 
 pocket, while he was lecturing upon natural phi- 
 losophy. Upon the whole, the savages showed 
 great capabilities for the pursuits of civilised 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 
 countenance, won their regard, and obtained for 
 him the most cordial attention. Though he was 
 not, as they supposed, a chief, or a prophet, they 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 193 
 
 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 their heads. This is 
 one of the most important employments of an 
 Indian'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, bowing and smiling, in his usual 
 obliging manner, 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 
 own 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 delicate instru- 
 ments for torturing prisoners of war, patted him 
 on the head as a valuable auxiliary. He produced 
 a pair of foils, and, while he convinced them that 
 17 
 
194 THE DARK MAID 
 
 he was a great warrior, caused an infinite deal of 
 merriment by the contrast of his own d \u-rity 
 with the awkwardness of those who were pre- 
 vailed upon to oppose him. A pocket mirror, and 
 some trinkets, which he displayed, won their ad- 
 miration, 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 ! 
 had ventured upon a delicate experiment, 
 in which ninety-nine of the most consummately 
 skilled artists 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 which commanded a brilliant destiny. 
 In the fulness of his heart he opened a small 
 ge of looking-L 'uich he had brought 
 
 for traffic, and distributed them gratuitously 
 among the warriors, presenting the largest and 
 most elegant to the chief, who was so much de- 
 .lighted, that he instantly, with princely liberality, 
 offered him his daughter in marriage. Happy 
 Pierre ! he was that clay the proudest of men, and 
 the most blissful of barbers. 
 
 Pierre had serious scruples whether he should 
 accept this generous offer ; not that he considered 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 195 
 
 it above his merits on the contrary, he gave the 
 chief jreat credit for having had the acuteness to 
 discover his genius, and the magnanimity to know 
 how to appreciate it. It was a proposal worthy 
 of both the parties concerned. But it touched his 
 honour, while it flattered his pride. He had not 
 forgotten his obligations to Annette the merry 
 dark-eyed girl who had given him the first offer- 
 ing of her young affections. 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 sirt- 
 cerely 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 nothing shall ever 
 induce me to act in a manner unbecoming a 
 French gentleman." Having formed this heroic 
 resolution, he put his hat on one side of his head, 
 and strutted through the village, with the inde- 
 pendent air of a man who chooses to do as he 
 pleases, and the self-satisfied countenance of one 
 who has adopted a virtuous determination. 
 
 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 
 
l!Mi THE DARK MAID 
 
 daughter of a king, and that such an allianc 
 
 not to be picked up every day in the woods of the 
 
 . orld. lie might grow gray before another 
 sovereign would' condescend to invite him into his 
 family: and, reasoning in his own mind, that the 
 
 >ed marriage would make him a prim 
 
 i >parent, he began to entertain strong doubts 
 i patriotism, and the honour of the French 
 nation, did nut require him to sacrifice his 
 
 to the glory and advantage of giving a king 
 t<> ihe lilim. Napoleon has since been called 
 upon to decide a similar question ; and, Pierre, 
 though not a great warrior, loved his country and 
 him-elf as \\ II as Napoleon. He reflected fur- 
 ther, that the possession of the sovereign power 
 would l>r 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 .-hip- 
 load of the precious metal. Moreover, he had 
 already discovered, that in the new world it wa< 
 the custom 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, de- 
 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 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 197 
 
 enough to turn the scale. Indeed, it is most usual 
 to adopt a theory first, and then to seek out argu- 
 ments to support it. Pierre could now find a host 
 of reasons urging him to instant wedlock with the 
 Illinois maiden. And not the least were the ad- 
 vantages which would accrue to Father Francis, 
 to the church, and to the cause of civilisation. 
 When he should become a prince, he could take 
 the venerable priest under his patronage, encou- 
 rage the spread of the true faith, cause his subjects 
 to be civilised, and inducenhem to dress like Chris- 
 tians 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, hav- 
 ing thus definitely settled the question, thought it 
 would be proper to take the advice 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 wicked- 
 ness of breaking his plighted 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 hum- 
 ble appearance of conviction, and forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to gratify his own inclination believing 
 that, in the affair of wedlock, he knew what was 
 for his own good quite as well as a holy monk, 
 17* 
 
198 THE DARK MAID 
 
 who, to the best of his judgment, could know vcr} 
 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 
 fur his companion was a slender, pretty girl, with 
 a mild black eye and an agreeable countenance. 
 They were conducted to a wigwam, and installed 
 at once into the offices, of husband and wit 
 into the possession of th*ir future mansion. The 
 females of the village assembled, and practised a 
 good many jokes at the expense of the young 
 couple; and Piein . M well to get rid of these as 
 to improve the earliest opportunity of examining 
 into the mineral treasures of the country, endea- 
 voured, by signs, to invite his partner to a stroll 
 intimating, at the same time, that he would be 
 infinitely obliged to her if she would hav 
 pulitoiiess to show him a gold mine or two. The 
 girl signified her acquiescence, and present! \ 
 away through the forest, followed by the ena- 
 moured 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 thick- 
 ets. Pierre liked her none the less for this evi- 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 199 
 
 dence of coquetry, but gaily pursued his beautiful 
 bride, for whom he began to feel the highest 
 admiration. Her figure was exquisitely moulded, 
 and the exercise in which she was now engaged 
 displayed its gracefulness to the greatest advan- 
 tage. 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 credit- 
 able degree of speed ; but, unaccustomed to the 
 obstacles which impeded the way, he soon became 
 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 
 whenever he mended his pace, or showed an in-' 
 clination to overtake her, she would dart away, 
 looking back over her shoulder, laughing, and 
 coquetting, and inviting him to follow. For a 
 time this was amusing enough, arid quite to the 
 taste of the merry barber ; but the afternoon was 
 hot, the 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. Adven- 
 turers to newly discovered regions expect to get 
 
200 THE DARK MAID 
 
 things easily ; the fruits of labour may be found at 
 home. 
 
 On they went in this manner, until Pierre, wea- 
 ried out, was about up the pursuit of his 
 light-heeled bride, when they reached a spot where 
 the ground gradually ascended, until, all at once, 
 tln-v stood upon the edge of an elevated and exten- 
 sive plain. On i r tad heretofore obtained 
 partial glimpses of the prairies, but now saw one 
 of these va-t 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 
 ;io looked over a boundless expanse, 
 not a single tree intercepted the prospect 
 or relieved the monotony. He strained his \ 
 forward, but the plain was boundless marking 
 the curved line of its profile on the far d; 
 horizon. The efleci lered more striking 
 by the appearance of the setting sun. which had 
 sunk to tin level of the farthest edge of the prairie, 
 and seemed like a globe of fire resting upon the 
 ground. Pierre looked around him with admi- 
 ration. The vast expanse destitute of trees. 
 covered with tall grass, now dried by the sum- 
 mer's heat, and extending, as it seemed to him, 
 to the western verge of the continent excited his 
 special wonder. Little versed in geography, he 
 persuaded himself that he had reached the western 
 boundary of the world, and beheld the very spot 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 201 
 
 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 import- 
 ance. Columbus had discovered a continent, but 
 he 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 composedly waiting his pleasure, when he 
 discovered large masses of smoke rolling upward 
 in the west. He pointed towards this new pheno- 
 menon, and endeavoured to obtain some explana- 
 tion 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 pur- 
 poses 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 inadequate to the interpre- 
 
202 THE DARK MAID 
 
 tation of natural phenomena ; and tho Indian maid 
 was unable to explain that singular appearance 
 which so pu/xk-d Iier lover. But discovering, 
 from the direction to which he pointed, that hi- 
 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 sympat: 
 compamuii unconsciously fell into the same mood. 
 Il< had taken her hand, which she now yielded 
 with*.:, nee, and they moved slowly, side 
 
 le, over the plain she with a submissive 
 and demure air, and IK- alternately admiring his 
 beautiful bride, and throwing suspicious glances at 
 the novel scene around him. The sun had gone 
 
 . the breeze had subsided, and the stillness of 
 ua- lian^inir U\T the prairie. Pierre began 
 to have au: ions. 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 marquis in anticipation, prevented 
 him. He felt mean for no man of spirit ever be- 
 romrs seriously alarmed without feeling a sense 
 of degradation. There is something so unmanly 
 in ii-ar, that, although no bosom is entirely proof 
 feel ashamed to acknowledge its 
 intlnemv even to oiir-elvcs. Our hero looked for- 
 ward in terror, yet was too proud to turn back. 
 Superstition was beginning to throw its ' 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 203 
 
 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 which 
 swells so gradually that the traveller scarcely 
 remarks them until he reaches the summit, and 
 beholds, from a commanding eminence, a bound- 
 less 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 per- 
 fect plain. One phenomenon astonished and per- 
 plexed 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 
 darkness. 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 waiting his pleasure ; but on whose fea- 
 tures, as displayed by the uncertain light that 
 glimmered on them, a smile of triumph seemed to 
 play. He looked again, and the horizon gleamed 
 
204 THE DARK MAID 
 
 brighter and brighter, until a fiery redness rose 
 above its dark outline, while heavy, slow moving, 
 masses of cloud curled upward above it. It \\as 
 evidently the intense reflection, and the volumi- 
 nous smoke, of a vast fire. In another moment 
 the blaze itself appeared, first shooting up at one 
 spot, and then at another, and advancing, until 
 the v.holr line ot' h'ri/Mii was clothed with ilames, 
 that mllcd an>und, and curled, and dashed upward, 
 like the angry waves of a burning 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 < 
 could produce an effect so terrific. The whole 
 western horizon was clad in fire, and, as far as the 
 
 uld see, to the right and left, was on- 
 conflagration, having the appearance of angry 
 billows of a fiery liquid, dashing against each 
 other, and foaming, and throwing llakes of burning 
 spray into the air. There was a roaring sound 
 like that caused by the conflict of waves. A more 
 terrific sight r cely be conceived; nor 
 
 was it singular that an unpractised eye should be- 
 hold 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 li-ai- 
 in the tremendous landscape. He saw before him 
 the lake of fire prepared for the devil and his 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 205 
 
 angels. The existence of such a place of punish- 
 ment he had never doubted ; but, heretofore, it 
 had been a mere dogma of faith, while now it ap- 
 peared 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 writhing 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 him- 
 self, his steps seemed to linger, as if his heels 
 were lead. 
 
 The Indian girl clapped her 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 down- 
 fall of his soul. The dark maid of Illinois, so 
 lately an object of love, became, to his distem- 
 pered fancy, a minister of vengeance a fallen 
 angel sent to tempt him to destruction. A super- 
 natural strength and swiftness gave wings to his 
 flight, as he bounded away with the speed of the 
 ostrich of the desert ; but he seemed, to himself, 
 to crawl sluggishly, and, whenever he cast a 
 18 
 
206 THE DABK MAID 
 
 glance behind, that mysterious girl of the prau i< 
 was laughing at his heels. He tried to in\>ko 
 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 
 suitable one to be called upon in such an anoma- 
 lous case. Arrived at the forest, he dashed head- 
 long through its tangled thickets. Neither the 
 darkness, m any obstacle, checked his car i : hut 
 scrambling <,\< r lallen timber, tearing through 
 copse ^nd briar, he held his way, bruised and 
 bleed ing, 4hrough the forest. At last he reached 
 tin \ill;i_ie, staggered into a lodge which hap- 
 pened to be unoccupied, and sunk down insensible. 
 The sun was just rising above the eastern hori- 
 zon when Pi'Tre 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 plu- 
 mage of the swan, and covered him with robes of 
 the finest fur. She iiad watched his dreamy sleep 
 through the long hours, when all others \\ere 
 sleeping, and no eye witnessed her assiduous care 
 had bathed his throbbing temples with \\at T 
 from the spring, and passed her slender fingers 
 through his ringlets, with the fondness of a young 
 and growing affection, until she had soothed the 
 unconscious object of her tenderness into a calm 
 repose. It was her first love, and she had given 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 207 
 
 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 attentions 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 sleep- 
 less solicitude, throughout the night, and still 
 watched, dejected, by his side, seemed to wear a 
 malignant 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 
 
208 inr. I.AKK MAID 
 
 rhcy found he had loft the village ; 
 hut Father Fcancis, a /igid moralist, and a stern 
 man, determined not to wait for him a moment, 
 and the little 1> re already shoved into the 
 
 -tn am, when the haggard barber appeared, and 
 plunged into the water. As he climbed the side 
 of tin; nearest boat, he conjured his comra' 
 tones of agony, to fly. Imagining he had disco- 
 -i. in.- Prooeterj in th'-ir new allies, they 
 obeyed ; the oars were plied with vigour, and t he- 
 vessels of the white strangers rapidly disappeared 
 front the eyes of the astonished Illini, who \\ 
 much perple\ed by the abrupt departure, as they 
 had been by the unexpected visit of their eccentric 
 
 Pierre took to his bed, and remained an invalid 
 
 g the rest of t! . Nor did he set 
 
 ot on shore again in the new world. One 
 
 glance at the lake of fire urn for him, and 
 
 ' not, like Orpheus, look back at the in: 
 regions from which he had escaped. The party 
 descended the " ;>i to the gulf of Mexico, 
 
 where, finding a ship destined for France, he took 
 leave of his companions, from whom he had care- 
 fully concealed the true cause of his alarm. Dur- 
 ing the passage across the Atlantic he reo 
 
 ;i!th. and. in some measure, 1 
 he never regained his thirst for adventure 
 iml.ition to be a marquis, or his desire to seek for 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 209 
 
 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 mar- 
 ried 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 he had 
 once destined her. It 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 gentle- 
 man, until strong temptation overmastered him, 
 while she had listened to the sugared compliments 
 of the confectioner, as soon as the back 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 slightly the 
 sincere passion of so munificent t\ lover ! Pierre 
 received the news of her defection with the com- 
 posure of a philosopher shrugged his shoulders, 
 snapped his fingers, and resumed his humble occu- 
 pation. He was not the man to break his heart 
 for a trifle ; and, after bearing with fortitude the 
 18* 
 
XJ10 THE DARK MAID 
 
 loss of a gold mine, a throne, and lovely princess, 
 th<> infidelity of a light-hearted maiden was not a 
 thinn to irriove 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 sen- 
 sibilities became a little blunted when he saw 
 hi- mul, the confectioner, prospering and growing 
 
 <! the prospect of Annette's becoming a 
 widow, more and more remote, his reserve wore 
 he began to relate his adventures to his 
 customers. He became quite celebrated as all 
 Europeans are, who have travelled in America 
 many flocked to his shop to hear his interesting 
 recitals, and the burning lake was , \ com- 
 
 ;.me, to the other wonders of the new world. 
 The Indian maid followed the while stranger to 
 the shore, and saw him depart, with grief. She 
 gazed at the receding boats until they turned an 
 angle of the river, where they vanished for ever 
 from her view, and then she sat down, and buried 
 her face in her hands. Her companions, in sympa- 
 
 r 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. Ue had fled 
 from her with every appearance of terror and 
 loathing. She was repudiated under circui 
 ces of notoriety, which deeply wounded her pride : 
 
OF ILLINOIS. 211 
 
 while a tenderness, newly awakened, and evinced 
 to the full extent that maiden delicacy permitted, 
 was cruelly repaid by insult. Nor was the acute- 
 ness of these feelings at all blunted by the suspi- 
 cion that she had been he/self an accessory in 
 producing the melancholy result. Pierre had fol- 
 lowed her to the prairie, in all the joyous hilarity 
 of an ardent lover- he had fled from her in fear, 
 and, although the cause of his terror was unknown, 
 she imputed it to something in her own person or 
 deportment. There is no anguish which a woman 
 feels so keenly as the pang of mortified affection 
 the conviction that her offered love is spurned 
 the virgin shame of having betrayed 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 hidden in her own bosom ; 
 but when the husband, or the accepted lover, re- 
 pels, 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 rudeness that 
 reaches its vitality and withers it for ever. Wo- 
 man 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 power with humility, 
 
212 THE DARK MAID OP ILLINOIS. 
 
 to oppression with patience, to the ordinary ca- 
 lamities of human nature with resignation no- 
 thing breaks her heart but insulted love. 
 
 For whole days did the Indian maid wander 
 through the solitary 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 would 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 sum- 
 mit of a lonely mound in the prairie, covered the 
 remains of the beautiful and love stricken MAID OF 
 ILLINOIS. 
 
213 
 
 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 Omawhaw Indians. The former inhabit- 
 ants, 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, even in his 
 simplest state, his superiority over the brute of 
 the forest. 
 
 The ruin is extensive, but 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 beau- 
 * 
 
214 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 tiful carpet of short, luxuriant, blue-grass a pro- 
 duction which ever springs up near the hahitMtinu.-, 
 of man, flourishes round his ruined mansion long 
 after hi< departure, and clothes with verdure the 
 grave in which his body reposes. The council- 
 house, where the warriors met to recount their 
 victories, or to plan their hostile excursions, is 
 oiitiivly destroyed, and its remains are only distin- 
 <_nii>hcd from those of the other lodges by their 
 larger size and central situation. Here too is still 
 seen, crumbling to decay, the post around which 
 the warriors danced, where the war-song has 
 often been sung where the buffalo-dance has fre- 
 quently been witnessed and where perhaps, too, 
 many an unhappy prisoner has endured the most 
 dreadful tortures that ingenious hatred could invent. 
 The village was bounded, on one side, by the 
 Missouri, whose bold current, discoloured by the 
 earthy substances with which it loads itself in its 
 violent career, swept along the foot of the bluff on 
 which it stood ; 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. In front a wide prairie, 
 covered with its verdant and flowery carpet, pre- 
 sented a long undulating line of horizon to tin 
 The whole town was surrounded by a palisade, 
 now entirely destroyed, beyond which were the 
 corn fields, where the squaws practised their rude 
 
THE NEW MOON. 215 
 
 agriculture, and which furnished a scanty subsist- 
 ence 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 whites. For 
 the blight of the white man often precedes him, 
 and the Indian recoils instinctively, even before he 
 has actually suffered by contact with the race 
 which has oppressed his fathers. The shadow 
 of the white man falls 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 here to indulge that pen- 
 sive train of thought, which is always awakened 
 by the sight of the deserted habitations of man. 
 How sacred is the spot which a human 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 imagi- 
 nation loves to people the deserted scene, to picture 
 the deeds of its former inhabitants, and to revive 
 the employments of those who now slumber in the 
 tomb. The hearth-stone, which once glowed with 
 
216 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 warmth, is cold, and the silence of death is brood- 
 ing over that >p.t. which was once the seat of 
 t-ti\ity. 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 maidm was In n in the modest garb of youth- 
 * ful I s listening with downcast eye to 
 
 voice of adulation, or laughing away the hours 
 with the careless joy of youthful hilarity; the wife 
 was seen surrounded by the maternal cares, and 
 the <|iii< t l>lamli>hments, of domestic life; and the 
 child sported in bistemns mirth. Yes it is the 
 -am-' feeling : the \\ retrln-d wigwam of the poor 
 Indian was as much his home as the villa of the 
 Roman > -nator; and, though the ruins of the one, 
 from their superior magnificence. ite more 
 
 curiosity than those of the other, the shadow that 
 rests upon the h< linger among either, 
 
 is equally induced hy sympathy for the fallen for- 
 tunes of those who once flourished and are now no 
 more. Men are callous to the sufferings of the 
 living, but few tread with indifference over the 
 s of the dead, or view with insensibility the 
 relics of ancient day-. 
 
 All are gone. Some are banished, and others, 
 as the scripture beautifully expresses it, arc not: 
 the graves of the dead may be faintly discerned in 
 

 THE NEW MOOX. 217 
 
 the neglected fields, but the foot-prints of those 
 who have fled to other lands have long vanished 
 from the green sward and the neglected streets. 
 It was thus with Nineveh and Babylon; it was 
 thus with the desecrated seats of the Druids, and 
 with the strong castles of feudal Europe. The 
 story of what they once were lives in song and 
 history; romance - has gathered a few fragments, 
 and entwined them with 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 ashes of the uncon- 
 scious dead. 
 
 However unsatisfactory may be our researches 
 in such scenes, we linger among them with mourn- 
 ful pleasure. There is something which is remark- 
 ably exciting in the contrast between the present 
 and the past. Nothing seizes the imagination so 
 suddenly, or so strongly, as 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 ram- 
 parts as the waves dash against the rock-bound 
 shore. Where there was life, we stand in the 
 midst of death. The abodes of those who once 
 lived are deserted, and an awful silence prevails. 
 19 
 
218 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 The reptile and the wild beast have taken posses- 
 sion of the spot formerly occupied by the social 
 circle. The weed and the briar cover the dilapi- 
 dated 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 character 
 however fierce or wicked he may have been, the 
 blast of desolation has passed over him, and the 
 heart spontaneously yields its forgiveness to those 
 sins and errors that have been punished, and the 
 consequences of which sleep in the tomb with the 
 aggressor and the victim. And we think of our- 
 selves, 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 ; 
 and the places that knew us once shall know us no 
 longer, for ever. 
 
 We are growing serious. Let us return to the 
 village. It was, in days past, a pleasant spot, to 
 those who could find pleasure in the savage state. 
 The Omawhaws dwelt here for five months in the 
 year, employed in raising beans and corn for their 
 subsistence in the winter, and in dressing the buf- 
 falo skins which had been taken in the hunt of the 
 preceding season. During the rest of the year 
 they wandered over those wide plains where the 
 buffalo grazes, and the deer and elk are found ; 
 spending the whole time in hunting and feasting 
 
THE NEW MOON. 219 
 
 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 harassed them. But they con- 
 tinued 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 repel- 
 ling it, during the short interval of repose allowed 
 them while their corn was growing. 
 
 Many miles below the town, at a very con- 
 spicuous point on the shore of the Missouri, is a 
 small mound which covers the remains of Wash- 
 inggahsaba, or the Blackbird, a celebrated chief, 
 who died some years ago at this spot on his way 
 home. According 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 
 ascending the river to trade with the Omawhaws." 
 A hillock of earth was raised over his remains, on 
 which food was regularly placed for several years 
 afterwards. But this rite has been discontinued. 
 We know not how long a spirit requires 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 deceased. A staff supporting a white flag, 
 
--'" HIE NEW MOON. 
 
 that marked to the eye of the distant traveller the 
 site of this solitary grave, and called for a tribute 
 of respect to one whom his people delighted tu 
 honour, is no longer in existence. 
 
 The Blackbird was a person of singular capa- 
 city, and the greatest man of his tribe, lie had 
 an intellect which obtained the mastery of other 
 minds, and gave him absolute power over those 
 around him. They honoured his -t his 
 
 virtues. Though a great, he was a repulsive, 
 man. lie possessed an extraordinary genius, 
 which- enabled him to sway the multitude, and 
 gain them over to his purposes but not to win 
 their affections. They clun^ to him with devoted 
 fidelity followed, served, and obeyed, with a su- 
 iiious attachment, 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 nuth< >nty. 
 He had gained the reputation of a great me- 
 man, who was supposed to wield a mysterious 
 influence over the lives of those around him, 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 
 nnerrinir certainty: and those who counteracted his 
 views, who disobeyed his counsel, or in any man- 
 ner incurred- his displeasure, were removed agree- 
 ably to his predictions, and, apparently, by the 
 
THE NEW MOON. 221 
 
 operation of his spells. Such a mysterious, dread- 
 ful power quelled the wild spirit of the Omawhaw, 
 who stood submissive, awed into silence, in the 
 presence of the despotic chief, and trembled, even 
 in his absence, if a rebellious thought spontane- 
 ously swelled his bosom. He was considered as 
 the friend of the Great Spirit ; and it was thought 
 that the Omawhaws were particularly honoured, 
 in having such a personage placed at the helm of 
 their affairs. Many were the victims of his am- 
 bition. Whenever his keen dark eye fell in 
 displeasure on an individual, and the blighting 
 prophecy was uttered, the victim, from that 
 instant, bore a charmed life ; he sickened, with- 
 ered away, and sunk rapidly to the grave. But 
 the power of the chief continued undiminished to 
 the last ; and the whites 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, its harvest is 
 distrust and hatred. Who would be great on 
 such terms ? 
 
 To the American traders, who were induced, 
 by the enterprising spirit of traffic, to visit that 
 remote region, the crafty chief was probably in- 
 debted for his power. It is supposed that they 
 secretly furnished him with the most subtle drugs, 
 19* 
 
222 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 which he used so artfully, that even they who 
 supplied them, and who thus courted his favour, 
 by a sacrifice of principle most incredibly atro- 
 cious, remained uncertain whether he admini- 
 them directly as poisons, or employed them in the 
 horrid operations of magic. Certain it is, that 
 although capricious towards all others, he pro- 
 tected and countenanced the traders with unwa- 
 vering friendship. 11< was true to them, and to 
 tin.' \vhit< people in general, under all changes of 
 fortune or of temper ; and there is always reason 
 to suspect that a mutual kindness of long continu- 
 ance, between parties so politic and selfish, is pro- 
 duced only by reciprocal advantage. It is said, 
 that \\hile he compelled the traders to yield up to 
 him, ^ratuitmisly, a portion of their goods, he 
 obliged his people to purchase the remainder at 
 double prices, so that the trader lost nothing by 
 his rapacity. 
 
 He delighted in the display of his power, and 
 seemed, on some occasions, to exert his authority 
 for no other purpose than to show that he pos- 
 sessed it. One day, during a great national hunt, 
 in which all the tribe engaged, and which was con- 
 ducted with the discipline of a warlike expedition, 
 they arrived, fatigued and thirsty, at the bank of a 
 fine flowing stream. They had been travelling 
 over plains exposed to the sun, and destitute of 
 water, and the sight of a clear rivulet filled the 
 
THE NEW MOON. 223 
 
 party with joy. But, although all were parched 
 with thirst, the chief, to their surprise, permitted 
 none to drink, but a white man, who happened to 
 be in company. He gave no reason for his con- 
 duct ; a cold peremptory mandate announced his 
 will, and a sullen, though implicit, obedience, at- 
 tested the despotic nature of his command over 
 his submissive followers. The painted warriors, 
 fierce, and wild, and untamed, as they were, 
 neither hesitated nor murmured at an unjust 
 order, which, although it seemed the result of 
 caprice, was probably intended to try their disci- 
 pline, 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 ladyj whose own affections are so pure 
 and refined, as to enable her to describe, with pe- 
 culiar grace and fidelity, the gentler emotions of 
 the heart has lately drawn so true a picture of 
 the love of a father for his daughter, that I shall 
 not venture " to dwell on this development of affec- 
 tion." Even the callous 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 New Moon, who was the most 
 beautiful female of the tribe. The Indian women 
 
224 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 arc usually short, and ungraceful ; but she had a 
 figure of which an European lady might have 
 vain. She was taller and fairer than the 
 KM of the Omawhaw maidens, and towered i 
 them as her father did above the men. Her com- 
 plexion was so light as to be nearly pure, and the 
 blush mantled in her cheek when she spoke. Her 
 was beautifully rounded, and her limbs of 
 exquisite proportion. But her superiority was 
 that of Mature and womanly grace; she claimed 
 no obv tribute to rank, nor mad' 
 
 ostentatious display of her beauty. Her appro- 
 priate and euphonous name was given, not merely 
 on account of the mild brilliancy of her charms, 
 but in reference also to the sweetness of disposi- 
 tion, 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 appearance 
 of the luminary of the night. 
 
 Beau a exerts an influence, for good or 
 
 evil, upon the female mind. No woman grows to 
 maturity unconscious of a possession, 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 possesses a power, which, com- 
 bined with an amiable deportment, and directed by 
 honourable principle, is more efficient than AS 
 
THE NEW MOON. 225 
 
 or genius. No man was ever formed with a heart 
 so callous as to be insensible to its magic influ- 
 ence. It is a talisman, as potent as the lamp of 
 Aladdin, in the hands of one who uses it with 
 modesty and virtue ; but a deadly curse in the 
 possession of a weak or vicious woman. 
 
 The destiny of a beautiful girl is most usually 
 coloured by the possession of this fascinating 
 treasure. 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 insensible of her sex. Neglecting the 
 appropriate graces, and solid accomplishments, 
 which throw so many pure and hallowed fascina- 
 tions around the sweet companion of man, she 
 soon learns to feel the want, and to supply the ab- 
 sence, of womanly attractions, by artificial bland- 
 ishments. Almost unconsciously she becomes 
 artful, and learns to live in a corrupted atmosphere 
 of deception. The time soon arrives when the 
 beautiful flower which attracted admiration with- 
 ers and the stem which bore it is found to be 
 that of a worthless weed. 
 
 But where the mind is sound, and the heart 
 pure, beauty elevates the character of a young 
 female. The admiration which she receives, 
 even in childhood, softens her affections, and sti- 
 mulates her latent ambition. The glance, and the 
 
226 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 tone of gallantry, with which she is addressed, 
 awakens the responsive sentiment which gives the 
 pro per tune to her ailections. els her 
 
 power, and assumes the dignity of her sex. A 
 womanly tenderness and grace is seen in all her 
 actions. Accustomed to admiration, her brain is 
 not turned by the idle breath of unmeaning com- 
 pliment. Coniidi 'lit in her powers of pleasing, she 
 ri-es above the little stratagems, and sordid jea- 
 lousies, of her sex, and scorns to use any allure- 
 ment to extort those attentions to which she feels 
 herself 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 woman as to be almost virtues, 
 though, in fact, they involve little moral respon<i- 
 bility. The kn.v. .it we possess an envi- 
 
 able 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 encou- 
 ragement. As the man w ho has a capital to build 
 upon is more apt to husband his resources, and 
 aim at great wealth, than him who, having nothing 
 to begin with, has no expectation of accumulating 
 a fortune so the beauty has a capital, which 
 
THE NEW MOON. 227 
 
 induces her to study neatness, grace, and pro- 
 priety. 
 
 I know not whether any of this philosophy holds 
 good among the Omawhaws 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 a chief or because a portion of her father's 
 talents had descended to her but I am inclined 
 to think it was because she was remarkably hand- 
 some. For one or all of these reasons, she was 
 more neat in her dress, more graceful in her car- 
 riage, more sedate and modest in her conduct, 
 more dignified, and altogether more lady-like, after 
 the fashion of the Omawhaws, than any other 
 young lady of that nation : all which I am ready 
 to verify. 
 
 Among the Omawhaws, females are usually be- 
 trothed in childhood, but the daughter of Blackbird 
 had remained free from any engagement. Great 
 men sometimes trample on national usages which 
 interfere with their own designs, and the politic 
 chief of the Omawhaws might have kept his 
 daughter free from any engagement, in order to 
 
228 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 be at full liberty, at any time, to make for her the 
 best match which his situation might command. 
 Or, perhaps, the awe in which the chief was held, 
 and 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. Menae 
 had now n-aehed her fifteenth \ ear, and the young 
 warriors began to look towards her as an object of 
 peculiar attraction. In her presence they reined 
 up their horses, involuntarily seeking to display 
 the action of their steeds and their own horse- 
 manship or urired their canoes over the eddying 
 waves of the Missouri with redoubled vigour. 
 Some of them improved vastly in their attention 
 to the labours of the toilet, adorned their faces 
 with an unusual quantity of red paint, and their 
 necks with the elaws of bears and hung all sorts 
 of grisly ornaments about their persons. Others 
 exhibited the scalps of their enemies Main in battle, 
 with more than ordinary ostentation ; and the tro- 
 phies torn from slaughtered white men became 
 quite the fashion. 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 ot'her favour. 
 
 More than a year previous to the time at which 
 our tale commences, a young trader had arrived 
 
THE NEW MOON. 229 
 
 at the Omawhaw village. Naturally sagacious, 
 and expert in business, he soon became acquainted 
 with the customs of the tribe, and acquired the 
 confidence of the people. His appearance was 
 prepossessing, his look was bold and manly, and 
 his speech prompt and frank, yet cautious and 
 respectful. The squaws called him the handsome 
 white man, but the more discriminating warriors 
 designated him the wise stranger. 
 
 He was one of a very numerous and successful 
 class, who are chiefly distinguished by their faculty 
 for getting along in the world, but who, in conse- 
 quence of the possession of this one quality, receive 
 credit for many others. Calm, mild, with an agree- 
 able smile always playing over his features, Mr. 
 Bolingbroke was pronounced to be a young gen- 
 tleman of excellent heart ; but the truth was, that 
 his heart had nothing to do with the blandness of 
 his manners. The secret of that uniform self- 
 possession 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 any thing 
 but his own personal advancement ; and, as long 
 as his affairs went on prosperously, there was no 
 reason why a perpetual sunshine should not play 
 over his features. He was courteous from policy, 
 because men are managed more easily by kindness 
 than by stratagem or force ; and because it was 
 20 
 
230 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 more natural to him to smile than to frown. 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, 
 would 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 reward, and he was prosperous in trade. 
 But, as time rolled on, other traders came to the 
 village, competition reduced his gains, and he be- 
 gan 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 ; therefore he studied over it 
 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 warm- 
 ly than usual, strolled often to their .wigwams, 
 laughed with glee at their jokes, and seemed 
 really to love them, and to take an interest in 
 their prosperity. The result of his cogitations 
 was a conviction that the most feasible plan for 
 rising above competition would be that of wedlock, 
 that of identifying himself with the tribe, enlist- 
 
THE NEW MOON. 231 
 
 ing their affections, and securing the influence of 
 a powerful friend by a marriage with the daughter 
 of some influential person ; nor did he hesitate a 
 moment 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 delighted 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 flattered by them. But now her quick 
 apprehension discovered that there was something 
 in his manner altogether different from his ordi- 
 nary 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. It was so with Menae ; the white 
 stranger had as yet made no impression on her 
 heart. Some presents, of more value than those 
 which he had been in the habit of giving to the 
 
232 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 Indian maidens, convinced her of that which she 
 had begun to suspect ; and she whispered to her- 
 self, in the exultation of a girl over her first con- 
 quest, " the handsome white man loves the New 
 Moon." 
 
 Just at this crisis arrived the season of the grand 
 summer hunt, when, the corn having been weeded, 
 the whole tribe abandoned the village, and pro- 
 ceeded to the great plains where the buffaloes 
 graze in vast herds. This is an occasion of great 
 rejoicing. For several days previous to the de- 
 parture of the tribe, feasts were held, and councils 
 assembled to deliberate on the route, to devise the 
 plan of the hunt, and to suggest the necessary 
 precautions to avoid the snares of their enemies. 
 The elders of the tribe repeated the results of 
 their experience, the orators embraced the occa- 
 sion to win new trophies of applause, and while 
 some were successful in these ambitious attempts, 
 there were also others who 
 
 " In that unnavigable stream were drowned." 
 
 The traders were consulted in reference to the 
 supply of guns and ammunition ; and the hunters 
 made their contracts individually, in accordance 
 with which they were provided with rifles, gun- 
 powder, and other articles, to be paid for in furs 
 and peltry, at the close of the hunting season. 
 It was on such occasions, that Bolingbroke had 
 
THE NEW MOON. 233 
 
 heretofore discovered his influence to. be at its 
 greatest height among his savage customers ; who 
 treated his suggestions with deference, in propor- 
 tion to the amount of the favours which they 
 solicited at his hands. In the wilderness, as in 
 the marts of civilised life, people are never so 
 kind to each other as at the moment when the 
 relation of debtor and creditor is about to be 
 created, and never less cordial than during the 
 existence of that obligation. Bolingbroke had 
 found himself, at one season, worshipped as the 
 idol of the tribe, and, at another, feared as its 
 master; but, by being alternately an indulgent 
 creditor, and an unassuming friend, had retained 
 its confidence. . It was, therefore, with no small 
 degree of chagrin that he now saw his business 
 about to be shared, and his influence divided, with 
 others. His convictions, as to the propriety of 
 entering into the honourable state of matrimony, 
 became greatly strengthened by this new evidence 
 of the evanescent nature of his own popularity ; 
 and his love for the New Moon increased to a 
 steady flame, as the propitious influence which 
 this bright star might exert over his fortunes be- 
 came clearly developed. 
 
 The councils continued to be held ; and, while 
 
 the chief men were employed in maturing the 
 
 weighty affairs of their little state, every leisure 
 
 interval was filled with sport and feasting. The 
 
 20* 
 
234 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 men amused themselves with various pastimes, 
 such as cards, dancing, foot-ball, and racing. The 
 younger warriors were painted with more than 
 ordinary care; some gave themselves up to the 
 affairs of courtship and gallantry others did 
 honour to the chiefs and distinguished braves, by 
 dancing before the doors of their respective lodges 
 while a few, ludicrously appareled, moved about 
 the village, exciting laughter by the performance 
 of coarse feats of buffoonery. 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 that the entertainments were over, 
 praising the hospitality of the several hosts, pub- 
 lishing the resolves of the council, and admonish- 
 ing the people to hasten their preparations for 
 departure. 
 
 At length, every requisite arrangement being 
 complete, the females, to whom the prospect of 
 such a journey is always gratifying, were seen 
 moving rapidly abqut, assiduously occupied in 
 loading their horses with such moveables as were 
 necessary to be transported. It was obvious that 
 they felt their own importance ; their active mo- 
 tions, busy faces, and loud talking, evinced that 
 for the moment they had broken through all the 
 salutary restraints of discipline, and assumed the 
 
THE NEW MOON. 235 
 
 reins of government ; and they even ventured to 
 rate their husbands severely, for real or supposed 
 trespasses, upon what they considered their pecu- 
 liar province as we have understood the ladies of 
 another tribe, which shall be nameless, are accus- 
 tomed to do, when their liege lords intrude upon 
 them while in the performance of any household 
 solemnities which they regard as inviolate. 
 
 The march of the tribe from the village pre- 
 sented a picturesque and beautiful scene. It was 
 a bright morning in June. 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 beautiful verdure of spring, and 
 flowers, infinite in number, as diversified in hue, 
 reared their heads to the surface of the grassy 
 carpet, and seemed to repose upon it, like colours 
 upon the canvass of the painter. The whole plain 
 presented a series of graceful swells and depres- 
 sions, which, at this early hour of the day, re- 
 ceived the sunlight under such a variety of angles, 
 as to afford an endless diversity of light and shade; 
 while it heightened the effect of the perspective, 
 by throwing up a few points into prominent relief, 
 and casting others, whose features were as dis- 
 tinctly visible, into an imaginary back-ground. 
 
236 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 As the cavalcade commenced its march, a long 
 train of warriors, on horseback, were beheld issu- 
 ing from the village, arrayed in all the pomp, and 
 in all the grave 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 trapping of 
 savage 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 small 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 on saddles richly ornamented. The 
 bridles of many were decorated with gaudy co- 
 loured ribbon, tape, Or tinsel, or with bits of tin, 
 or pieces of dressed deer skin cut into fringe, or 
 rolled into tassels; and many had adorned the 
 manes and tails of their horses. 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 warriors 
 mounted on fine horses, well clad, completely 
 
THE NEW MOON. 237 
 
 armed and appointed, of sedate carriage, 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 hprse rapidly along the flank of 
 the column, or seeking to attract attention by 
 dashing off from the party, 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 squaws, the children, 
 and the old men, a few of whom were mounted on 
 lean ponies, but the greater part on foot, trudging 
 soberly along except the younger females, who 
 amused themselves with jeering any of the junior 
 warriors who happened to lag behind their com- 
 rades. Under charge of this body of non-combat- 
 ants, was a train of pack-horses, bearing the mats, 
 skin lodges, and other rnoveables. 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 to the baggage, and treated as an article 
 of furniture where he sat comfortably enough, 
 poking out his dark face from among the pack- 
 ages, and staring with his little wild black eyes, 
 like a copper-headed snake. With this part of 
 the cavalcade, too, were the dogs, who, when not 
 
238 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 abroad on duty with their masters, usually seek 
 the society of the ladies, and the agreeable atmo- 
 sphere of the culinary department. Those in ques- 
 tion were particularly given to these lounging 
 habits, and for ever stealing after the flesh pots, 
 and endeavouring to curry favour with the women. 
 From their appearance, one would . suppose their 
 company not to have been desirable ; for the In- 
 dian's dog is a lean, hungry, ferocious animal, who 
 gets more kicks than favours, and who sneaks 
 about, with his bushy tail drooped, his pointed 
 ears erect, his long nose thrust forward, and his 
 watchful eye gleaming with mischief and distrust. 
 Resembling the wolf in appearance and manners, 
 he seems to be obedient from fear only, and to 
 hare little in common with the generous and aflec- 
 tionate animal, who is the friend, as well as the ser- 
 vant, of civilised man, and of whom the poet 
 test i (ied ? when he said, " they are honest crea- 
 tures." 
 
 On leaving the village, the Indian train ascended 
 a long gradual swell, until they reached a beauti- 
 fully rounded eminence, that commanded an ex- 
 tensive view of the prairie, over which they w.-iv, 
 about to travel. Nothing could be more striking 
 than this wild picture of native luxuriance, and 
 aboriginal pomp. A wide expanse of scenery was 
 spread before the eye. The interminable plain 
 seemed to extend further than the vision could 
 
THE NEW MOON. 239 
 
 reach ; and there was something peculiarly pic- 
 turesque in the march of the Omawhaws, whose 
 long party-coloured line wound and undulated 
 among the slopes and mounds of the prairie, 
 headed by armed warriors, and flanked by young 
 horsemen, darting off from the main body to show 
 the speed of their horses, and displaying their own 
 dexterity by a variety of evolutions. 
 
 When the party reached the most elevated point 
 of the plain, it halted, and a glance was thrown 
 back towards the deserted wigwams. Not a living 
 thing moved in the village, whose lowly huts, un- 
 tenanted and still, seemed to form a part of the 
 natural landscape. Beyond it flowed the broad 
 and turbulent Missouri, and further towards the 
 east, was a range of low, pointed hills, whose 
 sides were thinly clothed with timber, while their 
 bald summits were covered with only a verdant 
 carpet of grass. The newly risen sun had just 
 appeared beyond these hills, lighting up their 
 peaked tops with the full effulgence of his splen- 
 dour, and strongly marking the characteristic 
 horizon of this peculiar region of country. Over 
 this scene they gazed for a few moments with 
 eomtion, 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 In- 
 dian loves his home; Erratic as are his habits, 
 
240 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 and little as he seems to understand or enjoy do- 
 mestic comfort, he acquires, unconsciously, an 
 attachment towards the spot on which he resides, 
 and a reverence for the associations by which it is 
 surrounded. There are dear and joyful recollec- 
 tions connected with the fireside, however humble 
 it may be; and the turf that covers the remains 
 of departed friends, is as holy in the eyes of the 
 uneducated savage, who has never been taught to 
 analyse the operations of his own mind, as in those 
 of the person of refinement, who recognises the 
 good taste and virtuous feeling of this natural emo- 
 tion of the heart. 
 
 Bolingbroke was not the man to appreciate an 
 interesting landscape, or to sympathise with a flow 
 of tender feeling. He sat on his horse, apart from 
 the others, and was calculating the probable advan- 
 tages of an union with the daughter of the chief of 
 the Omawhaws, 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 regret that the Omaw- 
 haws are quitting the graves of their fathers ?" 
 
 "Neither," replied Bolingbroke; "the Great 
 Spirit has not thrown any cloud over the heart 
 of his white son, and the graves that we are leav- 
 ing are not those of my fathers." 
 
THE NEW MOON. 241 
 
 " 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 that I had for- 
 gotten." 
 
 "Has the Master of life told my friend in a 
 dream, that he has failed to do something which 
 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 fault. But I feel com- 
 forted by the reflection that the great chief of the 
 Omawhaws is my friend." 
 
 The chief directed a calm though penetrating 
 glance of enquiry towards his companion, but the 
 countenance of the trader betrayed no emotion. 
 It was evident the offence was not one of deep dye. 
 His eye wandered back to the cavalcade, and rested 
 proudly on the warrior train. The young trader 
 resumed : 
 
 " My father has always been kind to the white 
 stranger." 
 
 " The pale face has reason to believe that the 
 Blackbird is his friend," replied the chief. 
 
 "I have endeavoured to convince the great 
 chief that I desire to serve him. I have no other 
 pleasure than to make the Omawhaws happy, by 
 supplying their wants." 
 21 
 
242 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 "The white man 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 motion each endea- 
 vouring stealthily to catch a glance at the counte- 
 nance of the other. The young merchant was the 
 first to renew the conversation. 
 
 " In making my presents to the chiefs," he said, 
 "I endeavoured to distinguish those who Kflm 
 most worthy, and who stood highest in the estima- 
 tion of the Omawhaws, by the value of the gifts 
 which I made them. But I fear that I did not 
 sufficiently recollect the high claims of the Black- 
 bird, 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 ele- 
 gantly mounted dirk, a favourite ornament and 
 weapon of the Indian. 
 
 " Will the head man of the Omawhaws," con- 
 tinued he, presenting it, " accept this as a small 
 part of the atonement which my negligence im- 
 poses on me; and depend upon my word, that, in 
 future, I shall not forget the distance between a 
 great chief and his inferiors ?" 
 
THE NEW MOON. 243 
 
 "The white stranger has been very properly 
 called wise," said the chief, " and the head man 
 of the Omawhaws knows how to value his friends. 
 I have looked back at our path ; it is all white 
 there is no cloud there. The white trader may 
 know hereafter that the Blackbird is his friend." 
 
 Thus saying, he eyed the beautiful weapon 
 which he had received with complacency, 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 in the most conspicuous 
 manner upon his person, he rode away, muttering 
 to himself, " What does the trader want in return 
 for so fine a present ?" He did not dream that 
 Bolingbroke wanted his daughter. 
 
 In a few days they arrived at the pastures of the 
 buffalo, and beheld the plains covered with herds 
 of wild cattle. 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, side by side, with the buffalo, he discharged 
 
244 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 his arrows into the panting animal, until it fell 
 mortally wounded. Then the hunter, quitting his 
 dashed again into the affrighted herd to select 
 another. 
 
 It was an inspiring sight to behold the wide 
 plain, an immense meadow, studded with orna- 
 mental groves, covered with numerous herds, 
 quietly grazing like droves of domestic cattle : 
 then to see the Omawhaw bands, under the cover 
 of some copse or swelling ground, covertly ap- 
 proaching 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 lead- 
 ers, 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 
 'uTy direction and the maddened animals were 
 seen flying towards all points of the compass, fol f 
 lowed by the fierce wild hpnters. The viei i- 
 tudes of the chase were numerous 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, 
 burled him upon the plain ; and more than once 
 the hunter, thus thrown, with difficulty escaped 
 being trodden to death by the furious herd. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 245 
 
 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 sufficiently expert to 
 be considered as an useful auxiliary by his compa- 
 nions. The warriors began to treat him with 
 increased respect; and even the squaws, whose 
 favour he had heretofore conciliated by timely 
 presents, looked upon him with more complacen- 
 cy, 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 suffrages 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 con- 
 cealed 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 accident- 
 ally 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 for- 
 ward. He dismounted, and throwing his bridle 
 21* 
 
246 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 over his arm, placed himself at the side of the 
 Omawhaw beauty. 
 
 How awkward it is to begin a conversation under 
 such circumstances ! Among us, a remark on the 
 weather would have furnished a theme for the 
 lovers to begin upon ; but these meteorological 
 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 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 they are not so 
 jnyful 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. 1 have never deceived the Omawhaws. 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 
 
THE NEW MOON. 247 
 
 will build a wigwam in the village of the Omaw- 
 haws, and quit for ever 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 ?" enquired she, 
 archly. 
 
 " Not one ! not one ! You are the only woman 
 I h#ve ever loved I will never love another. 
 Become my wife, and I promise you, here in 
 the presence of the Master of life, that 1 will never 
 seek the love of any other. Menae shall be the 
 sole companion, 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 buffalo 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 youth, as he 
 attempted to seize her hand ; but she quietly 
 folded her arms, and looked at him with compo- 
 sure, assuming a dignity which effectually repelled 
 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, 
 
248 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 which beamed softly upon her lover, expressed all 
 that he could have \\ished. She added, " If 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, re- 
 spectfnlly withdrew, satisfied that the lady w^uld 
 nit i pose 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 ui.-li 
 to marry one of the Omawhaw tribe. He pro- 
 mised, if they would transfer their daughter to 
 him in marriage, to treat her kindly, and to intro- 
 duce 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. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 249 
 
 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 in tending 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 house- 
 hold. 
 
 The parents retired, and opened the subject to 
 their daughter, to whom they magnified the ad- 
 vantages 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 
 
250 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 happiness, and advance the interests of her family, 
 by accepting an offer so tempting. 
 
 The New Moon, though delighted with her con- 
 quest, thought it proper, as young ladies are apt to 
 think, on such occasions, to support her dignity by 
 ;ill < ting some reluctance. In the first place, the 
 gentleman's complexion was against him, and she 
 would have iriven 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 protuberance 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 suc- 
 cessfully 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 wa> wi-e 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 
 
THE NEW MOON. 251 
 
 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 entered upon a new existence. Marriage 
 always affects a decided change upon the senti- 
 ments 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 reflec- 
 tion that an existence which was separate and in- 
 dependent is ended, and that all its hopes and 
 interests are blended with those of another 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 de- 
 pendence is one of the most delightful that can be 
 imagined. It annihilates the habit of selfish en- 
 joyment, 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, 
 
252 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 who thus enjoy this agreeable relation. Some 
 hearts there are, too callous to give nurture to a 
 delicate sentiment. There are minds too narrow 
 to give play to an expansive benevolence. A cer- 
 tain 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 object on which to concen- 
 trate their warmth, her heart glowed with disin- 
 rd emotion. With a native ingenuousness 
 of soul, that had always induced her, even without 
 reflection, to consult the happiness of others fn 
 preference to her own, she had now an object 
 whose interests were so dear, that it was as de- 
 lightful, 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 
 f her husband. She adopted his opinions, 
 imitated his manners, and gradually exchanged 
 the ornaments of her tribe for those which accord- 
 ed better with hi> fancy. It cost her not a pang, 
 nor a regret, to throw aside tho costume which 
 she had considered 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 admired, became graceful in her estima- 
 tion ; and that which rendered her attractive to 
 
THE NEW MOON. 253 
 
 him, she wore with more than youthful delight. 
 A similar change took place in her domestic 
 arrangements. Instead of the rude wigwam of 
 the Indian, Bolingbroke had built a small but 
 neat cottage, and had furnished it with some of 
 the comforts, though few of the luxuries, of his 
 country, and his wife eagerly endeavoured to 
 gratify his wishes, by adapting herself! to his 
 habits of living. She learned to sk upon a 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 attentively to his descriptions of 
 the habits of his countrywomen, and carefully did 
 she treasure up in her memory every hint which 
 might serve as a guide in her endeavour to render 
 her own deportment pleasing to him to whom she 
 had* given an unreserved affection. From him 
 she had learned to attach a name, and an endear- 
 ing value, to the spot which he called his home ; 
 and, for his sake, she sought to throw every en- 
 chantment 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 owa exist- 
 ence around his, as the ivy clings to the oak. 
 Her cottage soon became conspicuous for its neat- 
 ness and beauty. She transplanted the wild rose 
 22 
 
254 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 and the honeysuckle, from the woods, and trained 
 thorn 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 order 
 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 affec- 
 tion a mind so resolute in the performance of 
 duty, that it could magnanimously stifle 
 desire that ran counter to its own high standard 
 of rectitude. She possessed talent and feeliifg 
 and to those ideas of implicit obedience, and pro- 
 found 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. She was too generous to 
 give a divided affection. In giving 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 is the hallowed 
 principle of woman's love such the pure senti- 
 
THE NEW MOON. 255 
 
 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 blameless 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 distin- 
 guished 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. Al- 
 most unconsciously to herself a sadness would rest 
 for a moment upon her heart, and fly before she 
 had time to enquire 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, with- 
 out waiting to enquire into 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 
 
456 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 bu-iiicss, or abstracted in the anticipations of a 
 future affluence, received the endearments of his 
 \\it with indifference? Or was it the estranged 
 deportment of her tribe, who began to regard her 
 as an alien ? She knew not she never permitted 
 herself to doubt the love of her husband, and she 
 prized the afiection of others too little, to enquire 
 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 accumula- 
 tion 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, ignorant of the principles of 
 justice, and destitute of any fixed standard of moral 
 right. His interests and theirs were often op- 
 posed ; and while he was always prepared to reap 
 the spoil of their labours, 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 exhausted 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 preparations for such an occasion, 
 were dependent upon him for the outfit which was 
 
THE NEW MOON. 257 
 
 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 required 
 all the power of the chiefs, and all the cunning of 
 his own politic brain, to secure him from their 
 vengeance. On such occasions he found his wife 
 an invaluable counsellor, and an efficient friend. 
 Her influence with the tribe was by no means 
 contemptible. 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 traders were practis- 
 ing every popular art to recommend themselves, 
 to destroy him, and to rise upon the ruins of his 
 prosperity ; and his vigilant wife had 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, how- 
 ever, did not disturb 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 exist- 
 22* 
 
258 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 encc without fear. Perhaps, to one of her habits, 
 \citement of such a life was agreeable; and 
 she certainK felt a pride in becoming thus im- 
 portant 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 uneasiness that she 
 discovered a sensible diminution in the cordiality 
 of her own friends. She had married one who 
 was an alien to her tribe, and such marriages 
 aluavs produce estrangement. They saw her 
 abandoning the customs of her country, and throw- 
 ing aside the dress of her people. She mingled 
 but little with the women of the Omawhaws; and 
 while she tacitly condemned some of their prac- 
 tices by her own deportment, she withdrew her 
 sanction from some of their ancient rites by her 
 absence. Her improvements in domestic economy 
 were regarded with ridicule and jealousy. The 
 young warriors no longer regarded her with pride 
 as the beauty of their nation, but considered her 
 as one who had apostatised 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 <u>tained by the wealth of her hus- 
 band and the power of her father, and not by the 
 aiicction of those around her. 
 
 It was the custom of Bolingbroke to descend 
 

 THE NEW MOON. 259 
 
 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 
 absence of this kind occurred. On his return, his 
 young wife received him with the utmost tender- 
 ness. 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 inces- 
 santly in decorating their dwelling, or in fabricat- 
 ing such articles of dress for her husband as she 
 thought would please his fancy; while she had 
 noticed with careful attention the movements of 
 the tribe, and gathered 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 became the mother 
 of a daughter, which she nursed^with the fondest 
 solicitude. Her love for Irer husband, and her 
 anxiety for his return, 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, fol- 
 lowing the downward course of the river with 
 
260 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 eager eyes to gain the earliest notice of his ap- 
 proach. Estimating his feelings by her own, shu 
 was impatient for l\\v moment when she could 
 place the interesting stranger in his arms, and 
 in ii:i/<- uith delight at that beautiful minia- 
 ture in which each might see the features of the 
 nth< r. Nor was she disappointed. Bolingbroke 
 caressed his child with fondness, and she was the 
 happiest of mothers the proudest of wives, 
 
 \\ must touch briefly upon the subsequent 
 event- <>i this narrative. Another and another 
 year rolled away, and Menae was still the devoted 
 \\itr. while Bolingbroke was become a cold, 
 though a civil, husband : he bending all his ener- 
 gies to the acquisition 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 
 vi>it to the settlements of the white people, he 
 proposed to carry the eldest with him. The wife, 
 always obedient, reluctantly consented, and com- 
 manded her feelings so far, as to behold their 
 departure in nvite, suppressed affliction. But, 
 although one charge remained, upon which she 
 might lavish her caresses, no sooner had her hus- 
 band commenced his voyage, than her maternal 
 fondness overpowered her, and she ran screaming 
 along the shore of the river, in pursuit of the boat, 
 tearing out her long glossy tresses, and appearing 
 
THE NEW MOON. 261 
 
 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 orna- 
 ments, 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 ac- 
 count, she resumed the performance of her house- 
 hold duties, though she would not throw aside her 
 mourning. One day, she had gone in company 
 with some other females to the corn-fields, adjoin- 
 ing the village, and was engaged 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 Sioux, who rushed upon them 
 suddenly, in the expectation of gratifying their 
 vengeance by the massacre of the whole party. 
 An exclamation of terror, uttered by one of the 
 
THE PTEW MOON. 
 
 females, on discovering the enemy, caused t he- 
 alarmed women to* fly precipitately ; and Menae, 
 in the first moment of affright, was in the act of 
 retreating with the others, when she recollected 
 her child. To save a life more precious than her 
 own, she swiftly returned, in the face of the Sioux 
 warriors, snatched her child from the tree, and 
 bore him rapidly away. She was closely pursued 
 by one of the savages, who had nearly overtaken 
 her, when she arrived at a fence which separated 
 the field from the enclosure surrounding the trad- 
 ing-house. A moment's hesitation would have 
 been fatal but, with a presence of mind which 
 always distinguished her above other women, she 
 gathered all her strength, threw the child, with 
 its board, into the enclosure, and then, placing her 
 hands on the fence, leaped nimbly over. Several 
 of her companions were murdered, while she 
 escaped, with her child, unhurt.* 
 
 After a longer absence than usual, Bolingbroke 
 returned, bringing with him ail accomplished lady, 
 of his own people, whom he had married, but un- 
 accompanied by his Indian daughter, whom he 
 had placed at school. Menae heard this intelli- 
 gence with the deepest sorrow, but with less sur- 
 prise than such an event would have occasioned a 
 
 * I am indebted to Long's Expedition for this, and some 
 of the other incidents of this tale. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 263 
 
 wife in a civilised land ; as the practice of poly- 
 gamy, which prevails among the Omawhaws, had 
 perhaps prepared her % anticipate such an occur- 
 ence 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 her- 
 self. But the legality of the transaction, and its 
 frequency among the people of her tribe, lulled, in 
 some degree, the sense of degradation, and blunted 
 the sharpness of her resentment. She considered 
 the act lawful, while she condemned the actor as 
 faithless and ungrateful. In secresy she wept 
 bitterly over her disappointed pride, and blighted 
 joy ; but professed in public a cheerful* acquies- 
 cence in the decision of her husband. The Black- 
 bird 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 im- 
 portance to the mercenary trader. 
 
 Previous to the arrival of Bolingbroke at the 
 Omawhaw village, 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 departed to a 
 
246 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 distant village of her nation. But what woman 
 c;in 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 
 of her affections. Which of these was the 
 ilini^ 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 
 forbidden her from seeking an interview with the 
 of her peace. Unable to remain in 
 banishment, she returned to her native village, 
 with her little boy on her back, and encamped in 
 the neighbourhood of her husband's residence in 
 sight of that cottage which her own hands had 
 embellished, in which she had spent years of do- 
 mestic felicitv, 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 that 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, de- 
 sired to know his intentions in relation to the 
 
THE NEW MOON. 265 
 
 future disposition of both her children. To this 
 question he gave an evasive answer ; and directed 
 her to accompany her friends, who were on their 
 way to the hunting grounds. She departed with- 
 out a murmur. 
 
 Two months afterwards, she was recalled. She 
 lost no time in presenting herself before the hus- 
 band whom she still tenderly loved, notwithstand- 
 ing his cruel desertion. Her resentment 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 inten- 
 tion in sending for her, and she freely forgave the 
 temporary aberration of his love, under the suppo- 
 sition that she would be to him hereafter, if not 
 his sole favourite, at least a respected wife, that 
 her children would find a home under his roof, and 
 that he wo.uld be to her, and them, a faithful pro- 
 tector. Alas ! how the heart, given up to the illu- 
 sions 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 potentate, is splendid to the eye in the 
 hour of its illumination, but melts away with the 
 sun of the succeeding day ! The New Moon 
 hastened to her husband, full of young hope, and 
 newly kindled affection ; but bitter was her disap- 
 pointment, when, after an austere reception, he 
 23 
 
VifiO THE NEW MOON. 
 
 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 
 elings 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 opposite side, and made 
 her escape into the forest. The weather was 
 cold and stormy, the snow was falling, and the 
 wretched mother had no shelter to protect her. 
 Throughout 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 disconsolate 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 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 trembling suppliant 
 at his door. 
 
THE NEW MOON. 287 
 
 " Here is our child," said she ; " I do not ques- 
 tion your fondness for him but he is still more 
 dear to me. You can not love him with a mo- 
 ther's love, nor keep him with a mother's- care. 
 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 vi- 
 brated 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 saved him from a momentary pang ; with 
 all these, and a thousand other claims upon his 
 sympathy and justice, she was an unsuccessful sup- 
 pliant. 
 
 He offered her money, and desired her to leave 
 the child. Her blood rushed to her heart at the 
 base proposal, and she indignantly replied " Is 
 
20 S THE NEW MOON. 
 
 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 married 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. 
 1 have loved you with tenderness, and Served you * 
 with fidelity. Ours was not a marriage contracted 
 for a season it was to .terminate 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 own nation ; but now 
 f am an old woman, the mother of two children, 
 and what Omawhaw will regard me? Is not 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 : permit 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 
 
THE NEW MOON. 269 
 
 child should immediately be sent down to the set- 
 tlements. 
 
 The affectionate mother had thus ftft- sustained 
 herself, during the interview, with the firmness of 
 conscious right, and had successfully 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 the 
 agony of 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 re- 
 nounced 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-field 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, 
 23* 
 
270 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 and then put an end to my own wretched exist- 
 ence !" 
 
 So sayiflg, she darted away with a swiftness 
 which announced that the resolution of her mind 
 had imparted new vigour to her limbs ; while the 
 trader, alarmed by her threats, abandoned his pur- 
 pose, and suffered her to retire without pursuit. 
 
 Two weeks afterwards, a haggard female was 
 seen slowly approaching a distant hunting-camp 
 of the Omawhaws, bearing an emaciated child on 
 her back. It was -she who had once been the 
 pride of their nation the daughter of that dreaded 
 chief whose word was law. She had wandered 
 through the woods, thinly clad, and almost without 
 food, subsisting upon such small game as she coirid 
 out rap by artifice. At night she crept into a hol- 
 low 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 was 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 igno- 
 rant of the intended movements of her tribe, and 
 uncertain where to find them exposed to immi- 
 nent and constantly impending danger from cold, 
 hunger, beasts jof prey, and hostile savages this 
 intrepid female pursued her solitary way through 
 

 THE NEW MOON. 271 
 
 the vast wilderness with unbroken spirit, trusting 
 to her native courage and sagacity, and praying to 
 the Great Master of life for assistance. And who 
 doubts that such a prayer is heard? Who can 
 doubt that the same beneficent God who decks the 
 wilderness with matchless beauty, and stores it 
 with abundance, listens to the plaintive cry of the 
 widowed mother and her innocent babe 1 How 
 often do the weak and helpless pass unhurt through 
 perils under which the bold and strong would sink, 
 or endure privations for the support of which hu- 
 manity seems unequal ! And can we see this with- 
 out believing that the same unseen influence, which 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, is ever ready 
 to listen to the petition of the afflicted 1 and that 
 those who seem most friendless and destitute are 
 the favoured objects of the most efficient protec- 
 tion ? 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 organised the flower that it turns 
 itself to the sun, to catch vigour from the life-giv- 
 ing ray, has 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 her safely through the wilderness. 
 The Omawhaws had regarded the wife of Bo- 
 
272 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 lingbroke with coldness, when they saw her sur- 
 rounded 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 jrarb, and viewed her as the ally of the 
 while man. But when she came back to them a 
 destitute, houseless, deeerh <1 woman, they received 
 hei with kindness, 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 
 thi- softened language of an unwilling accuser, 
 their indignant comments showed that they had 
 made her cause their own. Bolingbroke was no 
 longer protected by the mysterious power 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 po- 
 pularity. The passions of the Indian know no 
 medium : what they condemn they hate, and what- 
 ever 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 
 
THE NEW MOON. 273 
 
 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 either of those 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 wounds, 
 and fed me with the white man's provisions." 
 
 " 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 
 
274 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 fortune, who has for years watched over his safety, 
 now warns him of danger, and bids him fly to the 
 settlements of his own people. 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 1 shall never see him again 1 
 would not condescend to be his wife, or his ser- 
 vant ; 1 would starve rather than eat his bread 
 but I should grieve to see the father of my chil- 
 dren die the death of a dog, or the pale girl, whom 
 chosen for his wife, suffering the penalty of 
 .me. He knows I would not deceive him. 
 1 have but one tongue it has always spoken the 
 truth. We walked together t<>r y< ar- I have 
 looked back at my path, and find that it is white. 
 Bid them fly to the fires of the white people, be- 
 fore another moon shall be seen in the place of that 
 which is now waning. And say to Bolingbroke 
 to the white trader that if lie 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 r from the rage of the Omawhaws, he 
 will restore her daughter to the arms of its mo- 
 ther* Let him do this, and Menae will forgive 
 his faithless treatment of herself, and forget all 
 her sorrows." 
 
 The young Indian bent his head, and listened 
 attentively, as Menae pronounced these words 
 
THE NEW MOON. 275 
 
 with a rapid but distinct utterance. He then 
 said, respectfully, 
 
 " It shall be done-^though it grieves me to dis- 
 appoint the Omawhaw warriors of their just ven- 
 geance. But the daughter of Blackbird was a 
 mother to me, when I was a sick boy ; I will be 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 loose your horse," 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 disappointment, that Bolingbroke had 
 suddenly abandoned the village, with all his pro- 
 perty, and announced his intention to return no 
 more ; but they never discovered the cause of his 
 
^76 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 abrupt departure. On the next visit of the other 
 traders to St. Louis, the daughter of Menae was 
 placed under their charge, to be delivered t 
 mother, who received her child with the joy of 
 one who had mourned over a first born. She 
 lived afterwards in retirement, seldom appearing 
 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 advising them to 
 avoid the soctety, the customs, and the vices, of 
 the wtttes. 
 
 nit 
 
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