CHAPTER XIII.

THE SCENE IS SHIFTED TO THE BANKS OF THE MUSKINGUM, AND PRAIRIE–BIRD RETURNS TO THE HOME OF HER CHILDHOOD.

About two months after the events related in the preceding chapters, there was an unusual stir and bustle in the town of Marietta, and half a score of its principal inhabitants were assembled in front of David Muir’s house, to witness the landing of the crew and passengers belonging to a large boat that had just arrived at the wooden pier which projected into the river.

Foremost of a busy group at the water’s edge was the sturdy form of Gregson the mate, whose orders respecting the bringing–to, and making fast, were implicitly obeyed; and when at length she was securely moored alongside the pier, numerous and hearty were the greetings between those who stepped ashore from her, and the friends from whom they had been so long severed.

“Bearskin, how are you? my old fresh–water porpoise!” said the mate, squeezing the hard hand of the Mississippi boatman. “How fares it, messmate?”

“All right now, my hearty; but we’ve had some foul weather since I saw you last.”

“Ay, I see!” said the mate, observing the scars upon his old companion’s face and forehead; “you’ve been snagged, and damaged your figure–head a bit: never mind that; we’ll have all that yarn out by and bye over a bottle of David’s best. See, here he comes to welcome you himself!”

Leaving David Muir and Bearskin to their mutual greetings, the mate returned to the water–side and lent his powerful assistance to the landing of the cargo of the heavily–laden boat; and certainly, a more strange or heterogeneous mixture of animate and inanimate stock never came out of any vessel since the disembarkation from the ark. Skins, furs, bows, rifles, moccassins, and Indian curiosities of every description, were piled near the bows, while in the after–part were stowed provisions of all kinds, and kegs, which were by no means so full as they were when the boat left St. Louis.

The appearance, language, and costume of the crew would baffle any attempt at description, inasmuch as each sunburnt, unshaved individual composing it, had equipped and attired himself according to his own fancy, and according to the contents of his remaining wardrobe after a long sojourn in the western wilderness: and when it is remembered that these hardy fellows were from all the varied clans and nations found between the sources and the mouth of the “Father of Waters,” it is not surprising that their mingled jargon should have struck upon the ear like the dialects of Babel in the day of its confusion. There were half–bred Creeks and Cherokees; Canadians, some with no little admixture of Chippeway blood; others, proud of their pure French descent: there were also some of the rough boatmen, who had already migrated to the banks of the Great River, where it washes the western boundaries of what are now the States of Kentucky and Illinois; and a raw–boned sinewy fellow, who acted as a sort of second mate, was giving instructions in broad Scotch, to a dark–eyed and diminutive individual, who replied to him in bad Spanish. Above the din of all these multifarious tongues, was heard the shrill and incessant voice of Monsieur Perrot, who was labouring with indefatigable zeal to collect his master’s baggage, and to put it safely ashore.

This he was at length enabled to effect with the aid of David Muir and the mate; after which the articles destined for Mooshanne were piled in readiness for the waggon which was to convey them, and the remainder found their way by degrees to their respective destinations.

When at last the good–humoured valet found himself comfortably seated in the merchant’s parlour with the worthy man himself, Dame Christie, Jessie, and the mate, for his audience, and a bottle of madeira, with some fried ham and fresh eggs upon the table, he gave a sigh, the importance of which was lost upon none of those present, and he looked from one to the other with the conscious superiority of a man who knows how much he has to tell.

It is not our province to follow him through the “hair–breadth ‘scapes,” the “moving accidents by flood and field,” with which he set his astonished hearers “all agape;” the only portion of his narrative which it concerns us to know, is that which referred to the movements of Reginald Brandon and the remainder of his party, who might, according to Monsieur Perrot’s account, be almost daily expected at Mooshanne, as they had left St. Louis and crossed its ferry with tent, baggage, and a large cavalcade, on the day of his embarkation in the great “Batteau.”

It was so long since Monsieur Perrot had tasted any liquid with a flavour like that of the merchant’s madeira, that he sipped and talked, talked and sipped, without noting the lapse of time, and the evening was already far advanced before he thought of rising to take his departure for Mooshanne; even then, David Muir pressed him so strongly to remain with him over–night, and continue his journey on the following morning, that Monsieur Perrot found himself quite unable to resist accepting the invitation; especially as he thought that another day or two might probably elapse before the return of Reginald; and, moreover, the bright eyes of Jessie Muir looked a thousand times brighter from the contrast that her beauty afforded to the swart dusky complexions by which he had so lately been surrounded.

Leaving the merry Frenchman, and his still wondering auditors in David’s parlour, we will proceed without delay to Mooshanne, where it happened that, about four o’clock on the same afternoon, a single horseman sprang from the animal that, to judge from its appearance, had carried him far and fast, and, having rung the door–bell, waited not for any one to answer it, but walked straight into the vestibule.

The bell was still ringing when the door of the drawing–room was slightly opened that the blue eyes of Lucy might herself reconnoitre the new comer; the next moment saw her in her brother’s arms.

“Dear, dear Reginald! ’tis he, ’tis he, indeed!” and she drew him into the room that her father might share her rapturous joy.

While the colonel pressed his son to his heart in a fond paternal embrace, Lucy ran up stairs to prepare the more delicate nerves of her invalid mother for the shock of happiness that awaited her.

Scarcely were these first affectionate greetings exchanged, ere Lucy inquired with expectant eagerness, “When will they arrive?—how far off are they, Reginald?”

“They cannot now be long; I think within a couple of hours they must be here. If I mistake not, Lucy, there is one of the party who begrudged me not a little my office of _avant–courier_.”

Lucy blushed “celestial rosy red, love’s proper hue,” as she felt how her heart leaped within her to meet the one to whom her brother referred; and she hastened away to conceal her mingled confusion and happiness, in the thousand little details of preparation for her expected guests.

It may be as well here to mention, that immediately on reaching St. Louis, Reginald had dispatched a messenger on horseback to his father with a letter, containing the outline of the events connected with his western expedition, and informing him of the rescue of Prairie–bird, and of the attachment that existed between her and himself. He spoke not of her parentage, further than to say, that she had been carried off in childhood from her own family, who were of a lineage and descent altogether unexceptionable; and he entreated and conjured his father not to entertain, nor pronounce any objection to his proposed alliance, until he had an opportunity of seeing, hearing, and judging for himself.

Reginald had also insisted upon Ethelston’s abstaining from this topic in any letter that he might wish to send from St. Louis, and the colonel had thought it advisable to say nothing to Lucy of her brother’s attachment, while there remained a doubt of its being such as he could approve or sanction; so that he had only informed her that the party would bring back with them Prairie–bird, whom the young Delaware had mentioned so often as his sister, but who was, in fact, the daughter of English parents, of the highest respectability; and that she would be accompanied by Paul Müller, a missionary, whose reputation for piety and learning was extensively spread, and who had been, since her residence with the Indians, her instructor and adopted father.

Lucy’s curiosity to see Prairie–bird had been, since the arrival of her brother’s letter, extraordinarily excited. Sometimes she fancied her a half–wild, half–civilized being, clad in a dress of skins, and speaking broken English. Then again she was puzzled at the remembrance of the affectionate reverence, almost amounting to worship, with which Wingenund had spoken of her, and again her calculation was at fault. Under these doubts and perplexities, she consulted Aunt Mary, and with her aid and concurrence had prepared for her expected guest a room upon the ground–floor, that looked upon her own flower–garden. Its furniture was simple, but exceedingly pretty, being a kind of representation of a tent, of an octagon shape, and hung with a delicate–coloured pink chintz.

The view from the windows was lovely; for although the flowery parterres had lost their brightest summer hues, a few roses still lingered among them, contrasting with the thousand autumnal colours that decked the shady mass of distant forests between which and the flower–garden was seen here and there, through a leafy vista, the winding course of the Muskingum. Lucy had decked the interior of the room with all those nameless comforts and luxuries that betoken women’s affectionate care; several shelves were covered with well–selected books, and two china baskets upon the table were filled with such flowers as the indefatigable Aunt Mary had placed there, unconscious for whom she gathered them.

As soon as Reginald had enjoyed a short interview with his mother, whose health, though still delicate, had somewhat improved since he had last seen her, Lucy entered, and taking him by the arm, said, “Come, Reginald, you must inspect my preparations. See, this is your own room, which you will find rather more gay than when you left it, as Aunt Mary would have it new–papered. That beyond is destined, as before, for Ed—for Ethelston.”

“Has Aunt Mary thought it requisite to new–paper that too, or did it occur to Miss Lucy without her aunt’s suggestion?”

Lucy punished him with a slight pinch on the arm; and then leading him down the stairs to the tent apartment, said to him, “Now, Sir, I will show you what I have prepared for your Indian lady; this is Prairie–bird’s room.”

The tell–tale blood rushed into Reginald’s bronzed and sunburnt cheek, as he stood within the room destined to contain his heart’s treasure; thoughts, far too sweet, and deep, and swift for words, mingled the past and the future in a delicious dream, as bending over his sister he kissed her fair forehead, and pressed her in silence to his heart.

With the intuitive quickness of sympathy, Lucy read in that expressive silence the secret of her brother’s breast; and looking up to him, half–reproachfully, she said, “Reginald, could not you have trusted your Lucy so far, as to tell her that Prairie–bird would have a dearer title to her affections than that of being Wingenund’s sister, or the child of the missionary’s adoption?”

“Dear Lucy,” replied her brother, with an impressive earnestness, that re–assured while it awed her, “there has been so much of the mysterious and merciful working of Providence in the history of Prairie–bird, that I am sure you will forgive me when I ask you to wait a few hours before all is explained to you. Meanwhile, receive her, for these few hours, as a guest; if at the end of them you do not love her as a sister, my prophetic spirit errs widely of its mark.”

Lucy saw well how deeply her brother’s feelings were moved, and she prayed inwardly that her expected guest might fulfil his prophecy. It must be owned, however, that there lurked a doubt in her heart whether it could be possible that a girl, reared in an Indian camp, could be to her a sister, or could be worthy of that brother, whom her fond partiality clothed with attributes beyond those which belong to ordinary mortals. Her affection for Reginald would not permit her to let him perceive these doubts; but fearful of betraying them by her manner, she left him in the room destined for Prairie–bird, while she hastened to aid the indefatigable Aunt Mary in some of the other preparations that were going forward; the colonel having given orders that the whole party, of whatever rank or station, should be hospitably entertained.

Reginald was no sooner left alone, than casting his eyes around the room, a sudden idea occurred to him of preparing an agreeable surprise for his betrothed on her entrance to her new domicile. He remembered having seen below, in the drawing–room, a Spanish guitar, which he lost no time in securing; and having taken it from the case, he ascertained that it was a very fine instrument, and that the strings were in very tolerable order. He now laid it upon the sofa–table in her room, placing beside it a slip of paper which he took from his pocket, and which seemed from its soiled and crumpled condition, to have suffered not a little from the various wettings to which, during the past months of travel, it had been exposed. Still he lingered in the room, noting with satisfaction the various trifling luxuries and comforts which his sister had prepared for Prairie–bird, when suddenly he caught the sound of a bugle–note, in which he instantly recognised the signal to be given by Baptiste of the party’s approach.

How did his heart beat within him as he flew to welcome them! yet were its throbbing pulsations like the quiet of sleep compared to those of the maiden, who now drew near the home of her infancy. Ethelston had leaped to the ground, and half supported her in the saddle with one hand, while with the other he checked Nekimi, whose impatient neigh betrayed his remembrance of the corn–bin, and the well–known stall.

“Edward—Edward, I cannot go through this!” said the half–fainting girl. “My thoughts are all confused—my brain turns round—see there is the house! I cannot remember it. O, stay a minute—only one minute, that I may recover myself!”

“Dear Evy!” said her brother, looking up while she leaned affectionately upon his shoulder, “’tis natural that your thoughts should be mingled and confused, but let them not be gloomy _now_! The house is so changed within the last ten years, that had you built it yourself you could not recognise it in its present state. Already I can distinguish dear Aunt Mary’s white cap and apron; and Lucy, longing to embrace a sister; the gray locks of the stately colonel, and one beside him, who will not be the last to welcome Prairie–bird!”

“I can distinguish nothing, Edward; there is a mist before my eyes: but it is a mist of love and happiness unspeakable!”

“Courage, dear Evy!” said her brother in a cheering tone, “let them not think that Prairie–bird draws near with slow, unwilling step, and that her heart regrets the change from the prairie to the scenes of her childhood, and the home of her choice!”

“Edward!” said his sister reproachfully, while a tear started in her eye, and the blood mounted to her temples; then, shaking back the dark locks from her glowing cheeks, as if she would thereby shake off the temporary weakness by which she had been overcome, she added, “Remount your horse; we have yet some hundred feet to go; if Prairie–bird draws near with slow, unwilling step, it shall be Nekimi’s fault, and not her own!”

So saying, she shook the loosened rein upon the neck of the fiery steed, which, bounding forward with a spring that would have unseated a less practised rider, bore her swiftly to the door, where he stopped, obedient to her delicate hand, and champed, and frothed, and snorted, as if proud alike of his burden, and of his own matchless symmetry of form.

Never had her radiant beauty so thrilled through Reginald’s every nerve as at this moment, when, lightly touching his proferred arm, she sprang to the ground; her cheek glowing with agitation, and her eye moistened by contending emotions, she interchanged with him one silent look of conscious love, and then turned, with gentle grace, to receive the greeting of Colonel Brandon.

We have before said that he had been far from pleased with the contemplated alliance of his son, and had made up his mind to receive Prairie–bird with cold and studied courtesy, nor to treat her otherwise than as an ordinary guest, until he should have satisfied himself respecting her birth and connexions; but, in spite of himself, these resolutions vanished before the irresistible attractions of her manner and bearing, so that, instead of only extending his hand, as he had proposed, he imprinted a parental kiss upon her forehead, saying,

“Welcome, heartily and truly welcome to Mooshanne!”

She tried to speak, but she looked on the half–remembered features of Reginald’s father, and her collected strength began to fail. At this moment she was greeted by Lucy, whom she already knew to be the chosen of her brother’s heart.

“Prairie–bird must learn to love her sister!” whispered she, folding her in an affectionate embrace.

“_Learn_, Lucy!” replied Prairie–bird, whose tears could no longer be controlled; “Learn! can a few years have so changed our faces and our hearts, that Lucy and Evy must now learn to love each other?”

Before the astonished girl could reply, Aunt Mary, darting forward with frantic haste, exclaimed, “What voice is that?” then catching Prairie–bird by the arm, examined with wild intensity every line of her countenance. As she looked, the tears gathered in her own eyes, her frame trembled with agitation, and she fell upon her neck, saying, “’Tis she—’tis my poor brother’s long–lost child!”

Lucy’s heart told her that it was so indeed: Colonel Brandon was overcome with astonishment; but he read in the looks of Reginald and Ethelston that the lost treasure was restored; and as memory retraced in the features of Prairie–bird those of his attached and lamented friend, he too was unmanned; and grasping Ethelston’s hand, wrung it with an emotion beyond the power of words.

The news spread like wildfire throughout the house, that Captain Ethelston’s sister was returned; and Lucy was obliged to run with all speed to her mother’s room to prevent a sudden shock of joy that might affect her weakly nerves. Is it possible to describe or imagine the transports of the succeeding hour in that happy circle! or the caresses showered upon Prairie–bird! What word would the pen or tongue employ? “Congratulations?” As well might one attempt to represent Niagara by the water poured from a pitcher!

We will trust that hour to the reader’s heart, and will suppose it past, and that Lucy, with still tearful eyes, and her arm still round her recovered sister’s neck, was leading her from the room where she had just knelt, to receive Mrs. Brandon’s maternal kiss, when in passing a half–open door, Lucy said, “Evy, that is your brother’s room; but he is not in it, he is still on the lawn.”

“Oh! I must look into Edward’s room,” exclaimed Prairie–bird; and opening the door, she entered, followed by Lucy. A rifle, a fowling–piece, and a fishing–rod stood in one corner; over them were ranged several pairs of pistols, and two or three cutlasses, apparently of foreign workmanship; in the opposite corner, near the window, was a globe, by the side of which stood a case filled with naval charts; on the other side of the room was ranged a row of shelves well stored with books, and the writing–table in the centre was covered with papers, all neatly tied and docketed, as he had left them at his last departure.

Prairie–bird’s eye wandered with a certain degree of interest over all these indications of her brother’s habits, until it rested upon a small portrait, hung over the chimney–piece. It represented a man of middle age and stature, and although the painting was scarcely above mediocrity as a work of art, the expression of the countenance was strikingly open and benevolent. Prairie–bird gazed upon it, until she thought that the mild orbs upon the inanimate canvass returned her affectionate gaze. With clasped hands and beating heart, she stood awhile silent, and then sinking on her knees, without removing her eyes from the object upon which they rested, she murmured, in a whisper scarcely audible, “My father!”

It was indeed the portrait of his lamented friend, that Colonel Brandon had kindly placed in Ethelston’s room, a circumstance which had escaped Lucy’s memory at the moment of her entering it.

Stooping over her kneeling companion, she kissed her forehead, saying, “Evy, I will leave you for a few minutes to commune with the memory of the honoured dead; you will find me in the vestibule below.” So saying, she gently closed the door, and left the room.

In less than a quarter of an hour Prairie–bird rejoined her friend; and though the traces of recent emotion were still to be observed, she had recovered her composure, and her countenance wore an expression of grateful happiness.

“Come, Evy,” said her young hostess, “I must now show you your own room; the cage is not half pretty enough for so sweet a bird, but it opens upon the flower–garden; so you can escape when you will, and your dear good Paul Müller is your next neighbour.”

An exclamation of delight broke from the lips of Prairie–bird as she entered and looked around the tented apartment, and all its little comforts, prepared by Lucy’s taste and affection. Fortunately, the day was beautiful, and the casement–windows being wide open, her eye caught, beyond the flower–garden, a view of the distant mass of forest, with its thousand varied autumnal tints, reposing in the golden light of the declining sun.

“Oh, it is too, too beautiful!” said Prairie–bird, throwing her arms around Lucy’s neck; “I can scarcely believe that this is not all a dream!”

“There have indeed been some fairies here, or some such beings as dwell in dreams, Evy,” said Lucy, whose eyes fell upon the guitar lying on the table; “for I left this room a short time ago, and this instrument was not here then. Who can have brought it?—can you play upon it, Evy?”

“A little,” replied Prairie–bird, colouring.

“And see,” continued Lucy, “here is a scrap of paper beside it, so soiled and dirty that I should have put it in the fire had I seen it before; do you know the hand–writing, Evy?” As Lucy said this, she looked archly up in her friend’s face, now glowing with a rosy blush. “Well, you need not answer, for methinks I know it myself; may I unfold the paper, and read its contents? What, no answer yet? then I must take your silence for consent.” Thus saying, she opened the paper, while Prairie–bird, blushing still more deeply, glanced at it with longing, but half–averted eyes. “Verses, I declare!” exclaimed Lucy. “Why, Evy, what magic art have you employed to transform my Nimrod brother, the wild huntsman of the west, the tamer of horses, and the slayer of deer, into a poet?”

She then proceeded to read, in a voice of deep feeling, the following stanzas, which, although without any pretensions to poetical merit in themselves, found such acceptance with their present warm–hearted and partial judges, that, at the conclusion of their perusal, the two girls fell upon each other’s neck, and remained locked in a silent and affectionate embrace.

_On overhearing Prairie–bird’s Evening Hymn_, “HALLOWED BE THY NAME.”[92]

“Yes, hallowed be His Holy Name Who formed thee what thou art! Whose breath inspired the heav’nly flame Now kindled in thy heart! Whose love o’erflowing in thy breast These vocal raptures stirred— Whose angels hover round thy nest, Thou orphan Prairie–bird!

“Methinks, I see that guardian throng Still mirrored in thy face! Thy voice hath stol’n their angel–song, Thy form their angel–grace. Oh breathe once more that plaintive strain, Whose every tone and word, Deep–treasured in my heart and brain Shall dwell, sweet Prairie–bird!”

_Delaware and Osage Camp, Tuesday Night._—R. B.

On the following day, the family party at Mooshanne were assembled at luncheon under a large tree on the banks of the Muskingum, from beneath the shade of which the gables and irregular chimneys of the house were seen through occasional openings in Lucy’s shrubbery; while the deep river flowed silently onward, bearing away in its tranquil course the leafy tribute of autumn showered upon it by the light breath of the western wind.

Already had Prairie–bird visited the spot where her father’s house had stood, the site of which was only to be recognised by a few heaps of stones and blackened timbers, over which the luxuriant mosses and lichens with which that region abounds had long since cast their mantle of green, while a few apple, plum, and peach trees, unprotected by hedge or fence still showed “where once the garden smiled.”

Colonel Brandon had not thought it advisable to rebuild either the house or the offices after their destruction by the savages, but had contented himself with a careful administration of his late friend’s property, leaving it to his son Edward to choose a site for his residence at a later period. Neither must it be supposed that our heroine had omitted to pay a morning visit to Nekimi, who now knew her voice and obeyed her call like an affectionate and faithful dog. As soon as she came to the stable, into which he had been turned without halter or fastening of any kind, the generous animal, after saluting her with a neigh of recognition, rubbed his broad forehead against her shoulder, and playfully nibbled the grains off the head of maize which she held out to him; but even that he did not venture to do until he had acquired a claim to it by holding one of his feet up and pawing with it until she let it rest in her delicate hand. It must assuredly have been by mere accident that Reginald entered while she was thus employed, and reminded her how he had, with prescient hope, foretold this very scene amongst the rocky cliffs of the far distant Andes. Well did Prairie–bird remember the spot, and every syllable of that prophecy; neither did she affect to have forgotten it, but with a sweet blush held out one hand to her lover, while the other still played with the silken tresses of Nekimi’s mane.

What a delightful occupation is it to caress a dumb favourite by the side of one beloved, when the words of endearing tenderness lavished on the unconscious pet are the outpourings of a heart sensitively shrinking from addressing them directly to their real object! And if it be true, that many a sleek and glossy spaniel has thus received the caress intended for its owner, how much more natural was it that Reginald and Prairie–bird should find pleasure in bestowing their caresses on a noble animal, endeared to them by so many associations; for while she remembered how often Nekimi had borne him in the chase and in the fight, he was not likely to forget with how true and unwearied a step the faithful steed had carried his betrothed over many hundred miles of mountain and of prairie; and even now, as her hand rested in his, both by a conscious sympathy thought of Nekimi’s former generous lord, and breathed a sigh over War–Eagle’s untimely fate.

To return to our party assembled round the luncheon–table under the venerable tree. The first tumult of joy had subsided, and was succeeded by a feeling of more assured happiness—“a sober certainty of waking bliss,” which pervaded every breast. Aunt Mary contemplated her lovely niece with looks of the fondest affection, recalling in her sweet smile and in the expression of her features the beloved brother, whose loss she had with deep but chastened grief for many years deplored; for a few minutes there was a general silence; one of those pauses in which each member of the party pondered, as if by a common sympathy, on the wonderful events which had led to their reunion. Lucy was the first to break it.

“Reginald,” said she, “you related to us yester–evening the commencement of your homeward journey, and how the Delaware called ‘Stony–heart’ was permitted by the Osages to return unhurt to your camp: you must resume the thread of your tale where you left it, and tell us especially how and where you parted from dear Wingenund, to whom we all owe a debt of gratitude greater than we can ever pay.”

“That do we indeed, Lucy,” replied her brother, earnestly; “fortunate, too, is, it that deeds of generous self–devotion like those done by Wingenund reward themselves, and that a debt of gratitude to one whom we love is a treasure, not a load upon the breast. You remember how a writer, who used to be a favourite with you, has expressed it:

‘A grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharged.’”

“What a beautiful thought!” exclaimed Prairie–bird, eagerly; “tell me the book wherein I may find it written. Such a lovely flower as that cannot surely grow alone; there must be others of similar beauty near it.”

“There are, indeed; fresh, fragrant, and abundant, as on a western prairie in June; ‘Paradise Lost’ is the garden wherein they grow; many of the descriptions contained in it are among the most beautiful in our language; I hope ere long to read them to and with you, dearest,” he added in a whisper, intended for her ear alone: “there are some lines descriptive of Eve as she first appeared to Adam, which always seemed to me exaggerated, until you taught my eye to see and my heart to feel their truth.”

With a deep blush Prairie–bird cast her dark eyes upon the ground, while Reginald continued aloud, again addressing himself to Lucy.

“Our own adventures after we crossed the Platte river are scarcely worth relating; for although we had a few alarms from wandering parties of Pawnees, Omahaws, and Dahcotahs, our band was too strong and too well armed to fear anything from their open attack; and the ever–watchful care and sagacity of Wingenund left them no chance of surprising us.

“The warlike spirit and experience of his noble brother seemed to have descended, like Elijah’s mantle, upon the youth; and feeling the responsibility that attached to him as leader of the party, he allowed himself little rest either by day or by night, setting the watches himself, and visiting them repeatedly at intervals to ascertain that they were on the alert. He always came to our camp–fire in the evening, and I observed that he daily became more interested in the conversation of our worthy friend the missionary, and more anxious to understand the principles and truths of Christianity; in so doing he was not only following the bent of his own amiable and gentle disposition, but he felt a secret pleasure in the remembrance that he was fulfilling the last wishes of his dying brother. I dare say Paul Müller would now tell you that he would be thankful indeed if the average of professing Christians understood and practised the precepts of their creed as faithfully as Wingenund.”

“That would I in truth, my son,” replied the missionary; “nevertheless I cannot claim the honour of having been the instrument of the conversion of the Delaware youth or his brother; it was effected, under the blessing of Heaven, by the patient, zealous, and affectionate exertion of Prairie–bird.”

“Nay, my dear father, you do yourself grievous wrong in so speaking,” said Prairie–bird, reproachfully; “and even were it as you say, to whom do I owe every thing that I know? whom have I to thank that I was not left in the dark and hapless condition of the females by whom I have so long been surrounded?”

The tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke, and she pressed affectionately to her lips the hand which her adopted father extended to her.

“Yes, my sister speaks only the truth,” said Ethelston, addressing the missionary in a voice of deep emotion; “we all feel how far beyond the power of words we are indebted to you for all that you have done for her, and we only trust that some opportunity may be afforded us of showing a deep, sincere, and permanent gratitude that we are unable to express.”

Colonel Brandon, and every one of the family circle rose, as by a common impulse, and one by one confirmed by a silent pressure of the hand, the sentiment expressed by Ethelston. The venerable man, uncovering his head, and allowing the breeze to waive to and fro his silver locks, looked for a minute upon the kindred group before him, and thus addressed them:—

“Think you not, my friends, that this scene, these happy faces, and this happy home, might well reward any degree or duration of earthly toil? But toil there has been none, for the teaching and nurture of this sweet child has been from the first a labour of love; and the only pain or regret that she has ever caused me, is that which I now feel, when I recollect, that I must resign her into the hands of her natural guardians, and return to my appointed task, the occasional troubles of which will not any more be sweetened by her presence, nor its vexations be soothed by her affection. Such, however, is the will of Him whom I serve, and far be it from me to repine.”

“Nay,” interrupted Reginald, eagerly, “you will not leave us yet. After the fatigues and trials of this summer, you will surely give yourself some repose.”

“My son, I would gladly dwell awhile in this pleasant and happy abode; but I must not leave Wingenund to contend unaided against the difficulties by which his present path will be beset, the doubts and temptations which may assail him from within, and the sneers or scorn he may experience from the more proud and violent spirits of his tribe.”

“There is, however, one service that you have promised to render before you take your departure from Mooshanne. Perhaps there are others here beside myself who will urge you to its faithful performance.”

This bold speech threw the whole party into momentary confusion. Prairie–bird, pretending to whisper to the missionary, hid her blushing face upon his shoulder; the conscious eyes of Ethelston and Lucy met; while Aunt Mary bestowed upon Colonel Brandon one of those knowing smiles with which elderly ladies usually think fit to accompany matrimonial allusions.

The awkwardness was of short duration; for the mutual feelings of the parties betrothed were no secret to any present; and Reginald was not of a disposition to endure unnecessary delays; so he drew Prairie–bird with gentle force towards her brother, and still retaining her hand in his own, he said, “Ethelston, will you, as guardian of your sister, consent to my retaining this fair hand? Beware how you reply, lest I should use my influence against you in a request which you may make to my father.”

Had Ethelston been ignorant of his sister’s feelings, he might have read them in the expression of her blushing countenance; but being already in full possession of them, and meeting a smile of approval from Colonel Brandon, he placed his sister’s hand within that of Reginald, saying, “Take her, Reginald, and be to her, as a husband, true, faithful, and affectionate, as you have been to me as a friend.”

It will not be supposed that Ethelston waited long for the consent of either her father or brother to his union with Lucy; and Paul Müller agreed to remain at Mooshanne one week, at the end of which time the double ceremony was to take place.

While these interesting arrangements were in progress, the noise of wheels, and the tramp of many horses, announced the approach of a large party; upon which Colonel Brandon, accompanied by the missionary and Aunt Mary, went to see who the new comers might be, leaving the two young couples to follow at their leisure. The Colonel was not long kept in suspense as to the quality of his visitors, for before reaching the house, he heard the broad accent of David Muir’s voice addressing Reginald’s attendant.

“Thank ye, thank ye, Maister Parrot,” for so did he pronounce the Frenchman’s name; “if ye’ll just haud the uncanny beast by the head, Jessie can step on the wheel an’ be down in a crack. There, I tauld ye so; it’s a’ right noo; and Jessie, lass, ye need na’ look sae frighted, for your new gown’s nae rumpled, an’ Hairy will tak’ the bit parcel into the house for ye.”

“Indeed, father, I am not frightened,” said Jessie, settling the side curls under her bonnet upon her glowing cheek, and giving the parcel to Henry Gregson, whose hands had for the moment encircled her waist as she jumped from the wheel to the ground. Several vehicles of various descriptions followed, containing the spoils and baggage brought back from the prairies, together with Pierre, Bearskin, and all the members of the party who had accompanied Reginald and Ethelston, and who now came to offer their congratulation on the events attending their safe return; for the story of the wonderful restoration of Ethelston’s sister to her family had already spread throughout the neighbourhood, receiving, as it went, various additions and embellishments from the lovers of the marvellous.

Meanwhile, Jessie Muir had gathered from Monsieur Perrot sufficient information respecting the true state of affairs, to set her mind at rest with respect to Reginald Brandon’s intentions; and encouraged by the interest which the Colonel and Lucy had always taken in her prospects, she felt a secret assurance that they would prove powerful auxiliaries in advocating the cause of Harry Gregson, and reconciling her parents to his suit. Neither was she mistaken in her calculation; for while the preparation for the entertainment of the numerous guests was going forward, Colonel Brandon, after a brief consultation with Ethelston, called David Muir aside, and opened to him the subject of the youth’s attachment to his daughter.

It is difficult to say whether the surprise or the wrath of the merchant were the greater on hearing this intelligence, which was not only a death–blow to his own ambitious hopes, but was, in his estimation, an act of unpardonable presumption on the part of young Gregson.

“Colonel, ye’re surely no in airnest! it’s no possible! Jessie, come here, ye hizzie!” said he, stamping with anger, and raising his voice to a louder pitch.

It happened that Jessie, being engaged in conversation with Monsieur Perrot, did not hear his call, and the Colonel took the opportunity of leading him a little further from the house, and entreating his calm attention to the explanations which he had to give. David walked on in silence, his face still red with anger, and his heart secretly trembling within him when he thought of his next interview with Dame Christie.

The Colonel, who knew both the weak and the good points of his companion’s character, dexterously availing himself of both, effected in a few minutes a considerable change in his views and feelings on the subject. He represented to him that Ethelston would now have a house and establishment of his own; that his property was already very considerable, and, with prudent management, would receive gradual augmentation; and that from his attachment to Gregson, it was his intention to make the honest mate’s son the managing agent of his concerns; to facilitate which purpose he, Colonel Brandon, proposed to advance a few thousand dollars, and to establish the young man in a suitable house in Marietta.

“David,” continued the Colonel, “you and I have long been acquainted; and I do not think you ever yet knew me to give you counsel likely to injure your welfare or your prospects, and you may trust me that I would not willingly do so now. The young people are attached to each other; they may certainly be separated by force; but their hearts are already united. Harry is an honest, industrious, enterprising lad; he will start in the world with fair prospects; every year will lend him experience; and as you and I are both of us on the wrong side of fifty, we may be very glad a few summers hence to rest from active business, and to have about us those to whom we can entrust our affairs with well–placed confidence.”

There was much in this speech that tended to soothe, as well as to convince, the merchant. He was gratified by the familiar and friendly expressions employed by the Colonel, while his shrewd understanding took in at a rapid glance the prospective advantages that might accrue to the agent managing the extensive affairs of the families of Brandon and Ethelston; added to this, he was at heart a fond and affectionate father; and the symptoms of irritation began to disappear from his countenance; yet he scarcely knew how to reply, and before even he meant to speak, the name of his gude–wife escaped from his lips.

“Leave me to manage Dame Christie,” said the Colonel, smiling. “Ethelston shall go into Marietta himself, and break the subject to her, founding his request upon his regard for the elder Gregson, who has served under him so faithfully ever since his boyhood. Come, my good friend, let us join the party: I do not press you for any reply now; but if you should detect a stolen glance of affection between the young people, do not be angry with Jessie, but think of the day when you first went forth, dressed in your best, to win a smile from Dame Christie.”

“Ah, Colonel, ye’re speakin’ of auld lang syne now!” said the merchant, whose ill–humour was no longer proof against the friendly suggestions of his patron, though he muttered to himself, in an under–tone, as they returned towards the house, “I ken now why Maister Hairy was aye sae fond o’ the store, when the ither lads were fain to win’ awa to hunt in the woods, or to fish in the river! Weel a weel, he’s a douce callant, an’ the lassie might aiblins gae farther an’ fair waur!”

The preparations for the entertainment were still in progress, under the superintendence of Aunt Mary and Monsieur Perrot; the latter having already doffed his travelling attire, and assumed, in his jacket of snowy white, the command of the kitchen, when Harry Gregson, who had opened the Marietta post–bag, put a letter into the hands of Reginald Brandon, which he instantly knew, by the bold, careless hand–writing, to be from his uncle Marmaduke. He broke the seal, and read as follows:—

“Shirley Hall, July 15.

“Dear Reginald,

“I have very lately received your letter, announcing your intention of making a hunting excursion in the west, in pursuit of bears, elk, wolves, Indians, and other wild beasts. I hope you’ll come safe back, with a score or two of their outlandish brushes. After you left me, I began to feel very uncomfortable, and did not know what was the matter, for I was cold by night, and sulky and out of sorts by day. Parson Williams took me in hand; but though we drank many a bottle of old port together, and played drafts, and attended several road–meetings (which you know was an amusement I had never tried before), it was all no use, and I began to think that I was on a down–hill road to the next world; but, somehow or other, it happened that I dropped in now and then to the parsonage, and whenever I had talked half an hour with Margaret (you remember Margaret, the parson’s daughter), I felt in a better humour with myself and all the world. So matters went on, until one day I mustered courage to ask her to come up to the hall, and change her name to Shirley. She did so, and your old uncle writes with the halter round his neck. When I married, Perkins came down from London (the son of my father’s solicitor) with a dozen boxes of parchment, in a post–chaise; and made me sign my name at least a score of times; after which I desired him to draw up two more deeds for my pleasure. These were for transferring to yourself, and to your sister, a legacy left me a few years ago by an old relation whom I had never seen, and whose money I did not want. The amount is forty thousand pounds; so there will be twenty thousand pounds apiece for you, and you may set to work and clear (as you used to call it) an estate as big as the old county of Warwick. I explained what I was about to Meg, telling her, at the same time, that it was a debt that I owed you in conscience, having considered you for so many years as my heir, until her plaguing black eyes made a fool of me, and threatened me with the prospect of brats of my own. For this she pulled my ears twice; first for calling her Meg instead of Greta, by which name she was known at the parsonage; and secondly, for talking about the brats, a subject which always makes her cheeks redden. But I had no idea of putting the reins into her hand so early in the day, and I told her outright, that the first boy should be called Reginald, to please me; and the second might be called Greto, to please her; and the third might be called Marmaduke to please the family: on which, without waiting to hear any more, she bolted, and left me master of the field. I have just mentioned this, in order that you, if ever you get into a similar scrape, may know how to behave yourself. Mr. Perkins has completed his deeds of assignment, and has received my instructions to transfer the money to America by the next vessel, in bills upon Messrs. Powell and Co., of Philadelphia; and though I have more than once found you as proud and as straight–laced as a turkey–cock where money was concerned, I know that you dare not, you dog!—I say you dare not refuse, either for yourself or your sister, this token of the affectionate regard of your uncle,

“MARMADUKE SHIRLEY.”

The flush that came over Reginald’s open countenance as he read this epistle from his eccentric but warm–hearted relative, did not escape the watchful eye of Lucy, who was standing near him, and she anxiously inquired whether it contained any unpleasant intelligence.

“Read it, Lucy, and judge for yourself,” he replied, while he went to communicate its contents to Colonel Brandon.

We will leave to the reader’s imagination the mirth and festivity that reigned at Mooshanne during that happy evening; how Pierre, Baptiste, and Bearskin talked over their adventures of ancient and of recent date; how David Muir’s grey eye twinkled when he detected Jessie exchanging a stolen glance with Harry Gregson; how the cheers rang through the forest when the Colonel proposed the health of Prairie–bird, the long–lost child of his dearest friend, the bride of his only son; and how Aunt Mary’s sweetmeats and preserves adorned her snowy table–cloth; and how Monsieur Perrot had contrived, as if by magic, to load the hospitable board with every swimming, flying, and running eatable creature to be found in the neighbourhood, dressed in every known variety of form. The healths of Ethelston and Colonel Brandon had not been forgotten; and the latter, observing a shade of melancholy upon his son’s brow, said to him aloud, “Reginald, you have not yet given your friends a toast, they claim it of you now.”

Thus addressed, Reginald, reading in the dark eyes of his betrothed, feelings kindred to his own, said in a voice of deep and undisguised emotion, “My friends, you will not blame me if I interrupt for a moment the current of your mirth, but it would be doing equal injustice, I am sure, to your feelings and to my own, were we to part without a tribute to the memory of one, now no more, to whose self–devoted heroism Ethelston owes the life of a sister, and I the dearest treasure I possess on earth: The memory of my Indian brother, War–Eagle, late Chief of the Delawares!”

The party rose in silence, every head was uncovered, a tear trembled on the long lashes of Prairie–bird’s downcast eye, and Baptiste muttered to himself, yet loud enough to be heard by all present, as he reversed his glass, “Here’s to the memory of the boldest hand, the fleetest foot, and the truest heart among the sons of the Lenapé!”

As the day was now drawing to a close, David Muir returned to Marietta, Ethelston having promised to pay a visit to Dame Christie on the following day. The merchant was so elated by the day’s festivities, that he winked his grey twinkling eye at Jessie, forgetting at the moment that she knew nothing of the conversation that had passed between the Colonel and himself; and when the youth, in escorting them homeward, warned David of sundry holes and stumps upon the road, thereby enabling them to avoid them, he poked his elbow into Jessie’s side, saying, “He’s a canny lad, yon Hairy Gregson; what think ye, Jessie?”

She thought that her father was crazy, but she said nothing; and a certain vague sensation of hope came over her, that all was going more smoothly for her wishes than she had dared to expect.

For the ensuing week the whole village of Marietta was enlivened by the preparations for the twofold wedding at Mooshanne; silks, ribbons, and trinkets without end were bought, and there was not a settlement within fifty miles in which the miraculous return of Reginald Brandon’s bride was not the theme of discourse and wonder. Paul Müller became in a few days so universally beloved at Mooshanne, that all the members of the family shared in the regret with which Prairie–bird contemplated his approaching departure; and as they became more intimately acquainted with him, and drew from him the various information with which his mind was stored, they no longer marvelled at the education that he had found means, even in the wilderness, to bestow upon his adopted child. Colonel Brandon was extremely desirous to make him some present in token of the gratitude which he, in common with all his family, felt towards the worthy missionary, and spoke more than once with Reginald on the subject: but the latter stopped him, saying, “My dear father, leave us to manage that, we have entered into a secret conspiracy, and must entreat you not to forbid our carrying it into execution.”

The colonel smiled, and promised obedience, knowing that those in whose hands the matter rested were more familiar with the good man’s wants and wishes than he could be himself.

At length the week, long as it may have appeared to Reginald and Ethelston, passed away. The morning which united them to those whom they had respectively loved through so many trials and dangers, arrived; and Paul Müller, having joined the hand of his beloved pupil to the chosen of her heart, prepared to take his leave, when she knelt to him for his blessing. With faltering voice and tearful eyes he gave it; she could not speak, but pointing to a small box that stood upon an adjoining table, with a letter addressed to him beside it, yielded to the gentle force with which her bridegroom drew her from the room.

Taking up the letter, the missionary read as follows:—

“Oh, my beloved preceptor and father, let me once again thank you for all your goodness and affectionate care! for to you, next to my Father in heaven, do I owe all my present happiness, and all my knowledge of that Saviour who is my everlasting hope and trust. My heart would sink under the thought of being separated from you, if I did not know that you are returning to my dear young brother Wingenund, to guide and assist him in the good path that he has chosen; tell him again and again how dearly we all love him, and that day after day, and night after night, he shall be remembered in his sister’s prayers.

“I am sure you will not forsake him, but will give him your advice in teaching his Lenapé brothers, who have laid aside the tomahawk, to cultivate the earth, and to raise corn and other nourishing food for their little ones. You will also continue your favourite and blessed work of spreading among them, and the surrounding tribes, the light of the gospel. Edward and Reginald tell me that for these objects nearest your heart, gold and silver can be usefully applied, and they desire me to entreat your acceptance of this box containing a thousand dollars, one half to be expended as you may think best for spreading Christianity among our Indian brethren, and the other half in seeds, working–tools, and other things necessary for Wingenund and those who dwell with him.

“I hope you will come and see us at least once in every year, to tell us of the health and welfare of Wingenund. If you can bring him with you, the sight of him will make glad our eyes and hearts.

“Farewell, dear father. Forgive the faults in this letter, remembering that although I have read so much to you and with you, I have had little practice in writing, and neither Reginald nor Edward will alter or correct one word for me; they both smile and say it will do very well; perhaps it may, for, without it, you know already how dearly you are loved and honoured by your affectionate and ever grateful,

“PRAIRIE–BIRD.”

SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER.

Supposing the gentle reader to have taken sufficient interest in Prairie–bird to be desirous of learning something of the after fortunes of herself and those connected with her, we subjoin a letter which accidentally came into our possession, and which appears to have been written a few years subsequent to the date of the conclusion of the preceding tale.

“St. Louis, June 12th, 18—.

“Dear Ethelston,

“I have just returned from my long–promised visit to Wingenund, whose village is situated, as you know, not far from the southern banks of the Missouri, about one hundred miles beyond St. Charles’s. I found there our respected and venerable friend Paul Müller, whose intercourse with Wingenund and his band has been for some years almost uninterrupted, and productive of the most striking improvement, both in the village itself, and in the character and manners of its inhabitants. Several small settlements of Delawares are in the neighbourhood, all of whom acknowledge Wingenund as their chief; and most of them have availed themselves, more or less, of the teaching of the exemplary missionary.

“The village is situated on the side of a hill, gently sloping to the south, along the base of which flows a considerable stream, which, after watering the valley below, falls into the Missouri at a distance of a few miles. The huts or cottages occupied by the Delawares are built chiefly of wood; and each having a garden attached to it, they present a very neat and comfortable appearance. That of Wingenund is larger than the rest, having on one side a compartment reserved entirely for the use of the missionary; and on the other a large oblong room, in which are held their devotional meetings; the latter serves also the purpose of a school–room for the education of the children. You would be surprised at the progress made by them, and by many of the adults, in reading, as well as in agriculture and other useful craft; and I must own that, when my eye fell upon their ploughs, hammers, saws, chisels, and other utensils, and then rested on the Bibles, a copy of which is in every dwelling, I felt a deep and gratifying conviction, that our annual present to Wingenund has been productive of blessings quite beyond our most sanguine expectations.

“I need scarcely tell you that his reception of me was that of a man welcoming a long–absent brother. He fell on my neck, and held me for some time embraced without speaking; and when he inquired about his dear sister Olitipa, his voice resumed the soft and almost feminine tones that I formerly noticed in it, when he was under the influence of strong emotion. In outward appearance he is much changed since you last saw him, having grown both in breadth and height; indeed, I am not sure whether he is not now almost as fine a specimen of his race as was his noble brother, whom I never can mention or think of without a sigh of affectionate regret. Yet, in his ordinary bearing, it is evident that Wingenund, from his peaceful habits and avocations, has lost something of that free and fearless air that distinguished his warrior brother. I have learnt, however, from Baptiste (who, as you know, insisted upon accompanying me on this expedition), that the fire of former days is subdued, not extinguished within him, as you will perceive from the following anecdote, picked up by our friend the guide from some of his old acquaintance in the village.

“It appears that last autumn a band of Indians, who had given up their lands somewhere near the head waters of the Illinois river, and were moving westward for a wider range and better hunting–ground, passed through this district; and seeing the peaceful habits and occupations of the Delawares settled hereabouts, thought that they might be injured and plundered with impunity. They accordingly came one night to a small settlement only a few miles from here, and carried off a few score of horses and cattle, burning at the same time the dwelling of one of the Delawares, and killing a young man who attempted to defend his father’s property. A messenger having brought this intelligence to Wingenund, he collected a score of his most trusty followers, and taking care that they were well armed, went upon the trail of the marauders. He soon came up with them; and their numbers being more than double his own, they haughtily refused all parley and redress, telling him, that if he did not withdraw his band they would destroy it, as they had destroyed the young Delaware and his house on the preceding night.

“This insolent speech, uttered by the leader of the party, a powerful and athletic Indian, aroused the indignation of Wingenund; his eyes flashed fire, and his followers saw that the warrior spirit of his early days was rekindled within him. Ordering them to unsling and level their rifles, but not to fire until he gave the word, he drew near to the leader of the party, and in a stern voice desired him to restore the plunder and give up the murderer of the Delaware youth. The reply was a shout of defiance; and a blow levelled at his head, which he parried with his rifle, and, with a heavy stroke from its butt, levelled his antagonist on the ground; then, swift as a panther’s spring, he leaped upon the fallen Indian’s chest, and held a dagger to his throat.

“Panic–struck by the discomfiture of their leader, and by the resolute and determined attitude of the Delawares, the marauders entreated that his life might be spared, promising to give all the redress required; and on the same day Wingenund returned to his village, bringing with him the recovered horses and cattle, and the Indian charged with the murder, whom he would not allow to be punished according to the Delaware notions of retributive justice, but sent him to be tried at a circuit court then sitting near St. Charles’s. This exploit has completely established our young friend’s authority among his people, some of whom were, if the truth must be told, rather disposed to despise the peaceful occupations that he encouraged, and even to hint that his intercourse with the missionary had quenched all manly spirit within him. You will be surprised to hear that he has married Lita, who was for a long while so deeply attached to his brother: even had she been the wife of the latter, this would have been as conformable to Indian as to ancient Jewish usage. She now speaks English intelligibly, and asked me a thousand questions about Prairie–bird. Fortunately, she had chosen a subject of which I could never weary; and I willingly replied to all her inquiries: when I told her that her former mistress and favourite had now three little ones, the eldest of whom was able to run about from morning till night, and the youngest named Wingenund, after her husband, tears of joy and of awakened remembrance started in her eyes.

“I understood her silent emotion, and loved her for it. How changed is her countenance from the expression it wore when I first saw it! Then it was at one moment wild and sad, like that of a captive pining for freedom; at the next, dark and piercing, like that of the daughter of some haughty chief. Now you may read upon her face the gentle feelings of the placid and contented wife.

“When I left the village, Wingenund accompanied me for many miles; twice he stopped to take leave of me, when some still unsatisfied inquiry respecting your Lucy or Prairie–bird rose to his lips, and again he moved on. I can scarcely remember that he uttered any distinct profession of his affection for any of us, and yet I saw that his heart was full; and what a heart it is, dear Edward; fear, and falsehood, and self, are all alike strangers there! When at length we parted, he pressed me in silence against his breast, wrung the hand of Baptiste, and turned away with so rapid a stride, that one who knew him not would have thought we had parted in anger.

“On reaching the summit of a hill whence I could command a few of the track that I had followed, I unslung my telescope, and carefully surveying the prairie to the westward, I could distinguish, at a distance of several miles, Wingenund seated under a stunted oak with his face buried in his hands, and in an attitude of deep dejection. I could scarcely repress a rising tear, for that youth has inherited all the affection that I felt for him to whom I owe my Evelyn’s life!

“Harry Gregson and his wife are very comfortably settled here, and appear to be thriving in their worldly concerns. I have been several times to his counting–house, and, from the returns which he showed me, your investments in the fur–trade, as well as in land, seemed to have been most successful.

“Jessie’s looks are not quite so youthful as they were when she was the belle of Marietta, but she has the beauty of unfailing good–temper, which we Benedicts prize at a rate unknown to bachelors. Harry has promised to pay us a visit this autumn; he will be delighted with the new house that you have built for his father, since his promotion to the rank of captain.

“Perrot has found so many ‘compatriots’ here, that he chatters from morning till night; and his wonderful adventures, by ‘flood and field,’ both in Europe and the Western Prairies, have rendered him at once the lion and the oracle of the tavern at which we lodge.

“Distribute for me, with impartial justice, a thousand loves among the dear ones in our family circle, and tell Evy that I shall not write again, as I propose to follow my letter in the course of a few days.

“Now and ever your affectionate brother,

“REGINALD BRANDON.”

THE END.

LONDON: C. WHITING, BEAUFORT–HOUSE, DUKE–STREET, LINCOLN’S–INN–FIELDS.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It may be necessary to inform some of our English readers, that a worm fence is a coarse, zigzag railing, common in the new settlements of America, where timber is plentiful.

[2] _Anglicè_, “Interpreter.”

[3] “Coureur des bois,” an appellation often given to the Canadian and half–breed woodsmen.

[4] Nekimi is the Delaware for “Thunder.”

[5] In the Delaware language this expression seems applicable to any large swift animal, as it is given to the elk, the buffalo, &c.

[6] Among the western hunters, any resting–place for the night, or even where a fire has been made for a midday halt, though it may be by one individual, is commonly called “a camp.” This must be borne in mind throughout the following tale.

[7] _Kinne–kinek_ is a mixture made by the Indians from the inner bark of the willow pounded small, tobacco, and the dried leaves of the sumach: the flavour of this composition is by no means disagreeable: the word itself is Delaware, but the mixture is in common use among many tribes.

[8] The Delawares call themselves Lenni–Lenapé,—“the ancient or original people.”

[9] _Assiniboins_—“the stone heaters”—a powerful and warlike branch of the great Dahcotah or Sioux nation.

[10] “By–and–by,” or “soon.”

[11] Tassmanané: a kind of bread made by the Delawares for long journeys. It is made of maize, powdered very fine, and sweetened with maple sugar.

[12] “Tah–Delamattenos,”—“No, he is a Wyandot.” This tribe occupied the region to the north of Ohio, and the north–west of Pennsylvania; they spoke a dialect of the Iroquois, and are better known by the name of Hurons; they sometimes hunted with the Delaware, by whom they were designated as above.

[13] Southern–men—in the Delaware language Cha–oua–no or Shawano—known to the Americans as “Shawnees.” This powerful tribe were generally in alliance with the Lenapé, and inhabited the country on their western frontier. About the time of our tale, they were very numerous on the banks of the Muskingum and of the Wabash river.

[14] Mengwe, or Mingoes,—the Delaware name for those Indians who resided chiefly in the northern States of the Union, and who are better known as the “Iroquois.”

[15] “Master Reginald” might well puzzle the chief, as there is no letter _r_ in the Delaware language, though some of them contrive to pronounce it.

[16] “Netis” signifies, in their tongue, “a trusted friend,” “one to whom _all_ secrets are confided.”

[17] The village was called Gnaden–Hütten—“tents,” or “cabins of grace.”

[18] Every Indian tribe has its peculiar mark or sign; among all the nations of the far–west, the Sioux, or Dahcotahs, are designated by passing the hand across the throat, as if cutting it.

[19] A panther is so called by the western hunters.

[20] In the Western States, the rhododendron is generally called the laurel.

[21] Alluding again to the massacre of the Moravian Delawares at “Gnadenhutten.”

[22] Mestang, a horse bred between the wild and the tame breeds: they are sometimes to be met with among the traders to Santa Fé.

[23] The Pawnee nations have of late years fixed their winter villages on the banks of the Nebraska, or Platte river, many hundred miles to the N. W. of the spot named in the text; but at the date of our narrative they dwelt on the banks of the Konsas, where the ruins of their principal village are still faintly to be discerned.

[24] The name of Tamenund is doubtless familiar to all Americans who have taken the slightest interest in the history of the Indian tribes, as well as to that more numerous class who have read the graphic and picturesque descriptions penned by the great American novelist: nevertheless, it may be necessary, for the information of some European readers, to state that Tamenund was an ancient Lenapé chief, whose traditionary fame is so great in the tribe, that they have from time to time given his name to chiefs, and even to white men whom they desired especially to honour. At the time of the revolutionary war, so numerous were the traditions and legends respecting this hero, that he was in some quarters established as the patron saint of America, under the name of St. Tammany; and hence arose the Tammany societies and Tammany buildings in various parts of the Union.—See Heckewalder’s _Historical Account of the Indian Nations_, chap. xl., and _The Last of the Mohicans_, vol. iii. p. 152, &c.

[25] The tribe called by white men “the Foxes,” who inhabit chiefly the region between the Upper Mississippi and Lake Michigan.

[26] In describing the manners and distinctions of rank among the Indians of the Missouri plains, it is necessary to adopt the terms in common use among the guides and traders, however vague and unsatisfactory those terms may be. In these tribes the chieftainship is partly hereditary and partly elective: there is usually one Great Chief, and there are also chiefs of a second degree, who are chiefs of different bands in the tribe; next to these in rank are the “Braves,” the leading warriors of the nation; and in order to be qualified for admission into this rank, an Indian must have killed an enemy or given other sufficient evidence of courage and capacity. When a war–council it held, the opinion of the principal _Brave_ is frequently preferred before that of the chief.

[27] “Medicine–men.” This term (commonly used by traders among the Indians beyond the Mississippi) signifies the “priests,” or “mystery–men,” who are set apart for the celebration of all religious rites and ceremonies. They are the same class as those who were described by Charlevoix, and other early French writers, as “Jongleurs,” because they unite medical practice to their sacerdotal office, and, more especially in the former, exercise all manner of absurd mummery. Their dress, character, and habits vary according to the tribe to which they belong; but they are genuine “Jongleurs” throughout.

[28] See Schiller’s “Bride of Messina.”

[29] Every warrior belonging to the Lenapé, Saukee, and all the branches of the great Chippewyan tribe, believes himself to be under the mysterious guardianship of some spirit, usually represented under the form of an animal. This is called his “totem,” and is held sacred by him: thus, a warrior whose totem is a tortoise, or a wolf, or even a snake, will cautiously abstain from injuring or killing one of those animals.

[30] _Anglicè_, “the pipe.”

[31] An allusion to the fondness of bears for honey occurs more than once in this tale, and will be met with in some shape or other in most works which treat of that animal’s habits and propensities: that such is the case in Europe, as well as in North America, may be gathered from the fact that, in the Russian tongue, a bear is called “Med–vede,” which word is thus formed: _med_, honey; _vede_, who knows: “He who knows honey.”

[32] The buffalo robes worn by the Osages, as well as by some other Missouri tribes, are variously ornamented and painted with devices. Some of these refer to war, some to marriage, some to medicine or mystery; these last are generally worn at councils, on which occasions a chief who has some important subject to propose, frequently adds to the paint on his face some streaks corresponding to the devices on his buffalo robe.

[33] In the performance of the war–dance among the Indians of the Missouri, the tread of the dancers is guided by a monotonous chaunt, sung by some of the Medicine–men, and accompanied by the beat of a small drum of the rudest construction, and most barren dismal tone. It is generally nothing more than a dried skin, stretched upon a wooden frame hollowed out with a knife by the squaws.

[34] The Indian names for the rivers now called “Konsas” and “Osage,” both of which fall into the Missouri.

[35] _Anglicè_, Long–knives, or Americans.

[36] Mahéga here alludes to that unfortunate era in the history of the Lenapé, so pathetically described by Heckelwader, when they permitted themselves to be persuaded by the whites to abandon all their warlike weapons and pursuits, and following those of agriculture, to leave the affairs of war entirely to the northern tribes, who guaranteed their safety. The consequence was such as might have been expected, they were treated with contumely and injustice; and being compelled at length to resume those arms to which they had been for sometime unaccustomed, they suffered repeated defeats and disasters from the “six nations,” and adjoining tribes.

[37] The Mississippi is so called by the Osages.

[38] After their first meeting, in which Reginald had saved the life of War–Eagle, the latter had adopted his new friend, not only as a brother, but as a member of that portion of his tribe who were called Unâmi, and of which the turtle was the medicine, or sacred symbol; after the ratification of such a covenant of brotherhood, each party is, according to Indian custom, solemnly bound to defend the other, on all occasions, at the risk of his own life.

[39] The Sioux, or Dahcotahs, are so designated by the Missouri tribes.

[40] Wampum, a corruption of the word “wampampea,” small shells strung together, and used by the Indians for barter among themselves; a belt of wampum is the emblem of peace, as the hatchet, or tomahawk, is that of war.

[41] The North Star is often alluded to by the Indian tribes, under this and other similar denominations.

[42] An expression used by the Canadian hunters for an ambush: the “câche” is also familiar to all readers of western story, as the place of deposit for peltries, or stores.

[43] The country of the Stone–eaters, or, as they are called in their own language, the Assineboins. This is a branch of the Great Sioux tribe to the northward of the Missouri river; the region is peculiarly wild and broken, and the Indians inhabiting it are famous for their pedestrian activity and endurance.

[44] Pommes de prairie are small roots, somewhat resembling white radishes, that are found in great abundance in the Western wilderness, being in some places the only esculent vegetable within a range of several hundred miles: when eaten raw they are tough, tasteless, and hard of digestion; but if boiled or stewed, are tolerably palatable and wholesome.

[45] A mixture used for smoking by the Indians of the Missouri; it is usually composed of tobacco, dried sumach–leaf, and the inner bark of the white willow, cut small and mixed in nearly equal proportions.

[46] The Indians believe that some persons have the power of injuring, or even of killing others at a distance of many hundred miles, by charms and spells: this belief in witchcraft is constantly noticed by Tanner and others, who have resided long among the Indians, and it seems to have been especially prevalent among the Oggibeways and other northern tribes. In illustration of a similar notion in the eastern hemisphere, see Borrow’s “Zincali, or the Gypsies of Spain,” vol. i. chap. ix. on the Evil Eye.

[47] This method of baffling pursuit is not unfrequently resorted to by the Indian marauders. The reader of Shakespeare (and who that can read is not?) will remember Lear’s—

“It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt!”

[48] One of the most extraordinary specimens of the ingenuity of the tribes who inhabit the Great Missouri wilderness, and who speak many languages, so different that they can have with each other no verbal communication, is the language of Signs, common to them all, by which Pawnees, Dahcotahs, Osages, Black–feet, Upsarokas, or the Crows and other Western nations, can understand each other quite sufficiently for the ordinary purposes of their simple life. The sign for “all right” is made by holding the hand with the palm downwards, in a horizontal position, and waving it slowly outwards.

[49] It is well known that every tribe has its separate war–cry; that of the Dahcotahs resembles the short angry bark of a dog, but they utter it with a piercing shrillness that renders it terrific in the extreme.

[50] This exclamation resembles the English word “How–how,” repeated with a strong aspirate and great rapidity. It seems common to all Indian nations, for the author has heard it used by many different tribes, and it is mentioned by Charlevoix as being constantly uttered by the Natchez, Illinois, and other Indian nations, then dwelling near the banks of the Mississippi.

[51] Aricará. This tribe is by descent a branch of the great Pawnee nation, to whose language their own still bears a close resemblance; they are usually known among western travellers by the name of Riccarees, and the French call them “Les Ris;” they are a very predatory, wild, and thievish race.

[52] The Indians in the Missouri constantly carry a short whip of bull or cow–hide suspended from their wrist, with which, when in pursuit of buffalo or any other game, they lash their horses most unmercifully.

[53] Upsaroka, the Indian name of the tribe usually designated in Rocky Mountain travels as the “Crows;” a fierce roving nation, who were then, as they still are, at deadly enmity with their neighbours the Black–feet, and agree with them only in the propensity to plunder or kill white men, whenever opportunity offers.

[54] By this name the milky way is known among some of the Indian tribes.

[55] Merchant of Venice, act v.

[56] In the travels of Major Long and others, who have described the Indians of the Far–western prairies, the “brave” who leads a war–party is usually designated a “partisan.”

[57] It has before been mentioned, that among the roving tribes of the Great Missourian wilderness every one has its distinctive national sign: these are well known to each other, and to white men who are experienced in the life of the Far–west: the sign mentioned in the text is that adopted by the Upsarokas, as they intend, by the motion of their extended arms, to imitate the wings of a crow in flight. The Sioux, Black–feet, Pawnees, Snakes, Aricarás, Comanches, &c., have all their distinctive national signs; but an enumeration of them would be tedious, and out of place here.

[58] It is unnecessary to inform the reader that neither the date nor the description of this solar eclipse is intended to challenge scientific criticism. Merely the general features are preserved of that kind of solar eclipse which is termed “annular,” and which takes place when the eclipse, though central, is not total, on account of the moon not being near enough to hide the whole of the sun, in which case part of the latter is seen as a bright ring round the part hidden by the moon.

[59] When a trail is made by a party on a march, the grass is of course trodden down in the same direction as that in which they are going. A party travelling along it from the opposite quarter, are said to take the back–foot of the trail. The author heard the expression used by an experienced Western hunter, but is not aware whether it is in common use; at all events it explains its own meaning significantly enough.

[60] The herbs mingled by the Indians with a small proportion of tobacco, are frequently of a light and fragrant flavour; sometimes, too, they have some narcotic properties. In order fully to enjoy their qualities after the Indian fashion, the smoker must inhale the smoke by the mouth and expel it through the nostril, in which operation the nerves and small vessels of the latter experience a pungent sensation, which some consider highly agreeable, and is not unlike that which is caused by a pinch of mild or perfumed snuff.

[61] It may well be supposed that the horses used by the Indians on the prairie are never shod. The palfrey of Olitipa had probably been procured from some Mexican trader.

[62] Among some of the North American tribes it is the custom for an Indian entering into a solemn obligation, to place his hand against the thigh of the party to whom he makes the promise; and this usage has in several instances been triumphantly quoted by those authors who have laboured to prove the descent of the North–American Indians from the lost tribes of Israel: the origin and meaning of the custom, which is as ancient as the time of Abraham (Gen. xxiv. 2), are both involved in great obscurity: sundry explanations have been attempted by learned commentators of different ages and nations; the Jewish writings of the highest authority, such as the Targum of Jerusalem, and that of Jonathan Ben Uzziel, derive it from the covenant of Circumcision, to which they maintain its symbolic analogy by arguments which it is unnecessary here to produce. Adam Clarke, in his Commentary, leans to this view, but does not offer any conclusive reasoning in support of it. Bishop Patrick, following the learned Calmet, describes this usage as an ancient sign of subjection and homage prevalent throughout the East; and Locke mentions it as being “practised by some Indians to this day.”

[63] It is a frequent custom among the Missouri Indians to sketch upon the interior of a bison–robe the various battles in which they have fought and conquered.

[64] As the Great Spirit is designated by the Delawares, Chippeways, Sâkis, and other tribes on this side of the Mississippi by the name of “Manittó,” or “Manitoo,” familiar to every reader of Transatlantic travel or romance, so is he known among the Osages, Omahaws, Ioways, and other Missouri tribes, by the designation of Wah–con–da, or “Master of Life.”

[65] The various methods of counting adopted by the western tribes are curious in the extreme; some reckon chiefly by fives, and among these an expression equivalent to “hands and feet” signifies “twenty;” in one language the number eight is expressed by a word meaning six with two; in another by a word signifying ten without two: in fact, some very interesting illustrations of their language and modes of thought might be drawn from an accurate investigation of their numerals, but they would be entirely out of place in a work of fiction.

[66] Tobacco is extremely scarce, and highly valued among the western tribes; at the close of the last century it was probably unknown among the Crows, so that we must suppose that the horse–dealer produced this present from his own stores, and for purposes best known to himself.

[67] Some of the Indian warriors when leading a war–party carry a shrill whistle, wherewith they direct the movements of their followers. These whistles vary as to their form and ornament, according to the tribe to which the leader belongs. Those which the author has seen in most frequent use were made from the bone of the wild turkey’s leg, and were fancifully adorned with stained porcupine quills.

[68] It was at one time currently rumoured among the trappers of the Rocky Mountains, that a Crow warrior had found and killed a white bison–bull, the skin of which he wore as a robe. The story, whether true or false, is adopted here, and assigned to the husband of “Bending–willow.”

[69] “Angry airt,” the quarter whence the angry wind was blowing.

[70] Shelter.

[71] Farm–buildings.

[72] Cry or weep.

[73] Whipped child.

[74] Lark.

[75] Sorrow.

[76] Gossip.

[77] Chatter.

[78] At the date of this tale the use of fire–arms was very little known among the tribes in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains; and in most of their languages, to this day, the words by which they express “a rifle,” signify, usually, “medicine–weapon,” “wonderful fire–weapon,” “fire–tube,” &c. &c.

[79] The Arkansas.

[80] Small–pox.

[81] It has before been mentioned that the division and notation of time vary extremely in the Indian tribes; those who have had much commerce with the whites have coined words answering to what we denominate hours; but the tribes of the Far–western prairies usually express the successive periods of the night by resting the cheek upon the hand in a recumbent posture, and then, holding up the forefinger and thumb in the form of a crescent, they show, by the number of motions which they make in pointing to the sky, the number of hours or watches after nightfall which they wish to indicate.

[82] Xenophon.

[83] To some who have read the descriptions of bear–hunts in Norway and Russia it may appear neither wonderful nor unusual that a single hunter should kill a full–grown bear; but it must be borne in mind, that the bear of the north of Europe bears about the same proportion to a grisly bear of the Rocky Mountains (_Ursus horribilis_) as a panther does to a Bengal tiger. The grisly bear is not only the largest and most ferocious of his species, but his tenacity of life is so remarkable that he frequently runs a considerable distance and survives some hours after receiving several balls through the lungs, head, and heart. On this account it is never safe for the most experienced marksman to attack him alone, unless there be some tree or place of safety at hand, for the grisly bear cannot or will not climb a tree; and some idea of the animal’s strength may be formed from the fact, attested by many credible witnesses, that, after killing a bison, he will frequently drag the carcase some distance to his lair. For descriptions and anecdotes of the grisly bear, see Lewis’s and Clark’s Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, and Major Long’s ditto. A feat almost similar to that recorded in the text was performed some years ago by an Iroquois, one of the last of his tribe, and who, though grievously wounded, survived. The Author saw this Indian hero arrive at St. Louis in a canoe, containing only himself and a boy, they having descended the Missouri for more than 1500 miles in their frail bark; and having passed in their perilous voyage the villages of Crows, Riccarees, Sioux, Black–feet, and other predatory tribes.

[84] Of all the Indian nations who inhabit the wild regions near the base of the Rocky–Mountain range, the most fierce and powerful are the Black–feet. Few, if any white men have penetrated into the heart of their country, and returned to tell their tale. Very little is known, therefore, either of their customs or language: and it may not be uninteresting for the reader to be informed, that every particular mentioned respecting them in this volume, was obtained direct from a French trader, who had been permitted to marry a Black–foot wife, and had resided nineteen years among them. The construction of their language is very remarkable, and some account of it would doubtless be gladly received by philologists; but such a subject cannot be treated in a work like the present. With respect to the words referred to in the text it will be seen that they show the synthetic nature of the language, “nâma” being the root, and signifying a _weapon_. Hence came “suksinâma,” _rifle_; literally, “heavy weapon;” “saksinâma,” _pistol_; literally, “light–weapon;” “nahtovinâma,” _wonderful_, or _medicine–weapon_; and “nitsi–nâma,” literally, _useless weapon_; which latter name has probably been given to the bow, since the Black–feet have learnt the superior efficacy of fire–arms.

[85] It may not be generally known to European readers, that the arrows used by the western Indians are of two sorts. The _hunting arrow_, which has a head tapering in the form of an acute lozenge, and firmly secured to the shaft, so as to be easily withdrawn from a wound, and the war–arrow, sometimes poisoned, but always barbed like a fish–hook, and having its head so slightly fastened to the shaft, as to remain infixed in the wound when the wood is pulled out.

[86] The name by which the Black–feet are generally known among the Crows is “Echipeta.” In their own tongue they call themselves “Siksikaga;” both words having the signification of Black–feet. They are divided into three bands, the largest of which is called by the generic name above mentioned, as being that of the tribe; the other two bands are called “Piecan” or “Piegan” (the meaning of which word is not known to the author), and “Ka–in–na,” or “Bloody–men,” which last are held to be the most fierce and formidable of the three.

[87] The Missouri is here alluded to, the ancient name of which, “Pekitanoui,” signifies “muddy water” in the language of the Illinois, once a most powerful tribe, dwelling near its confluence with the Mississippi. They have since given a name to one of the states of the Union, but not one of the tribe survives at this day. Some antiquarians think that they were formerly a branch of the great nation of the Delawares (a supposition confirmed by the resemblance of their name, Il–lenni, to that of the Lenni–Lenapé); one half of which remained on the great prairies bordering the Mississippi, while the other half overran, and finally occupied, the greater portion of country between the Ohio and the Atlantic.—See Charlevoix, &c.

[88] These, and many other particulars respecting the Six Nations, the author had from the lips of a veteran, who was carried off as a child by the Senecas when they sacked Wyoming. He was adopted into their tribe, and lived with them the greater part of his life, during a portion of which he acted for them in the capacity of interpreter and Indian agent; afterwards he retired to spend a vigorous and green old age in the western part of the state of New York. He always spoke with affectionate enthusiasm of his adopted kindred, and it was easy to see that the white man’s blood in his veins circulated through an Indian heart. Those who wish to know more of the early history of the Five Nations are referred to the accurate and interesting account given of them by Colden.

[89] The Minnetarees.

[90] The celebrated “Lettres Edifiantes.”

[91] In the greater number of the Indian languages known on the North American continent, the Supreme Being is designated by a name bearing one of the three following significations:—

1. “Great, or Good Spirit;” such is the “Manitou,” “Manittó,” “Kitche–Manitou,” &c., of the Delawares, Chippeways, Sâkis, Pottawatomis, and most of the Algonkin tribes.

2. “The Wonderful, or Wonderful Spirit,” by which name He is designated among most of the tribes resident on the banks of the Missouri; _e. g._ “Wahcondah” by the Otoes and Omahaws, “Wahcatunca” by the Dahcotahs, “Ma–na–kôpa” by the Minneterees, &c.

3. “Master of Life,” which is the signification of the name by which the Almighty is recognised among the Pawnees, and many other numerous and powerful tribes. The subject is too comprehensive to be more than briefly alluded to in this place.

[92] See vol. ii. chap. iv. page 81.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Prairie-Bird, by Charles Augustus Murray