The Forest King Part 3

Mayall said it so nearly resembled the Otego Creek in its wild state, shaded with the primeval forest, that it made him think of home in gone-by days. The speckled trout swarmed in the creek and its small tributaries, the feathered songsters sung their evening and morning hymn, unmolested by man.

Mayall selected the most beautiful place he could find, on an elevated spot of ground, near a small rill fed by springs, where the creek formed a half circle like a new moon, on one side of his cottage. This fertile spot, lying in the bend, he intended to clear and cultivate.

Breeze of the woodland and breath of the prairie, Sweet with the fragrance of flower and vine, Proclaim o'er the hill-tops and deep-shaded glens That the sweet songsters of spring have returned, And the little birds chirp, flutter and sing, And make the groves again with melody ring.

Their music charms me like the voice of love, And chains me to this wild, uncultivated grove, Where spring flowers vary their beauty and bloom, And spread their morning and evening perfume.

How beautiful the hills and forest land, Where Nature spreads her loam and fertile sand;

Where seeds long-buried in the drifting snow Spring forth in beauty when the south winds blow.

The sun, with golden beams and brighter rays, Shines forth to warm the earth and lengthen out the days.

He there built his camp-fire, and reared a rude cabin to shelter his family, until he could build a more permanent residence.

Here Mayall rested for a few days, charmed with the music of the woods, and the water-fowls that had stopped along the stream to lay their eggs and rear their young. Mayall then pursued his journey up the stream until he reached its utmost spring among the distant hills, and then bent his course eastward among the highlands of that region, where he found the beautiful little lakes so graphically described by the Indian, stored with fish, and covered with water-fowls during the summer season.

All the wilds of the forest appeared more beautiful than he had antic.i.p.ated.

After exploring the hills and valleys for a few days, during which time he never saw a human being, Mayall resolved to return once more to his wife and children. As he pa.s.sed down the valley he stopped at the rude cabin he had erected, and pa.s.sed the night in quiet sleep. Mayall declared that in his chosen bower Nature appeared fresh from the hand of Omnipotence. He described one of the lakes he had seen as the most beautiful sheet of water that human eye ever saw, surrounded with a belt of white sand, where the buck, the doe, and the spotted fawn came and slaked their thirst from the crystal waters of the lake, unmolested by man, and fed tamely upon its gra.s.sy sh.o.r.es; where the wild rose, queen of bowers, shed her perfume, and the lily displayed her spots of beauty, as second in rank among the flowers; the third in magnitude and adorning was the wild honeysuckle, with all her tints of beauty. These encircled the snow-white sands upon its beautiful sh.o.r.es, whilst the low undertone of its waves kept time to the music of the grove.

Mayall was enchanted with the beauties of Nature around him, and made his bed at night under a low branching tree, covered with a wild grape-vine, so nicely tied and coiled by Nature that it served every purpose of a tent. Mayall made his evening meal on trout he took from the lake, and laid down to sleep upon the wild, enchanted sh.o.r.es of an earthly paradise. His sleep was quiet and undisturbed. He awoke with the first rays of rosy morn, and listened to the lovely song of Nature's harmonists, the songsters of the grove.

After Mayall left his cabin on Canada Creek he bent his course for home, where he arrived after three tedious days' journey along an Indian path, fording streams, and crossing hills and ravines, and was once more in the bosom of his family. All were glad to see him, and listened with rapture to the glowing account he gave of a country so wild and beautiful, until Mayall reached the story of the proposed marriage of his young son with the daughter of an Indian chief. The young man was of the Caucasian race, young and sprightly. He declared that he would not marry a squaw--he would live solitary and alone before he would marry the daughter of a race he had always learned to hate, if she was allied to the royal family of chiefs. Mayall heard his resolves with a twinkle in his eye, and here the matter rested, whilst every preparation was making for their now home.

Mayall was truly one of Nature's n.o.ble philosophers. When he had resolved to leave the Valley of the Otego Creek, where he had enjoyed so many scenes of strife and pleasure, his friends, both old and young, gathered at his cabin for a farewell visit. In the course of the evening the question was put to Mayall, who was the most advanced in years of any of the company, what season of life he had found most happy. In reply he inquired of the company if they had noticed the forest trees that once shaded the valley. They all replied they had. He then said, "When spring comes and the soft south wind blows up the valley, the buds on the trees open and they are sweet with blossoms, I say how beautiful is Spring, representing the morning of life.

The light winds are her laughter, The murmuring brooks her song;

and when Summer comes and clothes the trees with foliage and shields me from the rays of the flaming noonday sun, cools the wind that sighs among the branches filled with singing birds that charm me to the grove, I say how glorious is Summer, the noonday of life.

The sunbeams are her lovely smiles, The rose and lily are her footsteps light;

and Autumn, in her turn, comes with golden fruit, and the leaves bear the gorgeous frost-tints so variegated with all the glory of colors, with the full ear, and Ceres has bound his golden sheaf, I say how beautiful is Autumn, crowned with fruit that perfumes the surrounding air, representing the fruits of maturer years.

The branches bend with riper fruit, The grapes in royal purple shine When Autumn yields the glory of the year;

and when Winter comes, and there is neither opening buds, green foliage, or ripening fruit, nor gorgeous frost-tints upon the leaves, I look through the bare branches of the trees better than I could in spring, summer and autumn, and lo, how beautiful are the stars that spangle the heavens and twinkle in the pale light of the moon, with maiden face sweeping through the heavens, veiled with fleecy clouds, like the bridesmaid of heaven, to direct our thoughts to the celestial city to meet the great Author of our creation. For the spirit came from G.o.d, and to G.o.d it must return, it being that part of Divinity that dwells with man during the journey of life.

And we shall hail with joy The glorious sunset of life."

And the company recorded his wise sayings and poetical phrases for the benefit of future generations that should inhabit the Valley of the Otego.

CHAPTER VII.

Their household goods were few, and those of the plainest kind. They loaded all their goods, with their children and Mrs. Mayall, into the wagon, and Mayall and his son Esock performed the journey on foot, each one carrying his gun in readiness for any emergency, with Mayall in advance to pilot them through the forest. In their journey they had to ford streams and climb with difficulty the hills.

Not meeting with anything of importance, the fourth day they encamped within five miles of the Indian chief's wigwam. After feasting on some ducks they had killed along their road, they all laid down to rest from the toils of their journey, and all but Esock slept soundly. He was meditating on what course to pursue, and what excuse he should make on arriving at the Indian chief's wigwam, to excuse himself in so grave a matter. Mayall, his father, had gone thus far in match-making without his consent, and now he wished the whole affair could be pa.s.sed by without seeing the Indian chief or his daughter.

In the morning Esock Mayall resolved to take a different route from his father and the rest of the family, and pa.s.s the Indian chief's wigwam without being seen, and informed his father of his resolution. Mayall then told Esock that he was ashamed of having a coward in his family; said he must go boldly to the chief's wigwam, where they would all stay over night, and if he was not pleased with the chief's daughter he would excuse the matter. Esock finally resolved to go forward and brave the consequences, as his father always had some way to get out of a bad affair. Their tent was soon taken down, and Mayall and his family pursued their journey toward the Indian chief's wigwam.

The sun had risen fair, but as they proceeded along their journey dark clouds began to curtain the heavens. The wind roared among the forest trees, the lightning flashed from the storm-cloud, the thunders rolled through the forest with deafening roar, splitting and shivering the forest trees, whilst the rain at intervals seemed to descend in torrents. Just as Mayall and his family emerged from the thick woodlands into a small clearing, where the Indian chief's wigwam stood, he saw the chief and his daughter stand looking out of the door, for Mayall's approach had been heralded by an Indian runner the previous day, and they were prepared to receive him. As they came into the clearing there was a lull in the storm for a few moments, and the chief's daughter rushed forward to welcome Mayall to their home. The words had scarcely dropped from her lips before the lightning began to crash among the trees and the storm beat down fearfully, and she glided back to the wigwam with speed that seemed like the flight of a bird.

As she approached Mayall, Esock Mayall was standing in a position that brought her in full view from her head to her feet. He was struck with a strange, mysterious spell. Her neck was as pure as the alabaster, her bosom as white as ivory, her soft blue eyes like liquid orbs adorning the face of beauty, whilst her fair hair flowed in graceful ringlets upon her neck and shoulders. Her form was simply perfect; her breath was like the eglantine, and her cheek wore the morning blush of the moss-rose. She was a perfect Cleopatra, all but the royal crown, and that was supplied with plumes--the royal crown of the Indian Queen of the Poorest.

Esock Mayall stood as one amazed as he viewed the beautiful figure before him, dressed in a neat flowing dress that came down to her feet, covered with wampum and such beautiful moccasins, embroidered with the quills of the porcupine, with a border of the same around the bottom of her flowing dress. Had he seen one of the fairies of olden times, a fabled G.o.ddess of the sylvan shade, or had he seen a human being in this image of beauty that appeared before his father and welcomed him to her home and then glided away to her father, the Indian chief?

Esock Mayall no longer seemed to notice the flashes of lightning, the roaring of the thunder, nor the pelting of the storm, but kept his eye upon the departing form of that beautiful angel amid the rushing of the tempest. Could this be the chief's daughter, her face as white as a pond lily with the rose's blush upon her cheek and her eyes as blue as the violets of May, with her flaxen hair flowing in unbound ringlets upon her shoulders? No, never. No Indian blood ever flowed in the veins of a being so white and fair. It must be a phantom of his bewildered imagination. He was sure that when he reached the wigwam he should see the chief's daughter with her red skin, long, straight black hair and snaky eyes, just as he had pictured her in his imagination ever since his father first mentioned her name.

A few moments more and they were unloading from their canvas-covered wagon before the Indian chief's wigwam, with the same fair being he had seen retire so hastily to the wigwam amid the fury of the storm, flying about, leading the children into the wigwam and kindly a.s.sisting them in drying their wet garments; for the fury of the storm had pa.s.sed by.

After Mayall and his son had taken care of their team they walked to the wigwam, Mayall leading the way, whilst his son, Esock, walked timidly behind, straining every nerve lest he should lose his presence of mind when the chief's daughter appeared before him. He entered the wigwam.

Curiosity stood on tiptoe.

The Indian chief welcomed Mayall and his son to his most ample hospitality, and then, turning to the fairy queen that stood near him, he said he was pleased with having an opportunity of making Esock Mayall, the son of his old friend, acquainted with his adopted daughter.

The maiden stopped gently forward and took young Mayall by the hand. The secret was out. The vision of beauty constantly appeared before him, by night and by day.

The Indian chief had taken this young squaw, as he called her, a prisoner in one of his excursions into Canada during the war of the Revolution, and adopted her into his family on account of her comeliness and natural graces.

Their clothes were soon dried by a warm fire, and they all sat down to a sumptuous dinner of venison and wild fowls, which was a favorite dish with the Mayalls, and pleased them more than the most sumptuous feast that could be set upon the President's table at the White House. After dinner the long pipe was handed round, each taking a few puffs, whilst the blue smoke curled from the emblem of peace,

Whilst the forms of love are round us And our hearts with pleasure glow.

The eyes of the lovely Blanche rested on the form of Esock Mayall, when his first glance met hers, which was often and still oftener as the rose bloomed brighter on her cheek, her breath grew quicker, her smile more radiant, and the first blue flower of love bloomed into fondness for the young hunter, as he gazed upon her rounded waist, her snowy neck, ornamented with a shower of curls that fell loosely upon her shoulders.

CHAPTER VIII.

The landscape around the chief's wigwam was sublime. First his little field of corn cl.u.s.tering with golden ears; beyond, the beautiful tall forest trees formed arches overhead and locked their boughs in social harmony. A winding path led from the wigwam to the grove, bordered with wild roses, which must have appeared beautiful and gay in summer, but now began to droop and fade like the leaves of the surrounding forest.

Esock Mayall wandered along this path of faded flowers to the edge of the dark overgrown forest, and stood for a time viewing the large, ma.s.sive branches that had been torn from their parent trees by the fury of the wind and rain the previous day. The splinters of every form lay scattered where the currents of electricity in their fearful descent had rent in fragments some giant of the forest, torn out its oaken heart and scattered its ribs and limbs upon the forest floor.

After viewing the wonders of Nature, Esock Mayall was returning to the wigwam along the path of flowers, when that wood-nymph, the chief's daughter, appeared before him, gentle as the ring-dove.

And the glory of youth clung around her, I felt her ambrosial breath on my cheek Like the scent and perfume of wild roses.

She seemed to appear in all the beauty of innocence. Esock Mayall asked her who planted those roses.

"I planted them," said the maiden, "to perfume my path and wanton in the summer air around me whilst I walked to yonder grove in summer days, for twelve long years, to hear the evening and morning song of birds which charmed me to the grove; and then again I love the solitary woods, the sylvan shade. I learned, when but a child, to wander in yon shady grove to hear the squirrels chirp and bark."

Esock Mayall wished her to inform him how and when she first came to live in this overgrown forest. She said, "I could not tell, but when I was a child I lived in a cottage on a lake sh.o.r.e, where one could sit in its vine-clad porch and look out upon the windings of its beautiful sh.o.r.e and hear the fury of the waves amid the fearful storm. The Indians came one sunny day, when I was sitting under the arbor over the door, and killed my mother, robbed the house, and bore me away in their arms.

The next morning one of the Indians took me on his back, and in three or four days they reached this place, and I was adopted into the chief's family. My mother used me kindly whilst she lived. After ten years she sickened and died. Since that time I have lived with the chief, my father. I have planted these flowers in rows to imitate the sh.o.r.es of the lake where I was born. That long half-moon curve you see was a wide, open bay, and that short turn yonder was a bluff of rocks."

Esock Mayall listened with admiration to her story, and then replied, "Would you go with me and walk the sh.o.r.es of that lake once more?"

That question seemed a spell that chained her tongue, whilst the crimson flush faded from her cheek. In a few moments her young blood began to course freely in her veins, and the flush of roses warmed her lovely cheeks. She raised her eyes and looked Esock Mayall full in the face, and appeared as lovely as a dream.