ETHELSTON VISITS ST. LOUIS, WHERE HE UNEXPECTEDLY MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, AND UNDERTAKES A LONGER JOURNEY THAN HE HAD CONTEMPLATED.

During the occurrence of the events related in the preceding chapters, the disputes and difficulties attending the distribution of peltries among the different fur companies at St. Louis had rather increased than diminished, and Ethelston had found himself compelled, however unwillingly, again to bid adieu to Lucy, and take a trip to the Mississippi for the arrangement of his guardian’s affairs in that quarter; a considerable portion of the fortune that he inherited from his father was invested in the same speculation, and he could not, without incurring the charge of culpable negligence, leave it in the hands of others at a great distance, many of whose interests might perhaps be at variance with those of Colonel Brandon and himself.

He had been only a short time in St. Louis when, one day, on passing the cathedral, he met two men, whose appearance attracted his attention. The one was past the meridian of life, and the benevolent thoughtfulness of his countenance accorded well with the sober suit of black that indicated the profession to which he belonged; the other was a stout, square–built man, evidently cast in a coarser mould than his companion, but apparently conversing with him on terms of friendly familiarity. After looking stedfastly at this second, Ethelston felt convinced that he was not mistaken in addressing him: “Bearskin, my good friend, how come you to be in St. Louis? I thought you were busy, bear and buffalo hunting with my friend Reginald, among the Delawares of the Missouri?”

“Ha! Master Ethelston,” replied the sturdy voyageur, “I am right glad to see your face here. We have been in some trouble of late, and instead of our hunting the bears, the bears has hunted us.”

“I see you have been in some trouble,” said Ethelston, noticing for the first time the boatman’s scars and bruises; “but tell me,” he added, hastily catching him by the arm, “has any evil befallen my friend, my brother Reginald?”

“No harm that I knows of,” replied the other; “but I must say that things wern’t what a man might call altogether pleasant, where I left him.”

“What!” exclaimed Ethelston, with an indignation that he made no attempt to conceal, “you left him in danger or in difficulties, and can give no account of him? Bearskin, I would not have believed this of you, unless I had it from your own lips!”

“Master Ethelston,” answered the justly offended voyageur, “a man that goes full swing down the stream of his own notions, without heeding oar or helm, is sure to run athwart a snag; here’s my worthy friend here, Paul MÜller, and though he is a preacher, I’ll hold him as honest a man as any in the territory; he can tell you the whole story from one end to t’other; and when he’s done so, perhaps you’ll be sorry for what you’ve said to old Bearskin.”

“I am already sorry,” replied Ethelston, moved by the earnest simplicity of the scarred and weather–beaten boatman. “I am already sorry that I have done you wrong, but you will make allowance for my impatience and anxiety concerning my brother’s fate!” (Ethelston always spoke of Reginald as his brother, for he had a secret and undefined pleasure in so doing, as it implied his union with the sister of his friend.) Paul MÜller, easily guessing from the few words that had passed that the person now addressing Bearskin was the Edward Ethelston of whom Reginald had so often spoken to him, said,

“Sir, you certainly did an injustice to Bearskin, in thinking him capable of deserting a friend in need; but the apology you have offered is, I am sure, sufficient to satisfy him. The intelligence which I have to communicate respecting Reginald Brandon and his party is in some respects exceedingly melancholy; if you will accompany me to our lodging, which is just at hand, I will explain it to you in full; meanwhile, rest satisfied with the assurance that, to the best of our belief, your friend is safe and well in health.”

As soon as they had entered the house, Bearskin, forgetting the hasty words which had so much hurt his feelings, busied himself in preparing some refreshment for Ethelston, while the missionary related to him all that had occurred since his friend joined the Delaware encampment. He did not even conceal from him the violent passion that the latter had conceived for Prairie–bird, and the despair with which, on his return to the village from the Sioux expedition, he would learn the destruction of her kindred, and her own captivity among the Osages.

“Indeed, my good sir,” said Ethelston, “I must freely confess that this portion of your intelligence is the only one that brings with it any comfort: the fate of Mike Smith and his companions, and the destruction of the unoffending Delawares, are disasters deeply to be lamented; but, surely, the fact of the Osage chief having carried off the Indian maiden whom you call Prairie–bird, and who seems to have exercised such a strange fascination over Reginald Brandon, can scarcely be regretted: for she will be more likely to find a congenial mate among the red–skins, and a bitter disappointment will be spared to my excellent guardian Colonel Brandon.”

“I know not, my son,” answered the missionary mildly; “the ways of Providence are inscrutable, and it does frequently happen, as you say, that events which we lament at the moment, afford afterwards just grounds for rejoicing. Nevertheless, I cannot view this matter exactly as you do, for I have known the maiden from her childhood, and she is a more fitting bride for a Christian gentleman, than for a heathen warrior.”

“I did, indeed, hear the Colonel, and the other members of the family at Mooshanne, say that the Delaware youth who so bravely defended the life of Reginald at the risk of his own had spoken in the highest terms of praise respecting his sister the Prairie–bird, as if she were a being of a superior race; but you, my good father, are above the prejudices which darken the minds of these Indians; and you must therefore know, that whatever may be her beauty and amiable qualities, she is, after all, the daughter of a Delaware chief, and, as such, could not be a welcome inmate of my guardian’s house.”

“Nay, my son,” replied the missionary, “she is but the adopted child of the venerable Delaware who lately fell in the massacre which I have related to you; she was not of his blood nor of his race; such qualities and nature as she possesses have been in some measure the fruit of my own care and toil. Were it not that you might mistake my language for that of boasting, I would say, that although the prairie has been her dwelling, and a LenapÉ tent her home, she does not in her education fall far short of your maidens in the settlements, who have had greater advantages of instruction.”

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a negro with refreshment, preceded by Bearskin, bearing in his hand a bottle of French brandy, of which he vaunted, not without reason, the excellent quality and flavour; but Ethelston continued to converse in an under tone with the missionary, his countenance evincing every moment increased eagerness and interest in the subject of their discourse, which so absorbed his attention, that he never noticed the honest boatman’s repeated attempts to call his attention to the refreshment which he had prepared. Even Paul MÜller was unable to comprehend this sudden change in his manner, and his vehement desire to know all the most minute particulars respecting a person of whom he had spoken a few minutes before in terms of disparagement; but he attributed it to the interest which he took in his friend’s selected bride, and satisfied his curiosity to the best of his ability.

When all his many and rapidly uttered questions were answered, Ethelston rose from his seat, and abruptly took his departure, saying, as he left the room, “Thanks, thanks, my good friends, you shall see me again ere long.”

“Indeed I care not much how long it may be before I see his face again,” said Bearskin sulkily. “Here have I been bothering myself to make Pompey bring up these cakes and, fruits, and I have opened a bottle of Father Antin’s best brandy, and he goes off without tasting with us, or so much as taking a drop to wash down the ill words which were in his mouth a while since.”

“Nay, my good friend,” replied the missionary, “be not hasty to censure Master Ethelston, for he is a true and zealous friend to Reginald Brandon, and the news from the west seems to have affected him with much anxiety and alarm.”

“That’s all very well for you learned folk,” said the unpacified boatman, “but we don’t do things after that fashion on the river–side; and for all he’s the son of an old friend of the Colonel’s, when he comes this way again he’s like to hear something of my notion of his manners.”

“What sort of character bears he at home?”

“Why, to tell the truth, his character’s indifferent good; I never heard of his bein’ rude or uncivil–like before.”

“Well, then, Bearskin, if he comes here again, give him an opportunity for explaining his sudden departure, before you take or express any offence at conduct of which you may not rightly understand the motives. Come, my good friend, clear your brow, and let us partake with gratitude of the excellent cheer that you have provided.”

Thus saying the missionary placed himself with his companion at table, and the ill–temper of the latter was dispelled by the first glass of Father Antin’s cognac.

After this interview with Paul MÜller, Ethelston pursued the business which had brought him to St. Louis with such vigour and energy, that at the close of a week’s negotiation he was able to inform Colonel Brandon that by sacrificing a small portion of the disputed claim, he had adjusted the matter upon terms which he trusted his guardian would not consider disadvantageous; his letter concluded thus:

“Having now explained these transactions, and informed you in another letter of the melancholy fate of Mike Smith and some of his companions, I must announce to you my intention of setting off immediately in search of Reginald, with the best–appointed force that I can collect here, for I am seriously apprehensive for his safety, surrounded as he is by roving tribes of Indians, with some of whom he and his party are at open war; while the band of Delawares, upon whose friendship he might have relied, is almost destroyed. As it may be a work of some time and difficulty to find Reginald in a region of such boundless extent, I must entreat you not to feel uneasy on my account, should my absence be more protracted than I would wish it to be, for I shall be accompanied by Bearskin and other experienced trappers; and I know that even Lucy would have no smile for me on my return, if I came back to Mooshanne without making every exertion to extricate her brother from the difficulties in which these unexpected incidents have involved him.”

By the same post Ethelston wrote also to inform Lucy of his resolution; and though she felt extremely vexed and anxious on account of the lengthened absence which it foretold, still she did him the justice in her heart to own that he was acting as she would have wished him to act.

Not a day passed that he did not consult with Paul MÜller, and also with the most experienced agents of the fur companies, in order that he might provide the articles most requisite for his contemplated expedition, and secure the services of men thoroughly trained and accustomed to mountain and prairie life.

In this last respect he was fortunate enough to engage a man named Pierre, a half–breed from the Upper Missouri, whose life had been spent among the most remote trading–posts, where his skill as a hunter, as well as in interpreting Indian languages, was held in high estimation. Bearskin, who was almost recovered from his wound, and from his short fit of ill–humour with Ethelston, agreed to join the party, and the good missionary resolved to brave all dangers and fatigues in the hope of rejoining, and perhaps of being instrumental in rescuing, his beloved pupil.

With unwearied industry and exertion Ethelston was able, in one week subsequent to the date of his letter, to leave St. Louis in search of his friend, attended by eight hardy and experienced men, all of whom, excepting the missionary, were well armed, and furnished with excellent horses, mules, and every necessary for their long and arduous undertaking.

Guided by Bearskin, they reached without accident or adventure the site of the desolate LenapÉ village, in the Osage country, and there fell in with one of the young Delawares detached by War–Eagle to observe what might be passing in the neighbourhood: from this youth they learnt that War–Eagle and Reginald, with a small party, had gone westward in pursuit of MahÉga, and that the large body of the surviving Delawares were on the trail of the more numerous band of the treacherous Osages.

Ethelston wished to go on at once in search of his friend, but the youth insisted that he should first assist his band in taking vengeance on their enemies. Promises and threats proved equally unavailing; and after the missionary had exhausted all his eloquence in endeavouring to promote peace, he was himself compelled to assure Ethelston that his only chance of finding the trail of his friend in a spot so intersected by multitudinous paths, was to accede to the terms proposed by the Indian; he concluded in these words:

“Doubtless the conduct of these Osages was bloodthirsty and treacherous. I cannot deny that they deserve punishment, but I would fain have left them to the chastisement of a higher Power; I know, however, that I cannot change the notion of retributive justice entertained by the Indians; and although I cannot prevent retaliation, my presence may soften the severities by which it is usually accompanied; at all events I will not shrink from the attempt, especially as it is the only means by which we can possibly hope to trace those in whose safety we are so deeply interested.”

Ethelston could not press any further objection; and his party, under the guidance of the young Delaware, was soon in rapid motion upon the trail of the larger body of the Osages, who were, as it may be remembered, already pursued by a band of LenapÉ warriors.

Towards the close of the second day’s march, Ethelston and his party met the latter returning in triumph from a successful pursuit of their enemies, whom they had overtaken and surprised before they could reach the main body of the Osage village. The attack was made by night, and the Delawares had taken many scalps without the loss of a single man; but their number was not sufficient to justify their remaining in the neighbourhood of a force so much superior to their own, so they had retreated to the southward, and were now on the way to their former village, where they intended to perform more at leisure the funeral ceremonies due to their aged chief, and those who had been killed with him, and to appease their unquiet spirits by offering at their graves the trophies taken during their late expedition. A few of the most daring and adventurous entreated permission to join Ethelston’s band in his search for War–Eagle, their favourite leader; nor was he by any means sorry to grant their request, justly considering the addition of ten well–armed LenapÉ warriors as a most desirable reinforcement to his party.

As soon as the selection was made, they separated at once from the remaining body of Delawares, and, guided by the youth before mentioned, threw themselves upon the trail of MahÉga and his pursuers.