Parting of Mother and Child.

We now return to Quick’s cabin, on the Shinglekill. His residence was on the banks of the Delaware, at, or near Milford and the cabin on the Shinglekill was temporally used during the trapping season. The Senior Quick was a Hollander, and had settled at Milford while the country was a howling wilderness. He had three brothers, and from them has sprung the numerous Quick families in the Delaware Valley, and he was the father of Tom Quick, one of the heroes of our tale.

This cabin in which they carried Amy and her mother, was a log structure, in the midst of a Butternut grove. The outside of the house was nearly covered by the skins of wild beasts, hung there to dry. Suspended on poles and trees, were skulls of bears, panthers, deer and other animals, in which the birds built their nests and reared their young. Up the bank, and between the house and the Hawk’s Nest, was a cleared field, on which they raised corn.

Entering the house, we are struck at the order and decorum everywhere seen. The chimney is in one end of the house, and consists of a layer of red sand stone placed against the logs. There are no jambs to the chimney, and the smoke escapes through an opening in the roof. Hanging in crotches, on the side of the building, are three smoothly polished guns. In one corner of the room stands a number of bows and arrows. Overhead, tied to the rafters, hang numerous traps, and all about the house hang bags containing dried berries, herbs, etc. On a small table lies the family bible, bound with iron straps. On one side of the chimney is a closet containing the dishes and cooking utensils. On the back side of the room are four bunks in which to sleep. The end of the room, opposite the fire-place, is partitioned off, and furnished with a bed made of skins and furs.

It was in this room the mother and child were laid.

Heat some stones, said the elder Quick. And you boys go to rubbing them. We must start the blood.

Betsy soon had a number of warm stones wrapped in furs in the bed, while the boys applied themselves vigorously to rubbing their bodies.

The child soon gave evidence of restored animation. Breathing became perceptible. The muscles contracted, and her eyes partly opened. Then came a convulsion which shook her whole frame. Water and froth ran from her mouth.

That will do boys, said the old man. Let her lay quiet now. She will soon be herself again.

Rolla had been an anxious spectator of the scene we have described. Standing with his fore-feet on the foot of the bed looking intently into Amy’s face, he gave three suppressed barks.

The child is safe, exclaimed the old man.

Just then Rolla gave a mournful whine.

But, continued the old man, the mother will never see the sun set again. The dog, by some intuitive knowledge, sees life for the child, but death for the mother.

Then came a moment of suspense. The house was as silent as the grave, and all present stood gazing on the marble forms before them. A flush came into Amy’s face. Her eyes open.

Ma-ma—Rol—Rol!

And again all was silent.

She speaks, said Betsy, and her first thought is of her mother.

And her second of her dog, said Tom.

She now began to moan and talk, but not in a way that could be understood. At length her words were connected, but it was evident that she was delirious.

Oh! Walt. Do come and save your little Amy—River—big raft—pa-pa—drowned—hold her Rolla, hold her!

Thus she continued to rave for a few minutes, and then fell into a sweet, natural sleep.

In about half an hour her eyes opened, and she raised up and gazed about her in astonishment.

Where is mother? Where am I? Where is Rolla?

Rolla heard her, and bounded on the bed. Amy threw her arms about his neck.

Good Rolla! she exclaimed; Save mother—pull her out of the water—drag her on the raft!

Drake put out his hand, as if in the act of pulling the dog away.

No, no, boy, let the dog alone. That is nature’s own medicine. That is more soothing than a canoe-load of the white man’s pills. The girl requires quiet. Let the dog caress her.

This was said by a new comer, in a sweet and sympathizing voice, by an old man by the name of Wilson, (Cahoonshee,) of whom I shall speak hereafter.

In the meantime, all the arts known to the white man or Indian were resorted to, to revive the mother. They had, in a measure, restored circulation, but the breathing was accomplished with difficulty, and she showed no signs of consciousness. And thus the day passed in suspense.

The sun had just hid itself behind the western hills, as Amy aroused, and raised herself up in the bed. Rolla gave three soft, pleasant barks, and leaped on the bed and off again, and ran out of the house, and in again, jumping onto, and barking at every one, seemingly to express his joy at Amy’s recovery.

Where am I? she said, looking around the room.

Among friends, replied Wilson.

Where is mother?

Here, child, but unable to speak.

And Rolla; where is he?

Rolla, hearing his name pronounced, answered in person, giving a bark of joy, bounded on the bed.

Amy now seemed to be herself again, but it was thought best not to question her until she had fully recovered her strength. She was taken out in the shade of the butternuts, where we will leave her and Rolla for the present.

During this time the mother lay in a semi-conscious condition. At times she showed signs of reason, but was too weak to speak. The muscles of her mouth moved, but only a groan was heard.

Thus the night passed and the gray mist of morning is appearing. She opened her eyes and made a motion with her hand. In an instant Wilson was at her side.

What do you want good woman? Who do you want to see?

Instantly the whole household, including Amy and Rolla, surrounded the bed. The mother looked first at one, then at the other, and then cast her eyes heavenward, and dropped back on her pillow.

Blind! said Wilson.

Oh mother, dear mother, look at Amy! the child cried.

Now the mother shows signs of returning strength and was again raised up in bed, and as before, apparently looked to see those she could hear but could not see. There was no light in her eyes. She makes an attempt to speak, but her words are unintelligible. She tries again:

A—A—Amy—

Here, dear mother; here I am.

Kiss me, kiss me Amy.

She took hold of Amy’s hand and tried to speak again.

What is it mother? What do you want to say?

Rol—Rol—Rolla!

Before the words were finished, Rolla sprang to the bed and placed his fore-feet on her bosom.

See, mother, Rolla is here; said Amy.

A whine, accompanied by a mild bark escaped from the dog. The mother understood by that, that the dog was there. Then taking Rolla by the fore-paw, she, with a great effort laid it in Amy’s hand. Casting her sightless eyes toward heaven, she remained motionless for a few moments, evidently in prayer. A tremor came over her. A struggle ensued.

Nearly gone, said Wilson.

Her eyes open again. Now they can see and have the expression of intelligence. A silence ensues. She speaks:

Amy—Rolla—and drops on her pillow dead.

Rolla seemed to understand his mistress’s last wish and kissed the child that held its paw.