CONTAINING A SKETCH OF MOOSHANNE.—REGINALD INTRODUCES HIS SISTER TO THE TWO DELAWARES.

The day following that on which the events related in the preceding pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous, gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their bearing and appearance, might be easily recognised as leading persons in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat, and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls, made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who had escaped, was scalped!

We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news which created so much excitement.

It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage; both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop, sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of a rivulet falling into the Muskingum; hence all further search proved unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.

It was long since so daring an outrage had been committed in the territory; seldom was it that the red–skins would attack white men in open day, unless they were greatly superior in numbers; but for a single Indian to fall upon two armed whites, killing one and leaving the other for dead, almost within call of his friends, was an instance of audacity to which the oldest hunter could scarcely remember a parallel: it was evident also that the savage had been aware of a party of whites being at hand, otherwise he would certainly have shot one brother before he attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge of his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a war–club.

Another striking circumstance was the clear evidence afforded that the killing of the elder Hervey was an act of personal revenge; because the younger brother when knocked from his horse had fallen helpless at the Indian’s feet; and the latter, purposely to show that he had spared his life and scalp, had struck a knife through the lappet of his coat into the ground, with force enough to bury it up to the haft. Four or five of the best hunters had recommenced the pursuit; and although they once struck the trail of a man on foot evidently running from them, they were again baffled by the river, and returned to the settlement.

Such was the sum of the messenger’s intelligence, which caused, as can easily be imagined, no little sensation in Marietta and the neighbouring districts.

“I know some of the worst o’ them red–skin devils,” said a bulky young man, whose countenance betrayed violent passions, and strong symptoms of free indulgence in David Muir’s “fire–water;” “tell me what was this Ingian like?—how did Dick Hervey describe him?”

“He hadn’t over much time to look at him,” said the messenger, “afore he was sent to sleep; but he says he was a very tall powerful chap, streaked over the face with black.”

“Was he a young un or an old un?”

“A young un, and active as a deer, or he couldn’t have knocked those two Herveys off their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob with an ash plant.”

“I wish I had him here,” said the young giant, shutting a hand as heavy and large as a shoulder of mutton. “I’d give him a real Kentucky hug.”

None of the bystanders seemed able to form any guess as to who the perpetrator of this bold outrage might be. It was resolved, however, to take all possible measures for his discovery; a meeting of the principal inhabitants was convened, a description of the Indian’s person, and of the marks by which Hervey’s horse might be recognised, was written, and several copies thereof made, and forwarded to the nearest posts and ferries; at the same time a reward of a hundred dollars was offered to any person who should discover the offender, and a hundred more for his seizure, dead or alive.

During the discussion of these and other plans at the meeting, our old acquaintance David Muir, who felt himself not to be one of the least important persons present, said, “I’m thinking, gentlemen, it would be as weel to send a messenger out to Colonel Brandon, wi’ this intelligence; he kens the Indians as weel’s ony man in this country side, mayhap he’ll gie us some gude counsel; and, sirs,” added David, his grey eyes twinkling at his own sagacity, “be sure ye dinna forget to tak the advice o’ yon lang–headed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian deevil’s o’ this side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin’ him out, as sure as twa threes mak sax.”

This was one of the longest orations which David had ever delivered in public; and both his suggestions being approved, carried nem. con., and the meeting dissolved, David returned to his store with his hands thrust into his coat–tail pockets, and his countenance big with the consciousness of having rendered essential service to the territory.

We must now return to Reginald, who, on the morning of this same day, rose with the sun; and feeling himself nothing the worse from his slight wounds, or from his diving adventure, sallied forth to see how Baptiste had provided for Nekimi’s safety and comfort. All means having failed to entice him into a stable, the hunter had secured him firmly to an oak, casting down for him abundance both of food and litter. Reginald approached him, holding in his hand some bread; and having given the sharp shrill cry (which to Lucy’s great alarm he had practised more than once in the house), he was agreeably surprised to perceive that the horse recognised it, and seemed less averse to his caresses. Having fed him, and carefully observed all the rules laid down by War–Eagle for gaining his affections, he returned to the house, and began to collect the various articles which he proposed to give to his Indian brother; among these was a good Kentucky rifle, and a handsome buck’s–horn knife for the chief; he selected also a light fowling–piece, which he had used as a boy, and which he intended for Wingenund; to these he added several pounds of powder, and a due proportion of lead; he also threw into the package a few beads and a large cornelian ring, which had been long the occupant of his dressing–case.

When he had collected all these together, he gave them to Baptiste, desiring him to be ready to accompany him to the rendezvous after breakfast; and having finished his preparations, he knocked at the door of Lucy’s room, to inquire whether she was ready to preside at the morning meal.

“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault; for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”

“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that to——“

“Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do so again?”

“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”

In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary; and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were assembled.

It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions; but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns, and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound its bubbling way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne” (signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.

We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.

“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”

“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he must be still too weak from his wound.”

“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.

“Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Mary’s and the Colonel’s permission,” said Reginald, smiling.

Lucy met with no further opposition. Snowdrop was ordered to be saddled: in a few minutes the happy girl was equipped, and provided with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty brooch, destined for her brother’s preserver.

The party now assembled before the door, consisting of Reginald, Baptiste, and Lucy, mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero slung his rifle across his shoulders; the sturdy woodsman, besides carrying his own enormous axe, walked lightly under the two rifles and the other articles to be presented to the chief, and Wolf played around them his fantastic and unwieldy gambols.

Cheerful and smiling was the woodland scenery through which they passed; the dew–drops still glittered in the beams of the morning sun, and the air was impregnated with the vernal fragrance arising from a thousand opening buds and blossoms.

“See, Lucy,” said her brother, as he walked by her side, while the tact of the sturdy hunter kept him a few paces in the rear, “see how those mischievous squirrels hop and chatter upon the boughs! They seem to know that your presence is a protection to them.”

“I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot such playful and graceful animals; you, who have taste enough to admire their beauty, and who can find sport more worthy of your rifle.”

“It is childish sport, Lucy; yet they are no contemptible additions to the table; their furs are useful; and there is some skill in shooting them, that is, in shooting them properly.”

“If I were a man, I would shoot nothing but lions and tigers, buffaloes or bears!” said his sister.

“A pretty Amazon, truly!” said Reginald, laughing: “yet, methinks your thoughts are not always so warlike. Come, Lucy, now that we are alone (for our good Baptiste is out of ear–shot), you need not pout or blush if I ask you whether Ethelston is expected soon to return?”

“Indeed, I know not, Reginald,” said his sister, blushing, in spite of his prohibition. “His last letter to the Colonel mentioned something about privateers and the rupture with France. Papa did not appear desirous of communicating much upon the subject, so I dropt it.”

“True,” said Reginald; “the French will not soon forget or forgive the loss of their fine frigate, The Insurgente, which was taken the other day so gallantly by The Constellation. I doubt not they will endeavour to cripple our trade in the West Indies. Edward has got a little craft that can run, if she cannot fight.”

“I am sure Edward will never run if it is possible to fight,” said Lucy, a little piqued.

“There, again, you speak the truth: it is because his courage is so tempered by his judgment, that he is fit to be entrusted with other lives and property than his own: if it is not possible to fight, he will have sense and skill enough to show the Frenchman his heels.—By–the–by, Lucy, which vessel is he now commanding?”

Again there was a decided blush, and almost a pout on Lucy’s full lip, as she said, “You know, brother, that The Adventure and the Pocahuntas are both in port, and the vessel he is now on board of is the—“

—“Oh! I remember,” said Reginald, laughing; “she was to have been called the ‘Lucy;’ but Edward did not choose to hear that name in every common sailor’s and negro’s mouth; so he altered it to The Pride of Ohio, which means, in his vocabulary, the same thing.”

“I wish,” said Lucy, “there was any Mary, or Charlotte, or Catherine, or any other name under the sun, about which I could tease you! Have a little patience, Mr. Reginald; my turn will come; you shall see what mercy I will show you then!”

Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest with each other until they reached the spot appointed for the interview. As they had arrived rather before the time, they imagined that the War–Eagle had not yet come; but Baptiste, putting his finger to his mouth, blew a long shrill signal whistle, and in a few minutes the chief appeared, accompanied by Wingenund. As they emerged from the forest, and approached, Reginald looked at his sister to see the effect produced by their appearance; for the chief was dressed in a manner calculated to display his noble figure and countenance to better advantage than on the preceding day. His long black hair was parted on his forehead, and gathered into a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made from the fur of the white weasel, and surmounted by an eagle’s feather. It seemed that his vow of war and revenge was for the time cancelled; for the lines of black paint which had disfigured his visage were removed, and the commanding form and features were not marred by any grotesque or fanciful attire. His brawny neck was bare, and a portion of his bold, open chest appeared beneath the light hunting–shirt, which was his only upper vesture. The ponderous war–club was still at his girdle, but the scalp had disappeared; and his light, free step upon the grass was like that of a young elk on the prairie.

The dress of Wingenund was unaltered. He was still very weak from the loss of blood, and the pain consequent upon his wound; his arm rested in a sling, made from the plaited bark of elm: and the air of languor cast over his countenance by sleeplessness and suffering, gave additional effect to the delicacy of his features, and the deep dark lustre of his eyes.

“Our new brother is indeed a fine looking creature!” said Lucy, as War–Eagle drew near. “What a haughty step and bearing he has! Wingenund looks too gentle to be an Indian!”

“He is as brave as gentle, Lucy: look at his arm!” and, as she did look at the wounded limb, she remembered that only yesterday it had saved her brother’s life.

The greeting between Reginald and the two Indians was affectionate and cordial: he then presented his sister to them both in turn. The chieftain placing his hand upon his heart, fixed upon her that penetrating look with which he had before scrutinised her brother: it was not the bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but the child of nature reading, after his own fashion, a page in her book.

“War–Eagle,” said Lucy to him, in her own gentle tone of voice, “I know all that passed yesterday, and you are now my brother!”

As she pronounced his name in English, a gleam shot from his eye, and a perceptible and sudden change came over his countenance: it seemed produced by some unexpected association; and Lucy was surprised at the deep pathos of his voice, as he replied, “The Great Spirit has made the sun to shine upon my white brother’s path! His heart is brave; his arm is strong; and his sister is like a flower of the prairie!—her voice comes upon the ear like a pleasant dream!” These last words he spoke rather to himself than addressing those around him.

Lucy was not displeased with the Indian’s compliment, and was about to speak to Wingenund, when Reginald said aloud, “Come, let us withdraw among those thick trees; we have many things to talk about.” His proposal being assented to, the whole party were soon re–assembled under a branching oak, screened from the public track by a thicket of rhododendron.

While they were effecting this manoeuvre, the guide took an opportunity of interchanging a few sentences with the War–Eagle; the result of which was apparently satisfactory to the honest woodsman, for his face instantly resumed its usual frank and careless expression.

“Lucy,” said her brother, “as you have thought proper to accompany me here, you must play your part as Queen of the Feast. I hope my brothers will value these baubles more from your hands than from mine.” Thus instructed, Lucy opened the canvasss package, which the guide had hitherto carried, and presenting the large rifle to the chief, she said to him:

“War–Eagle, your brother and your white sister give you this rifle, as a mark of their friendship; and with it they give you powder and lead enough to shoot all the deer and bears in the territory.”

The chief placed her hand and her brother’s both upon his heart, saying, “War–Eagle thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you, and guard your path!”

He then poised and examined the rifle, which was a piece of no ordinary beauty and excellence; while Baptiste whispered to him, in his own language, “It is loaded.”

Lucy then turned to Wingenund, and, presenting him with the lighter fowling–piece, said to him, “With this, a sister thanks Wingenund for a brother’s life.”

The boy cast his eyes modestly to the ground, saying, “Wingenund is too happy. War–Eagle will tell his name to the braves in council. The sister of Netis is good to him; Wingenund is ready to die!”

“Indeed,” said Lucy to the guide, “I fear he is very faint and ill; ask the chief how he passed the night!”

“Wingenund is not ill,” said the boy, with a smile; “he is very happy.”

Meanwhile Baptiste, having conferred with the chief, replied, “Why, Miss Lucy, the wound was a very bad ‘un, and he lost a power o’ blood; once or twice in the night, War–Eagle thought he might not get over it; but he is better now, and though unable to bear much fatigue, he is a hardy young plant, and will take as much killing as an eel.”

“Come, Baptiste,” said Reginald; “I know you put something to eat and drink into that sack with the ammunition: War–Eagle must feast with us to–day.”

The guide opening his capacious wallet, drew from it a venison pasty, some bread, and a couple of bottles of Madeira. Lucy declined taking more than a crust of bread, merely tasting the wine to the health of the hunters. Wingenund was equally abstemious, and sat a little apart with his new sister; while Reginald, Baptiste, and the Chief made a more substantial luncheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald, how he liked the wine, replied carelessly, “Good.” But it was evident that he drank it rather from courtesy than because it pleased his palate.

Reginald now desired the guide to speak to the War–Eagle in his own tongue, and to gather from him all the requisite particulars for his joining the Delawares in their summer–hunt beyond the Mississippi. He had long been anxious to visit some of those scenes which Baptiste had so often described; and his father having expressed a wish that he should go to St. Louis on some business connected with his investments in the fur–trade, he thought that so fair an opportunity ought not to be lost.

While the guide and the chief conversed in a low and earnest tone of voice, and Reginald listened with an idle curiosity, imagining now and then that he could catch their meaning, Lucy became much interested in her conversation with Wingenund: she was surprised at his intelligence, and proficiency in English, and was touched by the melancholy expression of his countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes. As she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively placed his finger on her arm, then raised it to his own lips, as a sign to her to be silent; then creeping two or three yards from the party, he threw himself full length upon the grass with his ear to the ground. Lucy listened attentively, but could hear nothing but the gentle breeze stirring the leaves, and the regular sound of Snowdrop’s teeth as he nibbled the young grass.

The three hunters were still busy with their arrangements for the summer, when Wingenund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an almost imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a small serpent. Instantly, as if by instinct, the War–Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked inquiringly on the intelligent countenance of the boy.

“Wingenund hears men and horses,” was the short reply.

Baptiste strained his practised ears to the utmost, as did Reginald, without success. Even War–Eagle seemed for a moment unable to catch the sound. He then whispered to Reginald, “Wingenund speaks truth, there are men—not a few.”

Several minutes elapsed before our hero and the guide could distinguish the tramp of horses and the voices of men speaking angrily.

Our hero and his party being effectually screened from view by the dense laurel[20] thicket, could listen unobserved to the conversation of those who were approaching; and the following expressions delivered in a loud and authoritative tone, at once attracted and absorbed their attention: “It is impossible that the fellow should escape, we have scouts out in every direction. There can be no doubt that the camp which we have just found in the woods is the one where he passed the night with other red–skins, for the embers are still warm. Dickenson and Brown are gone south towards Marietta; Henderson and his party are tracking the prairies to the north: it is impossible he should long escape; and young Hervey thinks he should know him anywhere!”

While the person who appeared to be the leader of the unseen party was thus speaking, War–Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund, to which the intelligent youth only replied by a look; the chief then conversed apart, in a low earnest voice, with the guide, who ended by grasping his hand, and saying, in the Delaware tongue, “Grande–HÂche will do it at the risk of his life.”

The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with calm dignity, he tightened the belt at his waist, to which he hung his newly acquired knife and ammunition; and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, he said to Reginald, “War–Eagle must leave his brother Netis; Grande–HÂche will tell him all; before two moons have passed, Netis will come to hunt the bison with his brother; and he shall smoke with the braves of the LenapÉ.”

“He will,” replied Reginald, warmly pressing his hand, and at the same time passing the cornelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chief. “If the Great Spirit gives him life, he will come and hunt, and smoke with his LenapÉ brother.”

The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from his head the eagle feather which was passed through his hair, and which was quaintly stained, and ornamented with porcupine quills: offering it gracefully to her, he said, in a voice of musical gentleness, “War–Eagle wishes happiness to the ‘pale flower of Mooshanne;’ many braves have tried to pluck this feather from his head; no Dahcotah nor Pawnee has touched it and lived! The Sister of Netis may fasten it in her hair—let none but a brave warrior raise his eyes to it there.”

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“Thank you, dear War–Eagle,” said Lucy, kindly; “I promise you it shall never be touched by an unworthy hand; and do you take this string of red beads,” giving him at the same time a coral necklace, “and wear it for the sake of your white sister.”

The chief received this gift with evident pleasure; and waving his hand in adieu, whispering at the same time one parting word to Wingenund, he strode leisurely away, and was soon lost in the deep glades of the forest.