A Volunteer with Pike Part 15

THE FATHER OF WATERS

So far I have written at some length of our voyage, for it was these first days that set the stamp upon the relations of our little party.

From the hills of Cincinnati, which we sighted as I ended the story of my boyhood, on down the long descent to Natchez, I was as one of Don Pedro's own kinsmen. The name spoken by Alisanda, seemingly in jest, became the name by which all addressed me, only that before we entered the Mississippi both the senor and she had begun to drop the "Don" in favor of the familiar "Juan."

So "Juan" and "Alisanda" it became between my lady and me, and Don Pedro looked on and smiled. Yet with and beneath it all, both held to a subtle reserve which told me plainer than words that the barriers were down only for a truce, and not for a treaty,--that our freedom of conduct as fellow-travellers would at the journey's end be barred by a return to customs not of the country.

At times when alone on watch at night, I thought with misgiving of the approaching days when my lady would resume her fine Castilian hauteur and Don Pedro his punctilious politeness. But on the whole I was content to make the most of my opportunities,--to drift with the current of our companionship as the boat drifted with the stream.

Milder days came to us as we floated down into the Southwest,--days of grateful sunshine and lessening rains,--heavenly hours beneath the blue sky, when, inspired by the blossoming springtime upon the verdant sh.o.r.es, we sat together in the open stern and sang solos and duets and trios to the accompaniment of the guitar.

With the coming of nightfall I learned to look longingly for fog or wet, for a clear moon meant a night on watch, that we might lose nothing of the drift. But a dark sky gave me excuse to tie up to the bank for the night and join in an evening of music and genteel talk about our crackling beechwood fire.

Then there were lessons for me in Spanish from the don, and in the playing of the guitar by Alisanda. It was strange how clumsy were my fingers and how repeatedly I had to ask my fair teacher to place them correctly.

And so we swept on down the beautiful river, the swirling depth of the Spring fresh bearing us clear over the rocks of the Ohio Falls at Louisville, as over the hundreds of miles of inundated flats and shoals above and below.

At Lusk's Ferry Don Pedro had planned to leave the river and cut across country horseback, over the forty-league road to Kaskaskia, which would have saved nearly half the keelboat journey up the Mississippi from the mouth of the Ohio to St. Louis. For this we should have taken aboard our horses at Louisville or at the little settlement of Shawnee Town below the Wabash, since at Lusk's Ferry suitable mounts for our party were not to be had at any price. In the outcome, however, the miscarriage of plans proved truly fortunate.

Having no other choice, we dropped on downstream past the c.u.mberland and Tennessee Rivers, to Fort Ma.s.sac, our lonesome American stockade, built near the site of the old French post of the same name. We tied up to the steep bank of clay and gravel, and I made a landing. Upon inquiry at the post, Captain Bissell, the commandant, whom I had met the previous Fall on my eastward journey, informed me at some length as to the movements of General Wilkinson. Report having been received that General Herrera, the Spanish commander in Texas, was gathering a force to march upon Natchitoches, the Commander-in-Chief had descended the Mississippi for the double purpose of strengthening the forts at New Orleans and of a.s.sembling a force to repel the expected invasion.

I intimated to the captain that Senor Vallois was not averse to a war which might give his country opportunity to throw off the Spanish yoke.

At this he confided to me as his opinion that the long-impending hostilities seemed now inevitable, and that he would welcome a change which would not only relieve him of his _ennui_ in this solitary post, but would tend to break up the general stagnation of the service.

His urgent invitation brought Don Pedro and Alisanda ash.o.r.e for a much needed change. Neither had set foot on sh.o.r.e for days, and I persuaded Don Pedro that the recreation was well worth the delay. But my pleasure over the enjoyment of the exercise was not added to by the sight of the gallant captain and his no less gallant lieutenant receiving the smiles of Alisanda for their attentions. As a good excuse for avoiding the painful spectacle, I secured some spare jars of sweetmeats from Chita, and bartered them in the little settlement near the fort stockade for chickens, eggs, and b.u.t.ter,--all of which would be still higher in price and harder to obtain after we entered the Mississippi.

Soon after the landing of my companions, so strong a head wind set in that we were forced to lie moored over night. Toward morning it fell to a pleasant breeze, and I put off at dawn, without waiting to rouse the others.

Midday found us afloat on the broad bosom of the Father of Waters, whose n.o.ble flood, swollen above St. Louis by the silty downpourings of the Missouri, and here by the Spring torrent of the Ohio, rolled on gulfwards in full-banked majesty. It was a grand sight, but one to which Don Pedro and Alisanda gave more thought than myself. Captain Bissell had dropped me a word of warning as to possible trouble from canoe parties of Chickasaw and other Indians, which, in view of Alisanda's presence, gave me no little uneasiness.

That night and the next I called upon Don Pedro to watch, turn about, with myself. I even went so far as to land at New Madrid; but the villagers knew nothing of the Indians. At last, late in the afternoon of the third day, we sighted a canoe full of warriors putting out from the left bank, with the evident intention of intercepting us. At my command Alisanda and her woman sought shelter in their room, while I left the steering to the don, and stood ready with my rifle and his pistols.

When I signed the party to hold off at hailing distance, the foremost warrior signed back that they were friends. But they were now near enough for me to see their black war paint. Again I signed the leader to keep off, and he in turn hailed me in Shawnee, demanding lead and gunpowder. Before I realized what I was saying, I had answered him in his own tongue, telling him to bring his party around under our stern.

At this unexpected address, the chief raised the hand which I knew had been grasping his rifle. I responded with three or four quick signs that drew a guttural exclamation from the least stolid of the warriors. They were not used to meeting white men who could claim fellowship in their tribe. But as they paddled nearer, I stared back at their chief, hardly less astonished. There could be no mistaking his n.o.ble, powerful features. He was my adopted brother Tec.u.mseh!

The instant I recognized him with certainty, I laid down my rifle, and called to him in Shawanese: "Tec.u.mseh, many years have come and gone since we parted at the British fort on the Maumee, yet do you not know again your white brother Scalp Boy?"

At the word he rose from his knees and stood grandly erect in the bow of the canoe, staring at me from beneath his levelled palm. The craft was now within twenty yards of us, and Don Pedro could not withhold a muttered exclamation of apprehension and warning. Almost at the same moment Tec.u.mseh stooped, and catching up a corner of his blanket, wiped the grim war paint from his face. The paddlers at once paused to follow his example.

"_Santisima!_" muttered Don Pedro. "Why do they rub their faces?"

"They remove the war paint in proof of friendship. Their chief is one of my Indian brothers, who saved me from torture."

"But they come close! You will not permit them to enter the boat, with Alisanda--"

"Fear nothing," I hastened to a.s.sure him. "We are safer now than when we were alone. My brother and his people can be trusted with our lives and our property."

"It is true, senor," remarked Tec.u.mseh in clear though guttural English.

"Scalp Boy and his friends are sacred in the eyes of all Shawnees. He is a member of our tribe and my brother."

I reached out and grasped the hand of the chief as the canoe came alongside.

"Come aboard and feast with us," I said.

He shook his head. "No, Scalp Boy; that may not be. It warms my heart to again grasp your hand; but you are an American white man; you have long ago forgotten your Shawnee kindred--"

"No, no, Tec.u.mseh! I have always remembered you and Elskwatawa, my true-hearted brothers--"

"Tec.u.mseh does not blame his white brother for returning to his white kindred. There is no enmity between us. But Elskwatawa our brother has become a communer with the Great Spirit, and he has told the redman how evil are the customs and food and firewater of the white man. It is evil for the redman to mingle with the white people."

"Have you then taken the warpath, my brother? Is that why you came out against us in war paint?" I asked.

"We came out to attack you because we had need of powder, and I would not beg. But we are not on the warpath."

"You are far from home," I remarked.

He swept his hand around in a grand gesture. "Elskwatawa the Prophet and I make a great journey to our red cousins. We visit all the tribes from the Great Lakes to that greater water in the South which the white people call the Gulf."

"To form a great conspiracy against my people!" I exclaimed.

"Your people!" he repeated. "No, we seek to convince the tribes of my people that they are all brothers, and should join in one nation."

"That they may seek to destroy the white people!"

"That they may hold back the white man from stealing any more of their land."

He had me there. I could only look my regret; for I knew that, whatever his intent, the result must be war.

He returned to the object of his averted attack. "Give us powder and lead, Scalp Boy. We cannot eat the white man's food. We need powder and lead to shoot game."

"Not to make war?" I asked.

"I speak with a straight tongue," he said.

At this I went into the cabin and fetched out a small keg of powder and a quarter-hundredweight of lead. He motioned me to hand the gifts to the warrior in the stern of the canoe, and when I turned again to him, he held out a beautifully wrought belt of wampum.

"It is little I can give to my brother," he said.

"I take the gift because my brother offers it," I replied. "What I have given is nothing. All that I could give would not repay what Tec.u.mseh did for me in my boyhood!"

He looked me up and down with an approving glance. "Scalp Boy has grown to be a great warrior. I will ask the Great Spirit that we may never meet on the battlefield."

Before I could respond, he signed his warriors to push off, and the canoe shot away at arrowy speed. At once Alisanda slipped out of the cabin, to peer after the darting craft and the grim savages, whose naked, bronzed forebodies, fantastically streaked with the war paint, swayed to the paddle strokes so vigorously as to bob their plumed war locks about in a most comical manner. It was a sight she was not apt to see again even on the Mississippi, if only because of the redman's dislike to exert himself except when hunting or on the warpath.

Though we had come so well through this adventure, the accident of our escape from attack did not lessen my fear of visits from Indians belonging to other tribes. To my vast relief, the following day brought us safely in the approach of a great flotilla of flour-laden flats, whose draught of water gave them better headway than our boat. The drift of our craft, which sat so much higher in the water, was at times more r.e.t.a.r.ded by the head winds. The difference was so slight that we were able to keep the others in sight until another flotilla overtook us. In fact, so vast was the extent of the river traffic that from this point until our landing at Natchez, we were never beyond view of one or more descending vessels, while even keelboats, ascending under sail or poles, were not uncommon.

Though far from as swift as the flooded Ohio, the Mississippi bore us rapidly on our way. Divided by island after island and contorted this way and that by out-jutting points, its mighty current, swollen to vast width, yet swept on in majestic grandeur past towering bluffs and inundated lowlands and wildernesses as virgin as in the remote days of De Soto the Spaniard, and La Salle the Frenchman, other than for an occasional plantation and, at longer intervals, the log cabins of the little settlements.