In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 36

"I would touch them with fire--in the east, in the west, in the north, and in the south. The lights will go out in the cabins, and the white woman will wander homeless, and the white man will hunger for corn. They shot our people for harvesting our corn. I would give their corn-fields to the flames, and their families to the famine in the moons of storms."

"Waubeno, you have heard Wabono. What would _you_ do?"

"I would punish those only who have done wrong. The white teacher taught so, and the white teacher was right."

"Waubeno, you speak like a woman."

"Those people should not suffer for what others have done. You should not be made to bear the punishments of others."

"Would you not fire the prairies?"

"No. I may have friends there. The Tunker may be there. He who spared Main-Pogue may be there. Would I burn their cabins? No!"

"Waubeno, who was your father?"

"I am the son of Alknomook."

"He died."

"Yes, father."

"There was neither pity nor mercy in the white man's heart for him. You made your vow to him. What was that vow, Waubeno?"

"To avenge his enemies--not our friends."

"Brothers, listen. The white men grow many, and we are few. In war we are helpless--only one weapon remains to us now. It is the thunderbolt--it is fire.

"Warriors, listen. The moon grows. Who of you will cross the river and ride once more into the Red Man's Paradise, and give the prairies to the flames? The torch is all that is left us now."

Every Indian raised his arm except Main-Pogue and Waubeno, and signified his desire to unite in the plan for the desolation of the prairies.

"Main-Pogue, will you carry your torch in the night of fire?"

"I have been saved by the hand of a white man, and I will not turn my hand against the white man. I could not do it if I were young. But I am old--my people are gone. Leave me to fall like the leaf."

"Son of Alknomook, what will you do?"

"I will follow your counsel for my father's sake, but I will spare my friends for the sake of the arm that was stretched out over the head of Main-Pogue."

"Then you will go."

"I would that I were dead. I would that I could live as the white teacher taught me--in peace with every one. I would that I had not this blood of fire, and this memory of darkness, and this vow upon my head.

The white teacher taught me that all people were brothers. My brain burns--"

Late in the evening Waubeno went to Main-Pogue and sat down by his side under the trees. The river lay before them with its green islands and rapid currents, serene and beautiful. The lights had gone out on the other sh.o.r.e, and the world seemed strangely voiceless and still.

"How did _he_ look, Waubeno?"

"Who look?"

"That man who saved you--stretched his arm over you."

"His arm was long. His face was as sad as an Indian's; and he was tall.

He was a head taller than other men; he rose over them like an oak over the trees. The men laughed at him; then his face looked as though it was set against the people--he looked like a chief--and the men cowered, and jeered, and cowered. I can see how he looked, but I can not tell it--I can see it in my mind. I told him that I would tell Waubeno, and he seemed to know your name. Did you never meet such a man?"

"Yes, in the Indiana country. He was journeyed from the Wabash."

The Indians, after the council we have described, began to cross the Mississippi by night, and to make stealthy journeys into the Rock River country, once known as the Red Man's Paradise. Rock River is a beautiful stream of the prairies. It comes dashing out of a bed of rocks, and runs a distance of some two hundred miles to the Mississippi. Here once roamed the deer and came the wild cattle in herds. Here rose great cliffs, like ruins of castles, which were then, as now, cities of the swallows. Eagles built their nests upon them, and wheeled from over the flowers of the prairies. The banks in summer were lined with wild strawberries and wild sunflowers. Here and there were natural mounds and park-like woods, and oaks whose arms were tangled with grapevines.

Into this country ran Black Hawk's trail, and not far from this trail was Prairie Island, with its happy settlers and new school. The German school-master might well love the place. Margaret Fuller (Countess Ossoli) came to the region in 1843, and caught its atmosphere and breathed it forth in her Summer in the Lakes. Here, in this territory of the Red Man's Paradise, "to me enchanting beyond any I have ever seen,"

where "you have only to turn up the sod to find arrow-heads," she visited the bluff of the Eagles' Nest on the morning of the Fourth of July, and there wrote "Ganymede to his Eagle," one of her grandest poems.

"How happy," says this gifted soul, "the Indians must have been here! I do believe Rome and Florence are suburbs compared to this capital of Nature's art."

Black Hawk's trail ran from this region of perfect beauty to the Mississippi; and long after the Sacs and Foxes were compelled to live beyond the Mississippi, the remnants of the tribes loved to return and visit the scenes of the land of their fathers.

The Indians who had plotted the firing of the prairies made two stealthy journeys along the Rock River and over the old trail under the August moon. In one of these they rode round Prairie Island, and encamped one night upon the bluff of the Eagles' Nest, under the moon and stars.

Waubeno went with them, and gazed with sad eyes upon the scenes that had pa.s.sed forever from the control of his people.

He saw the new cabins and corn-fields, the prairie wagons and the emigrants. One evening he pa.s.sed Prairie Island, and saw the lights glimmering among the trees, and heard the singing of a hymn in the school-house, where the people had met to worship. He wished that his own people might be taught these better ways of living. He reined up his pony and listened to the singing. He wished that he might join the little company, though he did not know that Jasper was there.

He rode away amid the stacks and corn-fields. He saw that the fields were dry as powder.

Out on the prairie he turned and looked back on the lights of the settlement as they glimmered among the trees. Could he apply the torch to the dry sea of gra.s.ses around the peaceful homes?

Once, revenge would have made it a delight to his eyes to see such a settlement in flames. But Jasper's teaching had created a new view of life and a new conscience. He felt what the Tunker taught was true, and that the young soldier who had spared Main-Pogue had done a n.o.bler deed than any act of revenge. What was that young man's motive? He pondered over these things, and gave his pony a loose rein, and rode on under the cool cover of the night under the moon and stars.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FOR LINCOLN'S SAKE.

"The prairie is on fire!" So cried a horseman, as he rode by the school.

It was a calm, glimmering September day. Prairie Island rose with red and yellow and crisping leaves, like a royal tent amid a dead sea of flowers. The prairie gra.s.s was dry, though still mingled with a green undergrowth. Prairie chickens were everywhere, quails, and plover.

At midday a billowy cloud of smoke began to wall the eastern horizon, and it slowly rolled forward, driven by the current of the air.

"O-o-oh!" said one of the scholars! "Look! look! What the man said is true--the prairie _is_ on fire!"

Jasper went to the door. The blue sky had turned to an ashy hue, and the sun was a dull red. An unnatural wind had arisen like a draft of air.

"Teacher, can we go out and look?" asked several voices.

"Yes," said Jasper, "the school may take a recess."