Charlie was a boy who naturally loved adventure. He was excitable, and yet had a reserved power, which, in great emergencies, made him cool and brave. He was fertile in expedients, and, when aroused, experienced a rollicking enjoyment in danger. In the little settlement he came across an old copy of Robinson Crusoe, and, charmed with its romantic descriptions, conceived the idea of becoming another Crusoe. But there was a serious obstacle in his way. He could not convert a prairie into an ocean, and get shipwrecked. Yet if he lacked salt water, there was many a man Friday at hand,–for he mentally promoted every friendly Indian to that office,–and there were plenty of cannibals in the shape of disaffected Indians who were already threatening the settlements with depredation and carnage. Now, Charlie, to enjoy his book under congenial circumstances, and where he would not be interrupted by his mother saying, “Charlie, bring some wood,” and “Charlie, get some water,” 238 and the various et-ceteras of domestic duty to which boys of his age and active habits are liable, looked about for some safe retreat, and chanced to find, one day, in the woods near at hand, a large, hollow tree. Many a time had he passed it, and not discovered the welcome fact. The entrance was effectually concealed by a tangled clump of bushes. Had they taken it specially in hand to grow in such a way as to hide the hole in the tree, they could not have done it more thoroughly; and nobody but a prying young Crusoe of Charlie’s qualifications would have spied out the entrance. Having discovered it, he would creep slyly in, and, by means of the light let in through a hole higher up in the trunk, would pore over the haps and mishaps of the Juan Fernandez hero, and imitate his achievements as well as he could.

It got to be a great mystery what became of Charlie through the long hours of the day. He could hear and see much of what passed around him, and, with imperturbable gravity, would sit in his sly retreat, making no answer, while his mother would come to the cabin door, and call, in silvery treble,–

“Charlie! Charlie! Where are you, Charlie?”

And then, in turn, the father would make his appearance, and shout, in masculine bass,– 239

“Charlie, Charlie, your mother wants yer. Why don’t you come?”

After a while Sarah would be despatched to search for him, and her girlish voice would repeat the parents’ calls as she looked everywhere in vain.

Then, when he returned to the house, to the accustomed inquiry, “Why, where have you been? We’ve been calling you, and hunting everywhere for you,” he would reply, with the utmost nonchalance, “O, only out here;” at which Sarah would retort, impatiently, “I know better than that; for I hunted all round for you, and you wasn’t anywhere to be seen;” and Charlie respond, with compassionate condescension, “Pooh! girls are great at hunting!”

Now, it was very wrong in Charlie to be so dumb when his parents wanted him, and to cause them so much concern by his unexplained absence; but he justified it to his own conscience on the ground that it was in keeping with his character as second Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe, in his estimation, was the greatest and most glorious man that ever lived. Charlie had taken him for his model in life; and it would derogate from the dignity of his position, while enacting the man Crusoe,–“monarch of all he surveyed,”–to obey as the child Charlie. He was willing, when in the house, to do what was expected of 240 him, as a boy under subjection; but when he was in his Crusoe cave, alias the hollow tree, he was altogether another person; and he reasoned, in order to have things in harmony, he must act accordingly.

Charlie, by some means, had come into possession of a horse pistol, considerably out of order, it is true; but it served to fill the place of one of the two pistols Robinson Crusoe found on board the Spanish ship. He was in daily expectation of finding another; but needing ammunition to store up against a coming fray with the cannibals on the shore, he helped himself frequently to the contents of his father’s powder-horn and bullet-pouch.

“What under the canopy makes my powder go so fast?” his father often exclaimed, as he replenished the mysteriously-wasting stock. The lad also begged ammunition of the free-hearted settlers, and by these means he laid up a surprisingly large amount of warlike munitions, kept securely in an old skin bag. He had also dried venison stowed away, and a good store of nuts, with pop-corn for parching, and potatoes for roasting–all against some coming time of need.

Now, it chanced that Charlie’s tree-cave turned to good account, as it saved his curly scalp; for the afternoon of the Indian outbreak,–with one eye on the Crusoe history, and the other watching 241 to see if any cannibals landed on the shore, taking an occasional sip from an old coffee-pot filled with spring water, which he called goat’s milk,–the whole frightful scene of the massacre passed before him. He saw dear little Bub run to meet Yellow Bank, and he also saw what his mother did not in the panic, that, just as the treacherous savage fired, the little fellow tripped and fell, unharmed by the bullet. He saw, at that instant, his sister Sarah start from the store for the cabin, and that the fiendish savage did not notice Bub’s escape, in his eagerness to intercept the girl; so that Bub, terrified by the report of the gun, and at seeing his sister struck down by Yellow Bank, dragged himself off in the direction of Charlie’s tree, not seeming to know but that he was going towards the cabin.

He saw the door of the cabin closed, and that preparations were made to keep out the savages, and that the whole attention of the Indians was turned on assaulting the house. So, cautiously creeping out, and placing one hand firmly over Bub’s mouth to prevent him from making a sound, he drew him into the tree. He was fully aware that he did this at the risk of his own life; for if the child made an outcry, their hiding-place would be discovered, and they would both be sacrificed. But he had too loving and noble a 242 nature to save his own life by leaving his darling pet brother exposed.

Charlie found it a difficult task to control himself sufficiently in the scenes that were passing before him to keep guard over Bub each instant, as he must, to prevent him from revealing their place of refuge. The little fellow had received a terrible fright, and at first struggled with singular strength to free himself from Charlie’s grasp, and Charlie’s arms ached from the constant strain in holding him; his efforts, however, were rewarded at last by Bub’s beginning to comprehend the case.

“It’s the wicked Indians,” whispered Charlie, “and they’ll kill us if we make any noise.”

Three days and nights came and went. How thankful Charlie was for the provisions and water which he had unwittingly provided for this fearful hour! He had the good sense, however, to be careful of the water; for he knew not how long he must stay there; and he taught Bub to eat very slowly, as he had heard his father say that the hunters did so on the plains to prevent thirst. It was a terrible ordeal for a boy of his tender years to witness the horrid sights transpiring around him; and then, when the neighboring cabins were fired, he was filled with fear, lest the cinders would set the tree ablaze.

Charlie hoped, through all this long watching, 243 for an opportunity to take refuge with his father and mother in the cabin; but the savages lay encamped around him, and several times an Indian crept upon his hands and knees, and fired from behind the tree at the inmates of the cabin.

Three days and nights–how long they were to the children in the tree! And yet there was nothing to indicate that they might not remain there as much longer, provided the defence of the cabin continued as persistently as it had done. There was still a good supply of food, although the potatoes had to be eaten raw. But the water grew nauseating, and if some more could not be obtained, what would they do? Bub began to be tormented with thirst, and once attempted to cry for water. He had borne up like a hero, controlled by his fears, sometimes seeming to forget his own wants and perils in his baby concern for his parents.

“Will the wicked Indians kill father and mother?” he once asked, his blue eyes wide with horror, and voice too loud for prudence, just as a savage was creeping up to take aim from behind the tree, so that Charlie had to guard him with ceaseless vigilance. But thirst–how could he expect that a little boy, like Bub, could long endure its torments without making his agony known? 244

“I want some water,” hoarsely whispered Bub; “I dry.”

“Well, don’t make any noise, and Charlie’ll get you some.”

So, waiting till after nightfall, Charlie put his head cautiously out of the hole, and peered around. The spring was not far off; but Charlie knew that the savages would be likely to guard that, and he did not venture to draw his whole body from the aperture save with the utmost caution, and very slowly. Satisfying himself that the Indians were not noticing the tree, he drew himself completely out, and then, putting his head in again, whispered,–

“Now, Bub, don’t you move nor stir, while I go for the water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The heroic boy might have been taken in the darkness for an overgrown caterpillar, he crawled so softly towards the spring. He knew that if he broke a stick or twig, or inadvertently hit his coffee-pot against an obstacle, the quick ear of the Indian would be sure to detect it, and yet he was surprised at his own coolness and mastery of himself; and he accomplished the feat, returning with the black old pot filled to the brim.

He had got within a few feet of the tree, when, in range of the opening, he saw a figure apparently watching him. Charlie thought his hour had come; that it was a savage ready with 245 his scalping-knife, and had given up all for lost, when the dark form moved from out the shadow towards him, and to his consternation he saw that it was Bub, who trudged forward, saying in a loud whisper,–

“Has oo dot any water?”

Charlie, to save further noise, chose the bold alternative of letting him drink on the spot; and retaining his prostrate condition, quickly put the pot to Bub’s lips, and the child swallowed great draughts with satisfied gutturals that seemed to Charlie’s apprehensive ear like the reports of pocket pistols. He let him drink his fill, however, then, pulling him down by his chubby legs, thrust him swiftly, but softly, through the aperture, following as fast as he could, and keeping perfectly still for a full hour before he dared venture forth again for the coffee-pot, which he was obliged to leave behind.

The vigilance of their father in the defence of the cabin not only kept the children in the tree longer than Charlie bargained for when he turned in, on that memorable afternoon, to play Crusoe, but also put their lives in jeopardy from their father’s bullets. For, as we have said before, the tree being a large one, and conveniently near the cabin, the savages would creep up behind it to shoot from, which would be sure to bring a dangerous response; and Charlie was obliged to know 246 more than once that the tree was perforated by balls from his father’s rifle. At such times the youngsters kept as close to the ground as possible.

When the Indians set fire to the roof of the cabin, Charlie was almost wild with excitement, fearing that his parents would now be burned to death. Nor was his anxiety lessened when he saw his father ascend the roof to extinguish the flames, thus exposing himself to the deadly aim of the foe.

Captain Manly’s attack, however, he did not understand; for the soldiers did not pass near the tree, and the confusion and clamor, the horrid yells that rent the air, and the tramp of the contending parties in the dim twilight, seemed like the chaos of a whirlwind,–the fight was so sudden and so soon over,–and he dared not leave the tree after the battle, not knowing what it all meant. He had a bewildered idea that there had been an attack on the Indians by a party of whites, but which had been victorious he could not tell. So he watched on, trying to determine this point, until late in the night, when he saw a dark body moving cautiously from the cabin.

“The Indians have taken the cabin,” he concluded, “and now they’ll burn our house as they did the others.”

And yet it puzzled him to see how closely together the savages kept, instead of being scattered 247 about in all directions, as they were before. He could see them moving quietly away, and thought some of them were mounted on their ponies. After they were well out of sight, resting Bub’s head against the skin powder-bag,–for the little fellow, overcome by weariness, had fallen asleep,–he crawled from his hiding-place and reconnoitred. Suddenly he stumbled over a dead Indian, lying with his rifle beside him; and soon he came across another. But all was still in the cabin.

“There has been a battle,” said Charlie to himself, exultantly, “and the Indians are driven away;” and he entered the house.

All was dark and quiet; so, feeling his way to the chimney, he raked open the ashes, and found a few sparks. Going out, he gathered twigs and limbs, and, heaping them on the hearth, blew them into a blaze; then running to the tree, he awakened Bub, and hurried him to the cabin, and returned for his Crusoe provisions and ammunition.

“Where’s father and mother?” asked Bub, looking round in dismay.

“I think,” said Charlie, soothingly, with a profound air, “that the settlers have got together and driven off the Indians, and taken our folks where they’ll be safe; and now, Bub, we’ll live here like Robinson Crusoe on the island, and you shall be 248 my Friday till our folks come back; for, you see, they’ll find out that we ain’t with them, and they’ll come and take us away.”

“Can’t we go where our folks is now?” inquired Bub, beginning to cry.

“It’s so dark we can’t find them,” said Charlie.

“Won’t the Indians come and hurt us?”

Charlie started at the thought.

“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head doubtfully; “’twould be just like them. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. There’s a good many Indians been killed around the house, and I’ll just go out and get all the rifles I can, and then let them try it if they want to. Why, Robinson Crusoe drove off twenty-nine canoes full, and I bet he didn’t have so many guns as I’ll have.”

And hastening out, he kept finding and bringing them in until he had a dozen.

“Now,” said he, “I’ll bring in lots of wood, and we’ll keep the fire crackling;” and he stirred the burning limbs to make the sparks fly; “and if the Indians return, they’ll think there’s a big houseful of men in here. Besides,” he added, “if our folks see the sparks from the chimney, they’ll know you and I are here, and return for us. And on the whole, I guess I’d rather go with them, than to fight the cannibals alone; for if I should happen to be killed, I suppose they’d have to eat me, and I’d rather not be eaten.” 249

Charlie brought from the enclosure a fine pile of wood and a pail of water, then went out to see that the outer door was secured, and closed the shutter in the room. He then proceeded to examine the rifles,–for he was well versed in fire-arms, like western boys generally,–and carefully cleaned and loaded them.

“Now,” said he, “Crusoe had his seven guns mounted, and I’ll mount my twelve.”

Fortunately for his scheme, the places had been already prepared. After this was done, he went down into the cellar to see if there was anything to eat, and finding some food, he returned, and hanging the tea-kettle over the fire, he poured some boiling water upon the tea-grounds in the tea-pot, then set the table for himself and Bub, and assigning Bub one chair, and getting another for himself, said,–

“We might as well live like folks, as long as we are out of the tree.”

Then, having finished their repast, he said,–

“I feel tired, it’s so long since I’ve had a good sleep; so I guess we’d better go to bed.” And lying down upon the bed in the corner, with an arm lovingly clasping little Bub, they sank into the sweet sleep of childhood.