One morning Hector proclaimed his intention of ascending the hills in the direction of the Indian camp. "I am tired of remaining shut up in this dull place, where we can see nothing but this dead-flat, bounded by those melancholy pines in the distance that seem to shut us in."

Little did Hector know that beyond that dark ridge of pine hills lay the home of their childhood, and but a few miles of forest intervened to hide it from their sight. Had he known it, how eagerly would his feet have pressed onward in the direction of that dark barrier of evergreens!

Thus is it often in this life: we wander on, sad and perplexed, our path beset with thorns and briers. We cannot see our way clear; doubts and apprehensions assail us. We know not how near we are to the fulfilment of our wishes; we see only the insurmountable barriers, the dark thickets and thorns of our way; and we know not how near we are to our Father's home, where he is waiting to welcome the wanderers of the flock back to the everlasting home, the fold of the Good Shepherd.

Hector became impatient of the restraint that the dread of the Indians imposed upon his movements; he wanted to see the lake again, and to roam abroad free and uncontrolled.

"After all," said he we never met with any ill-treatment from the Indians that used to visit us at Cold Springs; we may even find old friends and acquaintances among them."

"The thing is possible, but not very likely," replied Louis. "Nevertheless, Hector, I would not willingly put myself in their power. The Indian has his own notion of things, and might think himself quite justified in killing us if he found us on his hunting-grounds. I have heard my father say—and he knows a great deal about these people—that their chiefs are very strict in punishing any strangers that they find killing game on their bounds uninvited. They are both merciless and treacherous when angered, and we could not even speak to them in their own language, to explain by what evil chance we came here."

This was very prudent of Louis, uncommonly so, for one who was naturally rash and headstrong; but unfortunately Hector was inflexible and wilful. When once he had made up his mind upon any point, he had too good an opinion of his own judgment to give it up. At last he declared his intention, rather than remain a slave to such cowardly fears as he now deemed them, to go forth boldly, and endeavour to ascertain what the Indians were about, how many there were of them, and what real danger was to be apprehended from facing them.

"Depend upon it," he added, "cowards are never safer than brave men. The Indians despise cowards, and would be more likely to kill us if they found us cowering here in this hole like a parcel of wolf-cubs, than if we openly faced them and showed that we neither feared them nor cared for them."

"Hector, dear Hector, be not so rash!" cried his sister, passionately weeping. "Ah! if we were to lose you, what would become of us?"

"Never fear, Kate; I will run into no needless danger. I know how to take care of myself. I am of opinion that the Indian camp is broken up; they seldom stay long in one place. I will go over the hills and examine the camp at a distance and the lake shore. You and Louis may keep watch for my return from the big pine that we halted under on our way hither."

"But, Hector, if the savages should see you, and take you prisoner," said Catharine, "what would you do?"

"I will tell you what I would do. Instead of running away, I would boldly walk up to them, and by signs make them understand that I am no scout, but a friend in need of nothing but kindness and friendship. I never yet heard of the Indian that would tomahawk the defenceless stranger that sought his camp openly in peace and goodwill."

"If you do not return by sunset, Hector, we shall believe that you have fallen into the hands of the savages," said Catharine, mournfully regarding her brother.

"If it were not for Catharine," said Louis, "you should not go alone; but if evil were to befall this helpless one, her blood would be upon my head, who led her out with us, tempting her with false words."

"Never mind that now, dearest cousin," said Catharine, tenderly laying her hand on his arm. "It is much better that we should have been all three together; I should never have been happy again if I had lost both Hec and you. It is better as it is; you and Hec would not have been so well off if I had not been with you to help you, and keep up your spirits by my songs and stories."

"It is true; ma chere; but that is the reason that I am bound to take care of my little cousin, and I could not consent to exposing you to danger, or leaving you alone; so, if Hec will be so headstrong, I will abide by you."

Hector was so confident that he should return in safety, that at last Louis and Catharine became more reconciled to his leaving them, and soon busied themselves in preparing some squirrels that Louis had brought in that morning.

The day wore away slowly, and many were the anxious glances that Catharine cast over the crest of the high bank to watch for her brother's return. At last, unable to endure the suspense, she with Louis left the shelter of the valley; they ascended the high ground, and bent their steps to the trysting-tree, which commanded all the country within a wide sweep.

A painful and oppressive sense of loneliness and desolation came over the minds of the cousins as they sat together at the foot of the pine, which cast its lengthened shadow upon the ground before them. The shades of evening were shrouding them, wrapping the lonely forest in gloom. The full moon had not yet risen, and they watched for the first gleam that should break above the eastern hills to cheer them as for the coming of a friend.

Sadly these two poor lonely ones sat hand in hand, talking of the happy days of childhood, of the perplexing present and the uncertain future. At last, wearied out with watching and anxiety, Catharine leaned her head upon the neck of old Wolfe and fell asleep, while Louis restlessly paced to and fro in front of the sleeper; now straining his eyes to penetrate the surrounding gloom, now straining his ears to catch the first sound that might indicate the approach of his absent cousin.

It was almost with a feeling of irritability that he heard the quick sharp note of the wakeful "whip-poor-will," as it flew from bough to bough of an old withered tree beside him. Another, and again another of these midnight watchers took up the monotonous never-varying cry of "Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will;" and then came forth, from many a hollow oak and birch, the spectral night-hawk from hidden dens, where it had lain hushed in silence all day from dawn till sunset. Sometimes their sharp hard wings almost swept his cheek as they wheeled round and round in circles, first narrow, then wide, and wider extending, till at last they soared far above the tallest tree-tops, and launching out in the high regions of the air, uttered from time to time a wild shrill scream, or hollow booming sound, as they suddenly descended to pounce with wide-extended throat upon some hapless moth or insect that sported all unheeding in mid-air, happily unconscious of the approach of so unerring a foe.

Petulantly Louis chid these discordant minstrels of the night, and joyfully he hailed the first gush of moonlight that rose broad and full and red over the Oak Hills to the eastward.

Louis envied the condition of the unconscious sleeper, who lay in happy forgetfulness of all her sorrows, her fair curls spread in unbound luxuriance over the dark shaggy neck of the faithful Wolfe, who seemed as if proud of the beloved burden that rested so trustingly upon him. Sometimes the careful dog just unclosed his large eyes, raised his nose from his shaggy paws, snuffed the night air, growled in a sort of undertone, and then dozed again, but watchfully.

It would be no easy task to tell the painful feelings that agitated young Louis's breast. He was angry with Hector for having thus madly, as he thought, rushed into danger. "It was wilful and almost cruel," he thought, "to leave them the prey of such tormenting fears on his account;" and then the most painful fears for the safety of his beloved companion took the place of less kindly thoughts, and sorrow filled his heart. The broad moon now flooded the hills and vales with light, casting broad checkering shadows of the old oaks' gray branches and now reddened foliage across the ground.

Suddenly the old dog raises his head, and utters a short half-angry note: slowly and carefully he rises, disengaging himself gently from the form of the sleeping girl, and stands forth in the full light of the moon. It is an open cleared space, that mound beneath the pine-tree; a few low shrubs and seedling pines, with the slender waving branches of the late-flowering pearly-tinted asters, the elegant fringed gentian with open bells of azure blue, the last and loveliest of autumn flowers and winter-greens, brighten the ground with wreaths of shining leaves and red berries.

Louis is on the alert, though as yet he sees nothing. It is not a full free note of welcome that Wolfe gives; there is something uneasy and half angry in his tone. Yet it is not fierce, like the bark of angry defiance he gives when wolf, or bear, or wolverine is near.

Louis steps forward from the shadow of the pine branches to the edge of the inclined plane in the foreground. The slow tread of approaching steps is now distinctly heard advancing; it may be a deer.

Two figures approach, and Louis moves a little within the shadow again. A clear shrill whistle meets his ear. It is Hector's whistle, he knows that, and assured by its cheerful tone, he springs forward, and in an instant is at his side, but starts at the strange companion that he half leads, half carries. The moonlight streams broad and bright upon the shrinking figure of an Indian girl apparently about the same age as Catharine: her ashy face is concealed by the long mass of raven black hair which falls like a dark veil over her features; her step is weak and unsteady, and she seems ready to sink to the earth with sickness or fatigue. Hector, too, seems weary. The first words that Hector said were, "Help me, Louis, to lead this poor girl to the foot of the pine: I am so tired I can hardly walk another step."

Louis and his cousin together carried the Indian girl to the foot of the pine. Catharine was just rousing herself from sleep, and she gazed with a bewildered air on the strange companion that Hector had brought with him. The stranger lay down, and in a few minutes sank into a sleep so profound it seemed to resemble that of death itself. Pity and deep interest soon took the place of curiosity and dread in the heart of the gentle Catharine, and she watched the young stranger's slumber as tenderly as though she had been a sister or beloved friend, while Hector proceeded to relate in what manner he had encountered the Indian girl.

"When I struck the high slope near the little birch grove we called the 'Birken Skaw,' I paused to examine if the council-fires were still burning on Bare Hill; but there was no smoke visible, neither was there a canoe to be seen at the lake shore where Louis had described their landing-place at the mouth of the creek. All seemed as silent and still as if no human footstep had trodden the shore. I sat down and watched for nearly an hour, till my attention was attracted by a noble eagle, which was sailing in wide circles over the tall pine-trees on Bare Hill. Assured that the Indian camp was broken up, and feeling some curiosity to examine the spot more closely, I crossed the thicket of cranberries and cedars and small underwood that fringed the borders of the little stream, and found myself, after a little pushing and scrambling, among the bushes at the foot of the hill.

"I thoughts it not impossible I might find something to repay me for my trouble, flint arrowheads, a knife, or a tomahawk; but I little thought of what these cruel savages had left there,—a miserable wounded captive, bound by the long locks of her hair to the stem of a small tree! Her hands and feet were fastened by thongs of deer-skin to branches of the tree, which had been bent downward for that purpose. Her position was a most painful one. She had evidently been thus left to perish by a miserable death of hunger and thirst; for these savages, with a fiendish cruelty, had placed within sight of their victim an earthen jar of water, some dried deers' flesh, and a cob [Footnote: A head of the maize, or Indian corn, is called a "cob."] of Indian corn. I have the corn here," he added, putting his hand in his breast and displaying it to view.

"Wounded she was, for I drew this arrow from her shoulder," and he showed the flint head as he spoke, "and fettered. With food and drink in sight the poor girl was to perish, perhaps to become a living prey to the eagle that I saw wheeling above the hill-top. The poor thing's lips were black and parched with pain and thirst. She turned her eyes piteously from my face to the water-jar, as if to implore a draught. This I gave her; and then having cooled the festering wound, and cut the thongs that bound her, I wondered that she still kept the same immovable attitude, and thinking she was stiff and cramped with remaining so long bound in one position, I took her two hands and tried to induce her to move. I then for the first time noticed that she was tied by the hair of her head to the tree against which her back was placed. I was obliged to cut the hair with my knife; and this I did not do without giving her pain, as she moaned impatiently. She sank her head on her breast, and large tears fell over my hands as I bathed her face and neck with the water from the jar. She then seated herself on the ground, and remained silent and still for the space of an hour; nor could I prevail upon her to speak, or quit the seat she had taken. Fearing that the Indians might return, I watched in all directions, and at last I began to think it would be best to carry her in my arms; but this I found no easy task, for she seemed greatly distressed at any attempt I made to lift her, and by her gestures I fancied she thought I was going to kill her. At least my patience began to be exhausted, but I did not like to annoy her. I spoke to her as gently and soothingly as I could. By degrees she seemed to listen with more composure to me, though she evidently knew not a word of what I said to her. She rose at last, and taking my hands, placed them above her head, stooping low as she did so; and this seemed to mean she was willing at last to submit to my wishes. I lifted her from the ground and carried her for some little way; but she was too heavy for me. She then suffered me to lead her along whithersoever I would take her; but her steps were so slow and feeble through weakness, that many times I was compelled to rest while she recovered herself. She seems quite subdued now, and as quiet as a lamb."

Catharine listened, not without tears of genuine sympathy, to the recital of her brother's adventures. She seemed to think he had been inspired by God to go forth that day to the Indian camp to rescue the poor forlorn one from so dreadful a death.

Louis's sympathy was also warmly aroused for the young savage, and he commended Hector for his bravery and humanity.

He then set to work to light a good fire, which was a great addition to their comfort as well as cheerfulness. They did not go back to their cave beneath the upturned trees to sleep, preferring lying, with their feet to the fire, under the shade of the pine. Louis, however, was despatched for water and venison for supper.

The following morning, by break of day, they collected their stores, and conveyed them back to the shanty. The boys were thus employed while Catharine watched beside the wounded Indian girl, whom she tended with the greatest care. She bathed the inflamed arm with water, and bound, the cool healing leaves of the tacamahac [Footnote: Indian balsam.] about it with the last fragment of her apron; she steeped dried berries in water, and gave the cooling drink to quench the fever-thirst that burned in her veins and glittered in her full soft melancholy dark eyes, which were raised at intervals to the race of her youthful nurse with a timid hurried glance, as if she longed yet feared to say, "Who are you that thus tenderly bathe my aching head, and strive to soothe my wounded limbs, and cool my fevered blood? Are you a creature like myself, or a being sent by the Great Spirit from the far-off happy land to which my fathers have gone, to smooth my path of pain, and lead me to those blessed fields of sunbeams and flowers where the cruelty of the enemies of my people will no more have power to torment me?"



CHAPTER VI

"Here the wren of softest note Builds its nest and warbles well, Here the blackbird strains his throat Welcome, welcome to our cell."

—COLERIDGE.

The day was far advanced before the sick Indian girl could be brought home to their sylvan lodge, where Catharine made up a comfortable couch for her with boughs and grass, and spread one of the deer-skins over it, and laid her down as tenderly and carefully as if she had been a dear sister. This good girl was overjoyed at having found a companion of her own age and sex. "Now," said she, "I shall no more be lonely, I shall have a companion and friend to talk to and assist me." But when she turned in the fulness of her heart to address herself to the young stranger, she felt herself embarrassed in what way to make her comprehend the words she used to express the kindness that she felt for her and her sorrow for her sufferings.

The young stranger would raise her head, look intently at her as if striving to interpret her words, then sadly shake her head, and utter her words in her own plaintive language, but, alas! Catharine felt it was to her as a sealed book.

She tried to recall some Indian words of familiar import that she had heard from the Indians when they came to her father's house, but in vain. Not the simplest phrase occurred to her, and she almost cried with vexation at her own stupidity. Neither was Hector or Louis more fortunate in attempts at conversing with their guest.

At the end of three days the fever began to abate; the restless eye grew more steady in its gaze, the dark flush faded from the cheek, leaving it of a gray ashy tint, not the hue of health, such as even the swarthy Indian shows, but wan and pallid, her eyes bent mournfully on the ground.

She would sit quiet and passive while Catharine bound up the long tresses of her hair, and smoothed them with her hands and the small wooden comb that Louis had cut for her use. Sometimes she would raise her eyes to her new friend's face with a quiet sad smile, and once she took her hands within her own and gently pressed them to her breast and lips and forehead, in token of gratitude; but she seldom gave utterance to any words, and would remain with her eyes fixed vacantly on some object which seemed unseen, or to awaken no idea in her mind. At such times the face of the young squaw, wore a dreamy apathy of expression, or rather it might with more propriety have been said the absence of all expression, almost as blank as that of an infant of a few weeks old.

How intently did Catharine study that face, and strive to read what was passing within her mind! How did the lively intelligent Canadian girl, the offspring of a more intellectual race, long to instruct her Indian friend, to enlarge her mind by pointing out such things to her attention as she herself took interest in! She would then repeat the name of the object that she showed her several times over, and by degrees the young squaw learned the names of all the familiar household articles about the shanty, and could repeat them in her own soft plaintive tone; and when she had learned a new word, and could pronounce it distinctly, she would laugh, and a gleam of innocent joy and pleasure would lighten up her fine dark eyes, generally so fixed and sad-looking.

It was Catharine's delight to teach her pupil to speak a language familiar to her own ears. She would lead her out among the trees, and name to her all the natural objects that presented themselves to view. And she in her turn mae "Indiana" (for so they named the young squaw, after a negress that she had heard her father tell of, a nurse to one of his colonel's infant children) tell her the Indian names for each object they saw. Indiana soon began to enjoy in her turn the amusement arising from instructing Catharine and the boys, and often seemed to enjoy the blunders they made in pronouncing the words she taught them. When really interested in anything that was going on, her eyes would beam out, and her smile gave an inexpressible charm to her face; for her lips were red, and her teeth even and brilliantly white, so purely white that Catharine thought she had never seen any so beautiful in her life before. At such times her face was joyous and innocent as a little child's; but there were also hours of gloom, that transformed it into an expression of sullen apathy. Then a dull glassy look took possession of her eye, the full lip drooped and the form seemed rigid and stiff. Obstinate determination neither to move nor speak characterized her in what Louis used to call the young squaw's "dark hour." Then it was that the savage nature seemed predominant, and her gentle nurse almost feared to look at her protegee or approach her.

"Hector," said Louis, "you spoke about a jar of water being left at the camp. The jar would be a great treasure to us. Let us go over for it." Hector assented to the proposal. "And we may possibly pick up a few grains of Indian corn, to add to what you showed us."

"If we are here in the spring," said Hector, "you and I will prepare a small patch of ground and plant it with this corn;" and he sat down on the end of a log and began carefully to count the rows of grain on the cob, and then each corn, grain by grain. "Three hundred and ten sound grains. Now if every one of these produce a strong plant, we shall have a great increase, and besides seed for another year, there will be, if it is a good year, several bushels to eat."

"We shall have a glorious summer, mon ami, no doubt, and a fine flourishing crop; and Kate is a good hand at making supporne." [Footnote: Supporne probably an Indian word for a stirabout, or porridge, made of Indian meal, a common dish in every Canadian or Yankee farmer's house.]

"You forget we have no porridge pot."

"I was thinking of that Indian jar all the time. You will see what fine cookery we will make when we get it, if it will but stand fire. Come, let us be off; I am impatient till we get it home;" and Louis, who had now a new crotchet at work in his fertile and vivacious brain, walked and danced along at a rate which proved a great disturbance to his graver companion, who tried to keep down his cousin's lively spirits by suggesting the probability of the jar being cracked, or that the Indians might have returned for it; but Louis was not one of the doubting sort, and was right in not damping the ardour of his mind by causeless fears. The jar was there at the deserted camp, and though it had been knocked over by some animal, it was sound and strong, and excited great speculation in the two cousins as to the particular material of which it was made, as it was unlike any sort of pottery they had ever before seen. It seemed to have been manufactured from some very dark red earth, or clay mixed up with pounded granite, as it presented the appearance of some coarse crystals. It was very hard and ponderous, and the surface was marked over in a rude sort of pattern, as if punctured and scratched with some pointed instrument. It seemed to have been hardened by fire, and, from the smoked hue of one side, had evidently done good service as a cooking utensil. Subsequently they learned the way in which it was used. [Footnote: Pieces of this rude pottery are often found along the shores of the inland lakes, but I have never met with any of the perfect vessels in use with the Indians, who probably find it now easier to supply themselves with iron pots and crockery from the towns of the European settlers.] The jar, being placed near but not on the fire, was surrounded by hot embers, and the water made to boil by stones being made red hot and plunged into it. In this way soups and other food were prepared and kept stewing, with no further trouble, after once the simmering began, than adding a few fresh embers at the side farthest from the fire. A hot stone, also, placed on the top, facilitated the cooking process.

Louis, who like all French people was addicted to cookery,—indeed it was an accomplishment he prided himself on,—was enchanted with the improvement made in their diet by the acquisition of the said earthen jar, or pipkin, and gave Indiana some praise for initiating his cousin in the use of it. Catharine and Hector declared that he went out with his bow and arrows, and visited his dead-falls and snares, ten times oftener than he used to do, just for the sake of proving the admirable properties of this precious utensil, and finding out some new way of dressing his game.

At all events, there was a valuable increase of furs, for making up into clothing, caps, leggings, mitts, and other articles.

From the Indian girl Catharine learned the value of many of the herbs and shrubs that grew in her path, the bark and leaves of various trees, and many dyes she could extract, with which she stained the quills of the porcupine and the strips of the wood of which she made baskets and mats. The little creeping winter-green, [Footnote: Gaultheria procumbens,—spice winter-green.] with its scarlet berries, that grows on the dry flats or sandy hills, which the Canadians call spice-berry, she showed them was good to eat; and she would crush the leaves, draw forth their fine aromatic flavour in her hands, and then inhale their fragrance with delight. She made an infusion of the leaves, and drank it as a tonic. The inner bark of the wild black cherry she said was good to cure ague and fever. The root of the bitter-sweet she scraped down and boiled in the deer-fat, or the fat of any other animal, and made an ointment that possessed very healing qualities, especially as an immediate application to fresh burns.

Sometimes she showed a disposition to mystery, and would conceal the knowledge of the particular herbs she made use of; and Catharine several times noticed that she would go out and sprinkle a portion of the food she had assisted her in preparing, on the earth, or under some of the trees or bushes. When she was more familiar with their language, she told Catharine this was done in token of gratitude to the Good Spirit, who had given them success in hunting or trapping; or else it was to appease the malice of the Evil Spirit; who might bring mischief or loss to them, or sickness or death, unless his forbearance was purchased by some particular mark of attention.

Attention, memory, and imitation appeared to form the three most remarkable of the mental faculties developed by the Indian girl. She examined (when once her attention was roused) any object with critical minuteness. Any knowledge she had once acquired she retained; her memory was great, she never missed a path she had once trodden; she seemed even to single out particular birds in a flock, to know them from their companions. Her powers of imitation were also great. She brought patience and perseverance to assist her: when once thoroughly interested in any work she began, she would toil on untiringly till it was completed; and then what triumph shone in her eyes! At such times they became darkly brilliant with the joy that filled her heart. But she possessed little talent for invention; what she had seen done, after a few imperfect attempts, she could do again, but she rarely struck out any new path for herself.

At times she was docile and even playful, and appeared grateful for the kindness with which she was treated, each day seemed to increase her fondness for Catharine, and she appeared to delight in doing any little service to please and gratify her; but it was towards Hector that she displayed the deepest feeling of affection and respect. It was to him her first tribute of fruit, or flowers, furs, moccasins, or ornamental plumage of rare birds, was offered. She seemed to turn to him as to a master and protector. He was in her eyes the "chief," the head of his tribe. His bow was strung by her, and stained with quaint figures and devices; his arrows were carved by her; the sheath of deer-skin he carried his knife in was made and ornamented by her hands; also, the case for his arrows, of birch-bark, she wrought with especial neatness, and suspended by thongs to his neck when he was preparing to go out in search of game. She gave him the name of the "Young Eagle," while she called Louis "Nee-chee," or "Friend," to Catharine she gave the poetical name of "Music of the Winds,"—Madwaosh.

When they asked her to tell them her own name, she would bend down her head in sorrow and refuse to pronounce it. She soon answered to the name of Indiana, and seemed pleased with the sound.

But of all the household, next to Hector, old Wolfe was her greatest favourite. At first, it is true, the old dog regarded the new inmate with a jealous eye, and seemed uneasy when he saw her approach to caress him; but Indiana soon reconciled him to her person, and a mutual friendly feeling became established between them, which seemed daily and hourly to increase, greatly to the delight of the young stranger. She would seat herself Eastern fashion, cross-legged on the floor of the shanty, with the capacious head of the old dog in her lap, and address herself to this mute companion in wailing tones, as if she would unburden her heart by pouring into his unconscious ear her tale of desolation and woe.

Catharine was always very particular and punctual in performing her personal ablutions, and she intimated to Indiana that it was good for her to do the same. The young girl seemed reluctant to follow her example, till daily custom had reconciled her to what she evidently at first regarded as an unnecessary ceremony; but she soon took pleasure in dressing her dark hair, and suffering Catharine to braid it and polish it till it looked glossy and soft. Indiana in her turn would adorn Catharine with the wings of the blue-bird or red-bird, the crest of the wood-duck, or quill feathers of the golden-winged flicker, which is called in the Indian tongue the shot-bird, in allusion to the round spots on its cream-coloured breast. [Footnote: The golden-winged flicker belongs to a sub-genus of woodpeckers, it is very handsome, and is said to be eatable, it lives on fruits and insects.] It was not in these things alone she indicated her grateful sense of the sisterly kindness that her young hostess showed to her; she soon learned to lighten her labours in every household work, and above all, she spent her time most usefully in manufacturing clothing from the skins of the wild animals, and in teaching Catharine how to fit and prepare them: but these were the occupations of the winter months.



CHAPTER VII.

"Go to the ant."—Proverbs.

It was now the middle of September. The weather, which had continued serene and beautiful for some time, with dewy nights and misty mornings, began to show symptoms of the change of season usual at the approach of the equinox. Sudden squalls of wind, with hasty showers, would come sweeping over the lake; the nights and mornings were damp and chilly. Already the tints of autumn were beginning to crimson the foliage of the oaks, and where the islands were visible, the splendid colours of the maple shone out in gorgeous contrast with the deep verdure of the evergreens and light golden-yellow of the poplar; but lovely as they now looked, they had not yet reached the meridian of their beauty, which a few frosty nights at the close of the month were destined to bring to perfection—a glow of splendour to gladden the eye for a brief space, before the rushing winds and rains of the following month were to sweep them away and scatter them abroad upon the earth.

One morning, after a night of heavy rain and wind, the two boys went down to see if the lake was calm enough for trying the raft, which Louis had finished before the coming on of the bad weather. The water was rough and crested with mimic waves, and they felt indisposed to launch the raft on so stormy a surface, but stood looking out over the lake and admiring the changing foliage, when Hector pointed out to his cousin a dark speck dancing on the waters, between the two nearest islands. The wind, which blew very strong still from the north-east, brought the object nearer every minute. At first they thought it might be a pine-branch that was floating on the surface, when as it came bounding over the waves, they perceived that it was a birch canoe, but impelled by no visible arm. It was a strange sight upon that lonely lake to see a vessel of any kind afloat, and, on first deciding that it was a canoe, the boys were inclined to hide themselves among the bushes, for fear of the Indians; but curiosity got the better of their fears.

"The owner of yonder little craft is either asleep or absent from her; for I see no paddle, and it is evidently drifting without any one to guide it," said Hector, after intently watching the progress of the tempest-driven canoe. Assured as it approached nearer that such was the case, they hurried to the beach just as a fresh gust had lodged the canoe among the branches of a fallen cedar which projected out some way into the water.

By creeping along the trunk of the tree, and trusting at times to the projecting boughs, Louis, who was the most active and the lightest of weight, succeeded in getting within reach of the canoe, and with some trouble and the help of a stout branch that Hector handed to him, he contrived to moor her in safety on the shore, taking the precaution of hauling her well up on the shingle, lest the wind and water should set her afloat again. "Hec, there is something in this canoe, the sight of which will gladden your heart," cried Louis, with a joyful look. "Come quickly, and see my treasures!"

"Treasures! You may well call them treasures," exclaimed Hector, as he helped Louis to examine the contents of the canoe and place them on the shore side by side.

The boys could hardly find words to express their joy and surprise at the discovery of a large jar of parched rice, a tomahawk, an Indian blanket almost as good as new, a large mat rolled up, with a bass-bark rope several yards in length wound round it, and, what was more precious than all, an iron three-legged pot in which was a quantity of Indian corn. These articles had evidently constituted the stores of some Indian hunter or trapper: possibly the canoe had been imperfectly secured, and had drifted from its moorings during the gale of the previous night, unless by some accident the owner had fallen into the lake and been drowned. This was of course only a matter of conjecture on which it was useless to speculate, and the boys joyfully took possession of the good fortune that had so providentially been wafted, as it were, to their very feet.

"It was a capital chance for us, that old cedar having been blown down last night just where it was," said Louis; "for if the canoe had not been drawn into the eddy, and stopped by the branches, we might have lost it. I trembled, when I saw the wind driving it on so rapidly, that it would founder in the deep water or go off to Long Island."

"I think we should have got it at Pine-tree Point," said Hector; "but I am glad it was lodged so cleverly among the cedar boughs. I was half afraid you would have fallen in once or twice when you were trying to draw it nearer to the shore."

"Never fear for me, my friend; I can cling like a wild cat when I climb. But what a grand pot! What delightful soups, and stews, and boils Catharine will make! Hurrah!" and Louis tossed up the new fur cap he had made with great skill from an entire fox-skin, and cut sundry fantastic capers which Hector gravely condemned as unbecoming his mature age (Louis was turned of fifteen); but with the joyous spirit of a little child he sang and danced, and laughed and shouted, till the lonely echoes of the islands and far-off hills returned the unusual sounds, and even his more steady cousin caught the infection and laughed to see Louis so elated.

Leaving Hector to guard the prize, Louis ran gaily off to fetch Catharine to share his joy and come and admire the canoe, and the blanket, and the tripod, and the corn, and the tomahawk. Indiana accompanied them to the lake shore, and long and carefully she examined the canoe and its contents, and many were the plaintive exclamations she uttered as she surveyed the things piece by piece, till she took notice of the broken handle of an Indian paddle which lay at the bottom of the vessel: this seemed to afford some solution to her of the mystery, and by broken words and signs she intimated that the paddle had possibly broken in the hand of the Indian, and that in endeavouring to regain the other part, he had lost his balance and been drowned. She showed Hector a rude figure of a bird engraved with some sharp instrument, and rubbed in with a blue colour. This she said was the totem or crest of the chief of the tribe, and was meant to represent a crow. The canoe had belonged to a chief of that name.

While they were dividing the contents of the canoe among them to be carried to the shanty, Indiana, taking up the bass-rope and the blanket, bundled up the most of the things, and adjusting the broad thick part of the rope to the front of her head, she bore off the burden with as great apparent ease as a London or an Edinburgh porter would his trunks and packages, turning round with a merry glance and repeating some Indian words with a lively air as she climbed the steep bank, and soon distanced her companions, to her great delight. That night Indiana cooked some of the parched rice, Indian fashion, with venison, and they enjoyed the novelty very much; it made an excellent substitute for bread, of which they had been so long deprived.

Indiana gave them to understand that the rice harvest would soon be ready on the lake, and that now they had got a canoe, they would go out and gather it, and so lay by a store to last them for many months.

This little incident furnished the inhabitants of the shanty with frequent themes for discussion. Hector declared that the Indian corn was the most valuable of their acquisitions. "It will insure us a crop and bread and seed-corn for many years," he said. He also highly valued the tomahawk, as his axe was worn and blunt. Louis was divided between the iron pot and the canoe. Hector seemed to think the raft might have formed a substitute for the latter, besides, Indiana had signified her intention of helping him to make a canoe. Catharine declared in favour of the blanket, as it would make, after thorough ablutions, warm petticoats with tight bodices for herself and Indiana. With deer-skin leggings and a fur jacket, they should be comfortably clad. Indiana thought the canoe the most precious, and was charmed with the good jar and the store of rice; nor did she despise the packing-rope, which she soon showed was of use in carrying burdens from place to place, Indian fashion. By placing a pad of soft fur in front of the head, she could carry heavy loads with great ease. The mat, she said, would be useful for drying the rice she meant to store.

The next day after this adventure, the two girls set to work, and with the help of Louis's large knife, which was called into requisition as a substitute for scissors, they cut out the blanket dresses, and in a short time made two comfortable and not very unsightly garments. The full, short, plaited skirts reached a little below the knees; light vests, bordered with fur, completed the upper part; and leggings, terminated at the ankles by knotted fringes of doeskin, with moccasins turned over with a band of squirrel fur, completed the novel costume; and many a glance of innocent satisfaction did our young damsels cast upon each other, when they walked forth in the pride of girlish vanity to display their dresses to Hector and Louis, who, for their part, regarded them as most skilful dressmakers, and were never tired of admiring and commending their ingenuity in the making and fitting, considering what rude implements they were obliged to use in the cutting out and sewing of the garments.

The extensive rice-beds on the lake had now begun to assume a golden tinge, which contrasted very delightfully with the deep-blue waters, looking, when lighted up by the sunbeams, like islands of golden-coloured sand. The ears, heavy laden with the ripe grain, drooped towards; the water. The time of the rice-harvest was at hand, and with light and joyous hearts our young adventurers launched the canoe, and, guided in their movements by the little squaw, paddled to the extensive aquatic fields to gather it in, leaving Catharine and Wolfe to watch their proceedings from the raft, which Louis had fastened to a young tree that projected out over the lake, and which made a good landing-place, likewise a wharf where they could stand and fish very comfortably. As the canoe could not be overloaded on account of the rice-gathering, Catharine very readily consented to employ herself with fishing from the raft till their return.

The manner of procuring the rice was very simple. One person steered the canoe with the aid of the paddle along the edge of the rice-beds, and another with a stick in one hand, and a curved sharp-edged paddle in the other, struck the heads off as they bent them over the edge of the stick; the chief art was in letting the heads fall into the canoe, which a little practice soon enabled them to do as expertly as the mower lets the grass fall in ridges beneath his scythe.

Many bushels of wild rice were thus collected. Nothing could be more delightful than this sort of work to our young people, and merrily they worked, and laughed and sang as they came home each day with their light bark laden with a store of grain which they knew would preserve them from starving through the long, dreary winter that was coming on.

The canoe was a source of great comfort and pleasure to them. They were now able to paddle out into the deep water and fish for masquinonje and black bass, which they caught in great numbers. Indiana seemed quite another creature when, armed with a paddle of her own carving, she knelt at the head of the canoe and sent it flying over the water; then her dark eyes, often so vacant and glassy, sparkled with delight, and her teeth gleamed with ivory whiteness as her face broke into smiles and dimples.

It was delightful then to watch this child of nature, and see how innocently happy she could be when rejoicing in the excitement of healthy exercise, and elated by a consciousness of the power she possessed of excelling her companions in feats of strength and skill which they had yet to acquire by imitating her.

Even Louis was obliged to confess that the young savage knew more of the management of a canoe, and the use of the bow and arrow and the fishing-line, than either himself or his cousin. Hector was lost in admiration of her skill in all these things, and Indiana rose highly in his estimation, the more he saw of her usefulness.

"Every one to his craft," said Louis, laughing. "The little squaw has been brought up in the knowledge and practice of such matters from her babyhood; perhaps if we were to set her to knitting and spinning, milking cows, and house-work, and learning to read, I doubt if she would prove half as quick as Catharine or Mathilde."

"I wonder if she knows anything of God or our Saviour," said Hector thoughtfully.

"Who should have taught her? for the Indians are all heathens," replied Louis.

"I have heard my dear mother say the missionaries have taken great pains to teach the Indian children about Quebec and Montreal, and that so far from being stupid, they learn very readily," said Catharine.

"We must try and make Indiana learn to say her prayers. She sits quite still, and seems to take no notice of what we are doing when we kneel down before we go to bed," observed Hector.

"She cannot understand what we say," said Catharine; "for she knows so little of our language yet, that of course she cannot comprehend the prayers, which are in other sort of words than what we use in speaking of hunting, and fishing, and cooking, and such matters."

"Well, when she knows more of our way of speaking, then we must teach her. It is a sad thing for Christian children to live with an untaught pagan," said Louis, who, being rather bigoted in his creed, felt a sort of uneasiness in his own mind at the poor girl's total want of the rites of his church; but Hector and Catharine regarded her ignorance with feelings of compassionate interest, and lost no opportunity of trying to enlighten her darkened mind on the subject of belief in the God who made and the Lord who saved them. Simply and earnestly they entered into the task as a labour of love; and though for a long time Indiana seemed to pay little attention to what they said, by slow degrees the good seed took root and brought forth fruit worthy of Him whose Spirit poured the beams of spiritual light into her heart. But my young readers must not imagine these things were the work of a day: the process was slow, and so were the results, but they were good in the end.

Catharine was glad when, after many months of patient teaching, the Indian girl asked permission to kneel down with her white friend and pray to the Great Spirit and his Son in the same words that Christ Jesus gave to his disciples; and if the full meaning of that holy prayer, so full of humility and love and moral justice, was not fully understood by her whose lips repeated it, yet even the act of worship and the desire to do that which she had been told was right were, doubtless, sacrifices better than the pagan rites which that young girl had witnessed among her father's people, who, blindly following the natural impulse of man in his depraved nature, regarded bloodshed and cruelty as among the highest of human virtues, and gloried in those deeds of vengeance at which the Christian mind revolts with horror.

Indiana took upon herself the management of the rice, drying, husking, and storing it, the two lads working under her direction. She caused several forked stakes to be cut, sharpened, and driven into the ground. On these were laid four poles, so as to form a frame. Over it she stretched the bass-mat, which she secured by means of forked pegs to the frame. On the mat she then spread out the rice thinly, and lighted a fire beneath, taking good care not to let the flame set fire to the mat, the object being rather to keep up a strong, slow heat by means of the red embers. She next directed the boys to supply her with pine or cedar boughs, which she stuck in close together, so as to enclose the fire within the area of the stakes. This was done to concentrate the heat and cause it to bear upwards with more power, the rice being frequently stirred with a sort of long-handled, flat shovel. After the rice was sufficiently dried, the next thing to be done was separating it from the husk. This was effected by putting it, in small quantities, into the iron pot, and with a sort of wooden pestle or beetle rubbing it round and round against the sides. [Footnote: The Indians often make use of a very rude, primitive sort of mortar, by hollowing out a bass-wood stump, and rubbing the rice with a wooden pounder.] If they had not had the iron pot, a wooden trough must have been substituted in its stead.

When the rice was husked, the loose chaff was winnowed from it in a flat basket like a sieve; and it was then put by in coarse birch baskets, roughly sewed with leather-wood bark, or bags made of matting woven by the little squaw from the cedar-bark. A portion was also parched, which was simply done by putting the rice dry into the iron pot, and setting it on hot embers, stirring the grain till it burst; it was then stored by for use. Rice thus prepared is eaten dry, as a substitute for bread, by the Indians.

The lake was now swarming with wild-fowl of various kinds: crowds of ducks were winging their way across it from morning till night, floating in vast flocks upon its surface, or rising in noisy groups if an eagle or fish-hawk appeared sailing with slow, majestic circles above them, then settling down with noisy splash upon the calm water. The shores, too, were covered with these birds, feeding on the fallen acorns which fell ripe and brown with every passing breeze.

The berries of the dogwood also furnished them with food; but the wild rice seemed the great attraction, and small shell-fish and the larvae of many insects that had been dropped into the waters, there to come to perfection in due season, or to form a provision for myriads of wild-fowl that had come from the far north-west to feed upon them, guided by that instinct which has so beautifully been termed by one of our modern poetesses,—

"God's gift to the weak." [Footnote: Mrs. Southey.]



CHAPTER VIII.

"Oh, come and hear what cruel wrongs Befell the Dark Ladye"—COLERIDGE.

The Mohawk girl was in high spirits at the coming of the wild-fowl to the lake; she would clap her hands and laugh with almost childish glee as she looked at them darkening the lake like clouds resting on its surface. "If I had but my father's gun, his good old gun, now!" would Hector say, as he eyed the timorous flocks as they rose and fell upon the lake; "but these foolish birds are so shy they are away before an arrow can reach them."

Indiana smiled in her quiet way; she was busy filling the canoe with green boughs, which she arranged so as completely to transform the little vessel into the semblance of a floating island of evergreen. Within this bower she motioned Hector to crouch down, leaving a small space for the free use of his bow; while concealed at the prow she gently and noiselessly paddled the canoe from the shore among the rice-beds, letting it remain stationary or merely rocking to and fro with the undulatory motion of the waters.

The unsuspecting birds, deceived into full security, eagerly pursued their pastime or their prey, and it was no difficult matter for the hidden archer to hit many a black duck, or teal, or whistlewing, as it floated securely on the placid water, or rose to shift its place a few yards up or down the stream. Soon the lake around was strewed with the feathered game, which Wolfe, cheered on by Louis who was stationed on the shore, brought to land.

Indiana told Hector that this was the season when the Indians made great gatherings on the lake for duck-shooting, which they pursued much after the same fashion as that which has been described, only instead of one, a dozen or more canoes would be thus disguised with boughs, with others stationed at different parts of the lake, or under the shelter of the island, to collect the birds. This sport generally concluded with a great feast.

The Indians offered the first of the birds as an oblation to the Great Spirit, as a grateful acknowledgment of his bounty in having allowed them to gather food thus plentifully for their families. Sometimes distant tribes with whom they were on terms of friendship were invited to share the sport and partake of the spoils.

Indiana could not understand why Hector did not follow the custom of her Indian fathers, and offer the first duck or the best fish to propitiate the Great Spirit. Hector told her that the God he worshipped desired no sacrifice; that his holy Son, when he came down from heaven and gave himself as a sacrifice for the sin of the world, had satisfied his Father, the Great Spirit, an hundredfold.

They feasted now continually upon the water-fowl, and Catharine learned from Indiana how to skin them, and so preserve the feathers for making tippets, and bonnets, and ornamental trimmings, which are not only warm, but light and very becoming. They split open the birds they did not require for present consumption, and dried them for winter store, smoking some after the manner the Shetlanders and the Orkney people smoke the solan geese. Their shanty displayed an abundant store of provisions—fish, flesh, and fowl, besides baskets of wild rice and bags of dried fruit.

One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill, and told the boys that the lake eastward was covered with canoes, she showed, by holding up her two hands and then three fingers, that she had counted thirteen. The tribes had met for the annual duck-feast and the rice-harvest. She advised them to put out the fire, so that no smoke might be seen to attract them, but said they would not leave the lake for hunting over the plains just then, as the camp was lower down on the point [Footnote: This point, commonly known as Andersen's Point, now the seat of an Indian village, used in former times to be a great place of rendezvous for the Indians, and was the scene of a murderous carnage or massacre that took place about eighty years ago; the war weapons and bones of the Indians are often turned up with the plough at this day.] east of the mouth of a big river, which she called "Otonabee."

Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and leave them in the event of meeting with any of her own tribe. The girl cast her eyes on the earth in silence; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her face.

"If they should prove to be any of your father's people, or a friendly tribe, would you go away with them?" he again repeated; to which she solemnly replied,—

"Indiana has no father, no tribe, no people; no blood of her father warms the heart of any man, woman, or child, saving herself alone. But Indiana is a brave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not shrink from danger: her heart is warm; red blood flows warm here," and she laid her hand on her heart. Then lifting up her hand, she said in slow but impassioned tone, "They left not one drop of living blood to flow in any veins but these." She raised her eyes, and stretched her arms upwards toward heaven, as though calling down vengeance on the murderers of her father's house.

"My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great chief, who owned these hunting-grounds far as your eye can see to the rising and setting sun, along the big waters of the big lakes; but the Ojebwas, a portion of the Chippewa nation, by treachery cut off my father's people by hundreds in cold blood, when they were defenceless and at rest. It was a bloody day and a bloody deed."

Instead of hiding herself, as Hector and Louis strongly advised the young Mohawk to do, she preferred remaining, as a scout, she said, under the cover of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked the lake, to watch the movements of the Indians. She told Hector to be under no apprehension if they came to the hut; not to attempt to conceal themselves, but offer them food to eat and water to drink. "If they come to the house and find you away, they will take your stores and burn your roof, suspecting that you are afraid to meet them openly; but they will not harm you if you meet them with open hand and fearless brow: if they eat of your bread, they will not harm you; me they would kill by a cruel death—the war-knife is in their heart against the daughter of the brave."

The boys thought Indiana's advice good, and they felt no fear for themselves, only for Catharine, whom they counselled to remain in the shanty with Wolfe.

The Indians, intent only on the sport which they had come to enjoy, seemed in high glee, and apparently peaceably disposed; every night they returned to the camp on the north side. The boys could see their fires gleaming among the trees on the opposite shore; and now and then, in the stillness of the evening, their wild shouts of revelry would come faintly to their ears, borne by the breeze over the waters of the lake.

The allusion that Indiana had made to her own history, though conveyed in broken and hardly intelligible language, had awakened feelings of deep interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends. Many months after this she related to her wondering auditors the fearful story of the massacre of her kindred, which I will now relate, as I have raised the curiosity of my youthful readers.

There had been for some time a jealous feeling existing between the chiefs of two principal tribes of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which like a smothered fire had burned in the heart of each without having burst into a decided blaze; for each strove to compass his ends and obtain the advantage over the other by covert means. The tribe of the Mohawks of which I now speak claimed the southern shores of the Rice Lake for their hunting-grounds, and certain islands and parts of the lake for fishing, while that of the Ojebwas considered themselves masters of the northern shores and certain rights of water besides. [Footnote: The facts of this narrative were gathered from the lips of the eldest son of a Rice Lake chief. I have preferred giving it in the present form, rather than as the story of the Indian girl. Simple as it is, it is matter of history.] Possibly it was about these rights that the quarrel originated; but if so, it was not openly avowed between the "Black Snake" (that was the totem borne by the Mohawk chief) and the "Bald Eagle" (the totem of the Ojebwa).

These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle had also a daughter of great and rare beauty, called by her people the "Beam of the Morning." She was the admiration of Mohawks as well as Ojebwas, and many of the young men of both the tribes had sought her hand, but hitherto in vain. Among her numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed to be the most enamoured of her beauty; and it was probably with some intention of winning the favour of the young Ojebwa squaw for his son, that the Black Snake accepted the formal invitation of the Bald Eagle to come to his hunting-grounds during the rice-harvest, and shoot deer and ducks on the lake, and to ratify a truce which had been for some time set on foot between them. But while outwardly professing friendship and a desire for peace, inwardly the fire of hatred burned fiercely in the breast of the Black Snake against the Ojebwa chief and his only son, a young man of great promise, renowned among his tribe as a great hunter and warrior, but who had once offended the Mohawk chief by declining a matrimonial alliance with one of the daughters of a chief of inferior rank who was closely connected to him by marriage. This affront rankled in the heart of the Black Snake, though outwardly he affected to have forgiven and forgotten the slight that had been put upon his relative.

The hunting had been carried on for some days very amicably, when one day the Bald Eagle was requested, with all due attention to Indian etiquette, to go to the wigwam of the Black Snake. On entering the lodge, he perceived the Mohawk strangely disordered: he rose from his mat, on which he had been sleeping, with a countenance fearfully distorted, his eyes glaring hideously, his whole frame convulsed and writhing as in fearful bodily anguish; and casting himself upon the ground he rolled and grovelled on the earth, uttering frightful yells and groans.

The Bald Eagle was moved at the distressing state in which he found his guest, and asked the cause of his disorder, but this the other refused to tell. After some hours the fit appeared to subside, but the chief remained moody and silent. The following day the same scene was repeated; and on the third, when the fit seemed to have increased in bodily agony, with great apparent reluctance, wrung seemingly from him by the importunity of his host, he consented to reveal the cause, which was, that the Bad Spirit had told him that these bodily tortures could not cease till the only son of his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had been sacrificed to appease his anger, neither could peace long continue between the two nations until this deed had been done; and not only must the chief's son be slain, but his flesh must be served up at a feast at which the father must preside. The Black Snake affected the utmost horror and aversion at so bloody and unnatural a deed being committed to save his life and the happiness of his tribe, but the peace was to be ratified for ever if the sacrifice were made,—if not, war to the knife was to be ever between the Mohawks and Ojebwas.

The Bald Eagle, seeing that his treacherous guest would make this an occasion of renewing a deadly warfare, for which possibly he was not at the time well prepared, assumed a stoical calmness, and replied,—

"Be it so; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to cause evil to the tribes of the chiefs that rebel against his will. My son shall be sacrificed by my hand, that the evil one may be appeased, and that the Black Snake's body may have ease, and his people rest beside the fires of their lodges in peace."

"The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief with a large heart," was the specious response of the wily Mohawk, "moreover, the Good Spirit also appeared, and said, 'Let the Black Snake's son and the Bald Eagle's daughter become man and wife, that peace may be found to dwell among the lodges, and the war-hatchet be buried for ever.'"

"The Beam of the Morning shall become the wife of the Young Pine," was the courteous answer; but stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the unmoved brow and passionless lip.

The fatal day arrived. The Bald Eagle, with unflinching hand and eye that dropped no human tear of sorrow for the son of his love, saw his son bound to the fatal post and pierced by the arrows of his own tribe. The fearful feast of human flesh was prepared, and the old chief, pale but unmoved, presided over the ceremonies. The war-dance was danced round the sacrifice, and all went off well, as if no such horrible rite had been enacted, but a fearful retribution was at hand. The Young Pine sought the tent of the Bald Eagle's daughter that evening, and was received with all due deference, as a son of so great a chief as the Black Snake merited. He was regarded now as a successful suitor; and, intoxicated with the beauty of the Beam of the Morning, he pressed her to allow the marriage to take place in a few days. The bride consented, and a day was named for the wedding feast to be celebrated; and, that due honour might be given to so great an event, invitations were sent out to the principal families of the Mohawk tribe, and these amounted to several hundreds of souls; while the young Ojebwa hunters were despatched up the river and to different parts of the country, avowedly to collect venison, beaver, and other delicacies, to regale their guests, but in reality to summon, by means of trusty scouts, a large war-party from the small lakes, to be in readiness to take part in the deadly revenge that was preparing for their enemies.

Meantime the squaws had pitched the nuptial tent and prepared the bridal ornaments. A large wigwam, capable of containing all the expected guests, was then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of evergreens, so artfully contrived as to be capable of concealing the armed Ojebwas and their allies, who in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen, armed with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless and unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette always observed upon such occasions, all deadly weapons were left outside the tent. The bridegroom had been conducted with songs and dancing to the tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of several hundred naked and painted warriors, were assembled. The feast was declared to be ready. A great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the father of the bridegroom was invited to lift the most important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors commenced their war-dance around him. This dish was usually a bear's head, which was fastened to a string left for the purpose of raising it from the pot.

"Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mohawks, draw up the head and set it on the table, that his people may eat and make merry, and that his wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-stricken father as he lifted to view the fresh gory head of his only son, the happy bridegroom the lovely daughter of the Ojebwa chief.

"Ha!" shouted the Bald Eagle, "is the great chief of the Mohawks a squaw, that his blood grows white and his heart trembles at the sight of his son, the bridegroom of the Beam of the Morning? The Bald Eagle gave neither sigh nor groan when he saw the arrows pierce the heart of his child. Come, brother, take the knife; taste the flesh and drink the blood of thy son. The Bald Eagle shrank not when you bade him partake of the feast that was prepared from his young warrior's body."

The wretched father dashed himself upon the earth, while his cries and howlings rent the air. These cries were answered by the war-whoop of the ambushed Ojebwas, as they sprang to their feet and with deafening yells attacked the guests, who, panic-stricken, naked and defenceless, fell an easy prey to their infuriated enemies. Not one living foe escaped to tell the tale of that fearful marriage feast. A second Judith had the chief's daughter proved. It was her plighted hand that had severed the head of her unsuspecting bridegroom, to complete the fearful vengeance that had been devised in return for the merciless and horrible murder of her brother.

Nor was the sacrifice yet finished; for with fearful cries the Indians seized upon the canoes of their enemies, and with the utmost speed, urged by unsatisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island where the women and children and such of the aged or young men as were not included among the wedding guests were encamped in unsuspecting security. Panic-stricken, the Mohawks offered no resistance, but fell like sheep appointed for the slaughter. The Ojebwas slew there the gray-head with the infant of days. But while the youths and old men tamely yielded to their enemies, there was one who, her spirit roused to fury by the murder of her father, armed herself with the war-club and knife, and boldly withstood the successful warriors. At the door of the tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon defended her children. While the war lightning kindled in her dark eyes, she called aloud in scornful tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of their women, who alone were braves, and would fight their battles. Fiercely she taunted the men; but they shrank from the unequal contest, and she alone was found to deal the death-blow upon the foe, till, overpowered with numbers, and pierced with frightful wounds, she fell singing her own death-song and raising the wail for the dead who lay around her. Night closed in, but the work of blood still continued. Lower down they found another encampment, and there also they slew all the inhabitants of the lodges. They then returned to the island, to gather together their dead and to collect the spoils of the tents. They were weary with the fatigue of the slaughter of that fearful day. The retribution had satisfied even their love of blood. And when they found, on returning to the spot where the heroine had stood at bay, a young solitary female sitting beside the corpse of that dauntless woman, her mother, they led her away, and did all that their savage nature could suggest to soften her anguish and dry her tears. They brought her to the tents of their women, clothed and fed her, and bade her be comforted; but her young heart burned within her, and she refused consolation. She could not forget the wrongs of her people: she was the only living creature left of the Mohawks on that island. The young girl was Indiana—the same whom Hector Maxwell had found, wounded and bound, and ready to perish with hunger and thirst, on Bare Hill.

Brooding with revenge in her heart, the young girl told them that she had stolen into the tent of the Bald Eagle, and aimed a knife at his throat; but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the young men, who had watched her enter the old chief's tent. A council was called, and she was taken to Bare Hill, bound, and left in the sad state already described.

It was with feelings of horror and terror that the Christian children listened to this fearful tale, and Indiana read in their averted eyes and pale faces the feelings with which the recital of the tale of blood had inspired them. And then it was, as they sat beneath the shade of the trees, in the soft, misty light of an Indian summer moon, that Catharine, with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple those heavenly lessons of mercy and forgiveness which her Redeemer had set forth by his life, his doctrines, and his death—telling her that if she, would see that Saviour's face in heaven, and dwell with him in joy and peace for ever, she must learn to pray for those dreadful men who had made her fatherless and motherless and her home a desolation; and that the fire of revenge must be quenched within her heart, and replaced by the spirit of love, or she could not become a child of God and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven. How hard were these conditions to the young heathen! how contrary to her nature, to all that she had been taught in the tents of her fathers, where revenge was virtue, and to take the scalp of an enemy a glorious thing!

Yet when she contrasted the gentle, kind, and dove-like characters of her Christian friends with the fierce, bloody people of her tribe and of her Ojebwa enemies, she could not but own they were more worthy of love and admiration. Had they not found her a poor, miserable, trembling captive, unbound her, fed and cherished her, pouring the balm of consolation into her wounded heart, drawing her in bands of tenderest love to forsake those wild and fearful passions that warred in her soul, and bringing her to the feet of the Saviour, to become his meek and holy child—a lamb of his "extended fold"? [Footnote: The Indian who related this narrative to the author was a son of a Rice Lake chief, Mosang Pondash by name. He vouched for its truth as a historic fact remembered by his father, whose grandsire had been one of the actors in the massacre.]



CHAPTER IX.

"The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill"

Irish Song

While the Indians were actively pursuing their sports on the lake, shooting wildfowl, and hunting and fishing by torchlight, so exciting was the amusement of watching them that the two lads, Hector and Louis, quite forgot all sense of danger in the enjoyment of lying or sitting on the brow of the mount near the great ravine and looking at their proceedings. Once or twice the lads were near betraying themselves to the Indians by raising a shout of delight at some skilful manoeuvre that excited their unqualified admiration and applause.

At night, when the canoes had all retired to the camp on the north shore, where the Indians assembled under the boughs of some venerable trees, and round the evening fires related the deeds of the preceding day, and all fear of detection had ceased for the time, they lighted up their own shanty fire, and cooked a good supper, and also prepared a sufficiency of food for the morrow. The Indians remained for a fortnight. At the end of that time Indiana, who was a watchful spy on their movements, told Hector and Louis that the camp was broken up, and the Indians had gone up the river, and would not return again for some weeks. The departure of the Indians was a matter of great rejoicing to Catharine, whose dread of these savages had greatly increased since she had been made acquainted with the fearful deeds which Indiana had described.

Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians had passed within a short distance of their dwelling; but they were in full chase of a bear, which had been seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat, and were too intent upon their game to notice the shanty; for they never turned out of their path, and Catharine, who was alone at the time, drawing water from the spring, was so completely concealed by the high bank above her that she had quite escaped their notice. Fortunately, Indiana gave the two boys a signal to conceal themselves, where, effectually hidden among the thick, gray, mossy trunks of the cedars at the lake shore, they remained secure from molestation; while the Indian girl dropped noiselessly down among the tangled thicket of wild vines and brushwood, which she drew cautiously over her, and closed her eyes, lest, as she naively remarked, their glitter should be seen and betray her to her enemies.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor wanderers, whose terrors were more excited on behalf of the young Mohawk than for themselves, and they congratulated her on her escape with affectionate warmth.

"Are my white brothers afraid to die?" was the young squaw's half-scornful reply. "Indiana is the daughter of a brave; she fears not to die."

The latter end of September and the first week in October had been stormy and even cold. The rainy season, however, was now over. The nights were often illuminated by the aurora borealis, which might be seen forming an arch of soft and lovely brightness over the lake to the north and north-eastern portions of the horizon, or shooting upwards, in ever-varying shafts of greenish light, now hiding, now revealing the stars, which shone with softened radiance through the silvery veil that dimmed their beauty. Sometimes for many nights together the same appearance might be seen, and was usually the forerunner of frosty weather, though occasionally it was the precursor of cold winds and heavy rains.

The Indian girl regarded it with superstitious feelings, but whether as an omen of good or evil she would not tell. On all matters connected with her religious notions she was shy and reserved, though occasionally she unconsciously revealed them. Thus the warnings of death or misfortunes were revealed to her by certain ominous sounds in the woods, the appearance of strange birds or animals, or the moanings of others. The screeching of the owl, the bleating of the doe, or barking of the fox, were evil auguries, while the flight of the eagle and the croaking of the raven were omens of good. She put faith in dreams, and would foretell good or evil fortune from them; she could read the morning and evening clouds, and knew from various appearances of the sky, or the coming or departing of certain birds or insects, changes in the atmosphere. Her ear was quick in distinguishing the changes in the voices of the birds or animals; she knew the times of their coming and going, and her eye was quick to see, as her ear to detect sounds. Her voice was soft, and low, and plaintive, and she delighted in imitating the little ballads or hymns that Catharine sang; though she knew nothing of their meaning, she would catch the tunes and sing the song with Catharine, touching the hearts of her delighted auditors by the melody and pathos of her voice.

The season called Indian summer had now arrived. The air was soft and mild, almost oppressively warm; the sun looked red as though seen through the smoke-clouds of a populous city. A soft blue haze hung on the bosom of the glassy lake, which reflected on its waveless surface every passing shadow, and the gorgeous tints of its changing woods on shore and island. Sometimes the stillness of the air was relieved by a soft sighing wind, which rustled the dying foliage as it swept by.

The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian tribes. It is during this season that they hunt and shoot the wild-fowl that come in their annual flights to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers; it is then that they gather in their rice, and prepare their winter stores of meat, and fish, and furs. The Indian girl knew the season they would resort to certain hunting-grounds. They were constant, and altered not their customs, as it was with their fathers, so it was with them.

Louis had heard so much of the Otonabee river from Indiana that he was impatient to go and explore the entrance and the shores of the lake on that side, which hitherto they had not ventured to do for fear of being surprised by the Indians. "Some fine day," said Louis, "we will go out in the canoe, explore the distant islands, and go up the river a little way."

Hector advised visiting all the islands by turns, beginning at the little islet which looks in the distance like a boat in full sail, it is level with the water, and has only three or four trees upon it. The name they had given to it was "Ship Island." The Indians have some name for it which I have forgotten, but it means, I have been told, "Witch Island." Hector's plan met with general approbation, and they resolved to take provisions with them for several days, and visit the islands and go up the river, passing the night under the shelter of the thick trees on the shore wherever they found a pleasant halting-place.

The weather was mild and warm, the lake was as clear and calm as a mirror, and in joyous mood our little party embarked and paddled up the lake, first to Ship Island; but this did not detain them many minutes. They then went to Grape Island, which they so named from the abundance of wild vines, now rich with purple clusters of the ripe grapes—tart, but still not to be despised by our young adventurers, and they brought away a large birch basket heaped up with the fruit. "Ah, if we had but a good cake of maple sugar now, to preserve our grapes with, and make such grape jelly as my mother makes!" said Louis.

"If we find out a sugar-bush we will manage to make plenty of sugar," said Catharine; "there are maples not two hundred yards from the shanty, near the side of the steep bank to the east. You remember the pleasant spot, which we named the Happy Valley, where the bright creek runs dancing along so merrily, below the pine-ridge?"

"Oh yes; the same that winds along near the foot of Bare Hill, where the water-cresses grow."

"Yes, where I gathered the milk-weed the other day."

"What a beautiful pasture-field that will make when it is cleared!" said Hector thoughtfully.

"Hector is always planning about fields, and clearing great farms," said Louis, laughing. "We shall see Hec a great man one of these days; I think he has in his own mind brushed, and burned, and logged up all the fine flats and table-land on the plains before now—ay, and cropped it all with wheat, and pease, and Indian corn."

"We will have a clearing and a nice field of corn next year, if we live," replied Hector; "that corn that we found in the canoe will be a treasure."

"Yes; and the corn-cob you got on Bare Hill," said Catharine. "How lucky we have been! We shall be so happy when we see our little field of corn flourishing round the shanty! It was a good thing, Hec, that you went to the Indian camp that day, though both Louis and I were very miserable while you were absent; but, you see, God must have directed you, that the life of this poor girl might be saved, to be a comfort to us. Everything has prospered well with us since she came to us. Perhaps it is because we try to make a Christian of her, and so God blesses all our endeavours."

"We are told," said Hector, "that there is joy with the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth: doubtless, it is a joyful thing when the heathen, that knew not the name of God, are taught to glorify his holy name."

Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcupine. She declared that she should have plenty of quills for edging baskets and moccasins; besides, she said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector looked with a suspicious eye upon the little animal, doubting the propriety of eating its flesh, though he had learned to eat musk-rats, and consider them good meat, baked in Louis's Indian oven, or roasted on a forked stick before the fire. The Indian porcupine is a small animal, not a very great deal larger than the common British hedgehog; the quills, however, are longer and stronger, and varied with alternate clouded marks of pure white and dark brownish-gray; they are minutely barbed, so that if one enters the flesh it is with difficulty extracted, but will work through of itself in an opposite direction, and can then be easily pulled out. Dogs and cattle often suffer great inconvenience from getting their muzzles filled with the quills of the porcupine, the former when worrying the poor little animal, and the latter by accidentally meeting a dead one among the herbage; great inflammation will sometimes attend the extraction. Indians often lose valuable hounds from this cause. Besides porcupines, Indiana told her companions, there were some fine butter-nut trees (Juglans cinerea) on the island, and they could collect a bagful of nuts in a very short time. This was good news, for the butter-nut is sweet and pleasant, almost equal to the walnut, of which it is a species.

The day was passed pleasantly enough in collecting nuts and grapes; but as this island did not afford any good cleared spot for passing the night, and moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several of which made their appearance among the stones near the edge of the water, they agreed by common counsel to go to Long Island, where Indiana said there was an old log-house, the walls of which were still standing, and where there was dry moss in plenty which would make them a comfortable bed for the night. This old log-house, she said, had been built, she had heard the Indians say, by a French Canadian trapper, who used to visit the lake some years ago. He was on friendly terms with the chiefs, who allowed him many privileges, and he bought their furs, and took them down the lake, through the river Trent, to some station-house on the great lake. They found they should have time enough to land and deposit their nuts and grapes and paddle to Long Island before sunset. Upon the western part of this fine island they had several times landed and passed some hours, exploring its shores; but Indiana told them that to reach the old log-house they must enter the low swampy bay to the east, at an opening which she called Indian Cove. To do this required some skill in the management of the canoe, which was rather overloaded for so light a vessel, and the trees grew so close and thick that they had some difficulty in pushing their way through them without injuring its frail sides. These trees or bushes were chiefly black alder (Alnus incuna), high-bush cranberries (Viburnum opulus), dogwood, willows, as they proceeded further, there was ground of a more solid nature, with cedar, poplar, swamp oak, and soft maple, silver birch, and wild cherries. Long strings of silver-gray tree-moss hung dangling over their heads, the bark and roots of the birch and cedars were covered with a luxuriant growth of green moss, but there was a dampness and closeness in this place that made it far from wholesome. The little band of voyagers were not sorry when the water became too shallow to admit of the canoe making its way through the swampy channel, and they landed on the bank of a small circular pond, as round as a ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees hoary with moss and lichens; large water-lilies floated on the surface of this miniature lake; the brilliant red berries of the high-bush cranberry and the purple clusters of grapes festooned the trees. "A famous breeding-place this must be for ducks," observed Louis.