Oak Openings Part 15

"Just so wid red-skin--sometime don't know, till too late! See plenty dat, in wigwam."

"Then it is very much in the wigwams as it is in the houses. I have heard this before."

"Why not same?--skin make no difference--pale-face spile squaw, too--make too much of her."

"That can never be!" exclaimed le Bourdon, earnestly. "When a pretty, modest, warm-hearted young woman accepts a youth for a husband, he can never make enough of her!"

On hearing sentiments so agreeable to a woman's ears, Margery looked down, but she looked pleased. Pigeonswing viewed the matter very differently; and being somewhat of a partisan in matters relating to domestic economy, he had no thought of leaving a point of so much importance in so bad a way. Accordingly, it is not surprising that, in pursuing the subject, he expressed opinions in several essentials diametrically the reverse of those of the bee-hunter.

'"Easy 'nough spile squaw," rejoined the Chippewa. "What she good for, don't make her work? Can't go on the warpath--can't take scalp--can't shoot deer--can't hunt--can't kill warrior--so muss work. Dat what squaw good for."

"That may do among red men, but we pale-faces find squaws good for something else--we love them and take care of them--keep them from the cold in winter, and from the heat in summer; and try to make them as comfortable and happy as we can."

"Dat good talk for young squaw's ears," returned the Chippewa, a little contemptuously as to manner; though his real respect for the bee-hunter, of whose prowess he had so lately been a witness, kept him a little within bounds "but it bess not take n.o.body in. What Injin say to squaw, he do--what pale-face say, he no do."

"Is that true, Bourdon?" demanded Margery, laughing at the Indian's earnestness.

"I shall be honest, and own that there may be some truth in it--for the Injin promises nothing, or next to nothing, and it is easy to square accounts, in such cases. That white men undertake more than they always perform, is quite likely to be the fact The Injin gets his advantage in this matter, by not even thinking of treating his wife as a woman should be treated."

"How should treat woman?" put in Pigeonswing with warmth. "When warrior eat venison, gib her rest, eh? Dat no good--what you call good, den? If good hunter husband, she get 'nough--if an't good hunter, she don't get 'nough. Just so wid Injin--sometime hungry, sometime full. Dat way to live!"

"Aye, that may be your red man's ways, but it is not the manner in which we wish to treat our wives. Ask pretty Margery, here, if she would be satisfied to wait until her husband had eaten his dinner, and then come in for the sc.r.a.ps. No-no-Pigeonswing; we feed our women and children first and come in last, ourselves."

"Dat good for pappoose--he little; want venison--squaw tough; use to wait. Do her good."

Margery now laughed outright, at these specimens of Indian gallantry, which only too well embody the code of the red man's habits. Doubtless the heart has its influence among even the most savage people, for nature has not put into our b.r.e.a.s.t.s feelings and pa.s.sions to be discarded by one's own expedients, or wants. But no advocate of the American Indian has ever yet been able to maintain that woman fills her proper place in his estimate of claims. As for Margery, though so long subject to the whims, pa.s.sions and waywardness of a drunkard, she had reaped many of the advantages of having been born in that woman's paradise, New England. We are no great admirers of the legacy left by the Puritan to his descendants, taken as an inheritance in morals, manners, and customs, and as a whole; though there are parts, in the way of codicils, that there is no portion of the Christian world which might not desire to emulate. In particular, do we allude to the estimate put upon, and the treatment received by their women. Our allusion is not to the refinements and gracefulness of polished intercourse; for of THEM, the Blarney Rock of Plymouth has transmitted but a meagre account in the inventory, and perhaps the less that is said about this portion of the family property the better; but, dropping a few degrees in the social scale, and coming down to the level where we are accustomed to regard people merely as men and women, we greatly question if any other portion of the world can furnish a parallel to the manly, considerate, rational, and wisely discriminating care, that the New England husband, as the rule, bestows on his wife; the father on his daughter; or the brother on his sister. Gershom was a living, and, all things considered, a remarkable instance of these creditable traits. When sober, he was uniformly kind to Dorothy; and for Margery he would at any time risk his life. The latter, indeed, had more power over him than his own wife possessed, and it was her will and her remonstrances that most frequently led him back from the verge of that precipice over which he was so often disposed to cast himself. By some secret link she bound him closest to the family dwelling, and served most to recall the days of youth and comparative innocence, when they dwelt together beneath the paternal roof, and were equally the objects of the affection and solicitude of the same kind mother. His attachment to Dorothy was sincere, and, for one so often brutalized by drink, steady; but Dorothy could not carry him as far back, in recollections, as the one only sister who had pa.s.sed the morning of life with him, in the same homely but comfortable abode.

We have no disposition to exaggerate the character of those whom it is the fashion to term the American yeomen, though why such an appellation should be applied to any in a state of society to which legal distinctions are unknown, is what we could never understand. There are no more of esquires and yeomen in this country than there are of knights and n.o.bles, though the quiet manner in which the transition from the old to the new state of things has been made, has not rendered the public mind very sensible to the changes. But, recurring to the cla.s.s, which is a positive thing and consequently ought to have a name of some sort or other, we do not belong to those that can sound its praises without some large reservations on the score of both principles and manners. Least of all, are we disposed to set up these yeomen as a privileged cla.s.s, like certain of the t.i.tular statesmen of the country, and fall down and worship a calf--not a golden one by the way--of our own setting up.

We can see citizens in these yeomen, but not princes, who are to be especially favored by laws made to take from others to bestow on them.

But making allowances for human infirmities, the American freeholder belongs to a cla.s.s that may justly hold up its head among the tillers of the earth. He improves daily, under the influence of beneficent laws, and if he don't get spoiled, of which there is some danger, in the eagerness of factions to secure his favor, and through that favor his VOTE--if he escape this danger, he will ere long make a reasonably near approach to that being, which the tongue of the flatterer would long since have persuaded him he had already more than got to be.

To one accustomed to be treated kindly, as was the case with Margery, the Chippewa's theory for the management of squaws contained much to excite her mirth, as well as her resentment, as she now made apparent by her remarks.

"You do not deserve to HAVE a wife, Pigeonswing," she cried, half-laughing, yet evidently alive to the feelings of her s.e.x--"can have no grat.i.tude for a wife's tenderness and care. I wonder that a Chippewa girl can be found to have you?"

"Don't want him," coolly returned the Indian, making his preparations to light his pipe--"got Winnebagoe squaw, already; good 'nough for me. Shoot her t'other husband and take his scalp--den she come into my wigwam."

"The wretch!" exclaimed Margery.

But this was a word the savage did not understand, and he continued to puff at the newly lighted tobacco, with all of a smoker's zeal. When the fire was secured, he found time to continue the subject.

"Yes, dat good war-path--got rifle; got wife; got TWO scalp! Don't do so well, ebbery day."

"And that woman hoes your corn, and cooks your venison?" demanded the bee-hunter.

"Sartain--capital good to hoe--no good to cook--make deer meat too dry.

Want to be made to mind business. Bye'm by teach him. No l'arn all at once, like pale-face pappoose in school."

"Pigeonswing, have you never observed the manner in which the white man treats his squaw?"

"Sartain--see him make much of her--put her in warm corner--wrap blanket round her--give her venison 'fore he eat himself--see all dat, often--what den? DAT don't make it right."

"I give you up, Chippewa, and agree with Margery in thinking you ought not to have a squaw, at all."

"T'ink alike, den--why no get marry?" asked the Indian, without circ.u.mlocution.

Margery's face became red as fire; then her cheeks settled into the color of roses, and she looked down, embarra.s.sed. The bee-hunter's admiration was very apparent to the Indian, though the girl did not dare to raise her eyes from the ground, and so did not take heed of it. But this gossiping was suddenly brought to an end by a most unexpected cause of interruption; the manner and form of which it shall be our office to relate, in the succeeding chapter.

CHAPTER XI.

So should it be--for no heart beats Within his cold and silent breast; To him no gentle voice repeats The soothing words that make us blest.

--PEABODY.

The interruption came from Dorothy, who, on ascending the little height, had discovered a canoe coming into the mouth of the river, and who was running, breathless with haste, to announce the circ.u.mstance to the bee-hunter. The latter immediately repaired to the eminence, and saw for himself the object that so justly had alarmed the woman. The canoe was coming in from the lake, after running before the wind, which now began to abate a little in its strength, and it evidently had been endeavoring to proceed to the northward. The reason for its entering the river, was probably connected with the cookery or food of the party, since the lake was each minute getting to be safer, and more navigable for so light a craft. To le Bourdon's great apprehension, he saw the savages on the north sh.o.r.e making signal to this strange canoe, by means of smoke, and he foresaw the probability of his enemies obtaining the means of crossing the stream, should the strangers proceed in the desired direction. To counteract this design, he ran down to a spot on the beach where there was no rice-plant, and showing himself to the strangers, invited them to land on the south side, which was much the nearest, and in other visible respects quite as convenient as the opposite bank of the river. One of the strangers soon made a gesture with an arm, implying a.s.sent, and the bows of this strange canoe were immediately turned toward the spot where the bee-hunter stood.

As the canoe drew near, the whole party, including Pigeonswing, came to the margin of the water to receive the strangers. Of the last, there were three; one paddling at each end of the light bark, and a third seated in its centre, doing nothing. As the bee-hunter had his gla.s.s, with which he examined these visitors, he was soon questioned by his companions concerning their character and apparent purposes.

"Who are they, Bourdon?" demanded the impatient Margery--"and why do they come here?"

"The last is a question they must answer for themselves, but the person paddling in the bows of the canoe seems to be a white man, and a soldier--or a half-soldier, if one may judge from his dress. The man in the middle of the canoe is white, also. This last fellow seems to be a parson--yes, he is a clergyman, though pretty well used up in the wilderness, as to dress. The third man is a red-skin, beyond all doubt."

"A clergyman!" repeated Margery, in surprise. "What should a clergyman be doing here?"

"There are missionaries scattered about among the savages, I suppose you know, and this is probably one of them. A body can tell one of these parsons by his outside, as far as he can see him. The poor man has heard of the war, most likely, and is trying to get back into the settlements, while his scalp is safe on his head."

"Don't hurt HIM" put in the Chippewa, pointedly. "Know MEAN well--talk about Great Spirit--Injin don't scalp sich medicine-men--if don't mind what he say, no good to take his scalp."

"I'm glad to hear this, Pigeonswing, for I had begun to think NO man's scalp was safe under YOUR fingers. But what can the so'ger be doing down this-away? A body would think there was business enough for all the so'gers up at the garrison, at the head of the lake. By the way, Pigeonswing, what has become of your letter to the captain at Fort Dearborn, to let him know of the war?"

"Chaw him up, like so much 'baccy," answered the Chippewa--"yes, chaw him up, lest Pottawattamie get hold on him, and ask one of King George's men to read him. No good to hab letter in sich times."

"The general who employed you to carry that letter, will scarce thank you for your care."

"Yes, he do--t'ank all same--pay all same--letter no use now."

"How can you know that? The letter might be the means of preventing the garrison from falling into the enemy's hands."

"Got dere, already. Garrison all kill, scalp, or prisoner. Pottawattamie talk tell me DAT!"

"Is this possible! Mackinaw and Chicago both gone, already! John Bull must have been at work among the savages a long time, to get them into this state of readiness!"

"Sartain--work long as can 'member. ALWAY somebody talkin' for great Montreal Fadder among red men."

"It must be as you say, Chippewa--but, here are our visitors--let us see what we can make of THEM!"