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Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

Page 604

by Maria Edgeworth


  Their dwelling in the New World was chosen in a spot of such singular beauty, as to compensate for that magnificent scenery remembered so fondly by all those who are born in the “land of the mountain and the flood.” It was situated within a short distance of the river St. Lawrence, at that part where it enriches the Richelieu Islands, where the general temperature is mild, the soil productive, and the advantages offered by the country concentrated. So profitable had it proved to the industrious farmer, that he was now gone (with several of his neighbours), to the great fair at Montreal, for the purpose of selling grains and furs, which had been partly purchased from the native Indians.

  The inhabitants of this new settlement called their village Benoni, (child of sorrow,) yet until this day it had little merited the name, but the arrival of an old man journeying much farther, who had learnt by chance that a tribe of Indians was on the way to attack them during the absence of their men, placed all who remained in a state of the utmost terror. They were out of the line of the roads, had no connection with the river, at a distance from all neighbours, and ignorant of the way by which their foe was advancing; but of that foe every one entertained the most lively terror. A few only of the red men (such they call themselves) had found their way to Benoni for the purposes of trade, and from them the women and children held aloof, for they had heard such terrifying details of the ferocity of this people, their treachery, cruelty, and even cannibalism, that the bare idea of falling into their hands was insupportable to them all.

  The sad news ran like wildfire from house to house, and the inhabitants of each ran out, and, impelled by the same fears, soon met in the open ground, and began to consult on the possibility of saving themselves and their little ones, for more they could not hope to effect. All their cattle, furniture, and humble wealth, must be instantly abandoned, and it was further deemed advisable, that they should separate into small parties, and hide themselves in the trees and among the rocks, in order to escape from those merciless savages to whom their homes were abandoned, and who, in thus dividing them, half accomplished the ruin they meditated.

  Thus situated, Janet wandered forth with her two children, suffering under such anguish of mind as few even of the unhappy can conceive, for not only was she bereft in a moment of all the comforts of life, but she was parted from that beloved husband, whose presence would have consoled her, and she did not know whether she was not going every moment still farther from him. In the horror and confusion of the hour, she had omitted to enquire the route to any settlement, or learn if any of her neighbours could rejoin each other at a particular spot — in their terror they had been scattered like a flock of sheep, but they were not blest with the power of instinct to unite again.

  Janet had dragged her weary limbs forward in the darkening twilight, sometimes looking from side to side in hope of discovering a distant dwelling, or a safe resting-place, when all at once, upon turning a projecting knoll, she was startled by the light of a bright fire, around which were seated a number of Indians, with their squaws (or wives), and little ones. The sight was in itself so surprising and curious, that although poor Janet was sensible these were the enemies she dreaded, and those who were perhaps on the road to destroy her forsaken home, and her beloved neighbours, she stood for a moment to gaze upon them.

  The men were nearly naked, and painted in such a grotesque manner as to render them objects of horror; for being prepared for an expedition, their heads were almost covered with vermilion, and their ribs marked out by broad black stripes, whilst their hair was bristled up in the midst of the head, so as to increase the look of fierceness natural to their stern and sedate countenances. The appearance of the women was much more prepossessing, as they were generally arrayed in cloaks and trowsers, of blue cloth, which had been purchased at Montreal, and as they sate behind their husbands, and appeared to wait upon them as servants, it struck Janet that they were civilized and gentle, but under severe subjection to the terrible-looking savages before her. Just as she was turning round, to retrace her steps in silence, her little girl, who had been slumbering, awoke, and terrified by the blazing light and the strange objects, uttered a loud shriek, which instantly drew the attention of the Indians to the alarmed and fugitive mother.

  In a few moments Janet and her children were surrounded by the Indians, and led towards their fire, and since all resistence to their will was evidently useless, the poor woman very wisely appeared willing to accompany them, and to throw herself upon their mercy in such a manner, that if they had indeed any traces of humanity in their dispositions, it might be called forth in her behalf. For this purpose, she sought eagerly to still the cries of her affrighted child, by turning its eyes away from the objects of dread, whilst she whispered to her little boy, in a voice of cheerfulness, “Sandy, my man, dinna be feared o’ the guid folk around ye; be good-humoured an’ civil, and doubt not their kindness: it is fra them your dear father gets the fine furs an’ the sweet honey, my child.”

  This little boy was naturally courageous, and habitually obedient; his father had very wisely taught him to exert his mind (young as he was) by sustaining certain hardships, and practising certain privations, which rendered him manly, enterprising, and enduring. Poor Sandy had been hungry for the last two hours, but he knew his mother could give him no food, therefore he did not wound her by complaints which were useless. His feet were sore, but since be could not be carried by her, he would not grieve her by describing his sufferings; and since he knew she always told him the truth, and knew what was the best to be done, he determined to conquer his own fear of the Indians, and rouse himself, notwithstanding his weakness, to fulfil the wishes she had expressed.

  In consequence of this resolution, when they had arrived at the circle of Indians, he directly went up to the Chief, who was an old man, seated on a mat, and, after asking his name, he sate down beside him, and, with an air of confidence, showed him his swollen feet, and informed him that he was hungry.

  The chief, in a few words, but to Sandy’s joy they were uttered in English, informed him that his name was Apaeth-Yaali, or the stranger’s friend, and as such he gave instant orders to his squaw to feed the mother and her young.

  Long stripes of the dried flesh of the reindeer, and the Indian maize, compounded into delicate cakes, were immediately placed in the hands of Janet and her famishing babes; and so glad were they to receive sustenance at a time when nature craved it so importunately, that they fancied they had never tasted food so sweet, nor met with friends so kind. The extraordinary gravity of the Indians made Janet afraid of speaking, least she should offend those whom she desired to propitiate; but her little boy, refreshed and gladdened, crept closely to the old warrior, and, with all the endearing confidence of childhood, thus addressed him, despite of the tremendous appearance he had assumed.

  “My good master, Apaeth-Yaali, I am very much obliged to you for my good supper and the kindness you have shown to my dear mother and little Janet. I shall always consider you as my friend, and I wish you would tell me the names of the rest of these warriors.”

  “The one nearest to thee,” replied the warrior, “is called Split-log — the one now standing near thy mother is Red-jacket. These are named by thy own people. He who is now advancing to us, is Nico-Mingo.”

  “And a very good-looking fellow he is,” said Sandy, “and though he has not a British name, I like him as well as any body here.”

  So saying, little Sandy by a strong effort arose, and ran to the Indian, who having heard his words, received him kindly, led him to his hut or wigwam, and gave him the place of repose so necessary for him. The wants of his mother and her child were also supplied, and, after a night of profound repose, the worn-out family awoke to find themselves in the midst of the enemies they had dreaded, and be sensible not only that they were uninjured, but most hospitably entertained.

  Hour after hour, and day after day, passed on for the following week, and Janet continued as if spell-bound with the Indians, who laid
no injunctions on her will, but continued to supply herself and children with food, and to receive her attention to their own babes, and especially her kindness to their sick, with much gratitude, though few words passed on either side. Janet still in great awe, and considering herself a prisoner, dared not rouse their anger by attempting to escape, which was not likely to succeed, and even if it should, “might she not meet with some other tribe who were less kind and civilized than these?”

  In the mean time Sandy made himself perfectly at home amongst them — he joined the women in weaving mats, the men in fishing, listened with profound attention when any of the orators made a speech, though he could not understand more than half of it, and when he was permitted, sung them the songs of his country, and taught their children the national dance. His good humour, frankness, and courage, so won the heart of Nico-Mingo, that he offered to adopt him as his own son, to clothe him in the finest skins, tattoo his whole body with stars and flowers, feed him with the best venison and the purest maize, and finally to instruct him how to scalp his enemies, and endure their utmost torture, like the “son of the brave.”

  To this generous offer, the boy replied as far as he was able, in the language adopted by the people amongst whom he was placed.

  “Warrior, you have given me food when I was famishing, and rest when I was weary. I love you, and I desire to handle the tomahawk like an Indian, and to brave danger as the son of a Chief; but, like you, I love truth also, and it compels me to say that I desire to see my dear father, and to live in my own home above all other enjoyments.”

  “Thou hast well spoken,” said the old chief Apaeth-Yaali.

  Nico-Mingo and the rest were silent, but there were no symptoms of anger in their manners, and when Janet retired for the night as usual, she did so under the belief that they had forgiven the honest assertion of her little Sandy, though they might not grant the request which was couched in it, of restoring him to his father.

  Soon after the sun arose, Janet and her children were awakened by the voice of Nico-Mingo, who thus addressed his sleepy little companion: —

  “Son of my love, arise, behold a journey is before thee.”

  They all instantly arose, and followed their conductor, who proceeded with the customary silence of this extraordinary people, until Sandy gave token of weariness, by taking hold of the hand of his guide, and casting a look of enquiry towards the wallet girded round his waist. The Chief comprehended his wants, and sitting down on the first green sward near them, he presented each of the party with sufficient food for breakfast — the remainder he packed up with care, for the Indians are always frugal, (having great difficulty in supplying their wants,) and this he placed on the arm of Sandy, after which they recommenced their journey.

  Janet had for some time conceived that the kind-hearted savage was leading them towards Montreal, but as that was a distance of at least sixty miles, she could not suppose one apparently so considerate would expect that she could walk all the way, or that he would dismiss them in a district where there were apparently neither roads nor dwellings, with only such provision as so little a boy could carry. Still she dreaded making enquiries and giving offence, and was endeavouring to render Sandy the medium of learning their guide’s intentions, when he suddenly stopped, and, after drawing the boy closely towards his bosom, thus spoke:

  “To the left of that little mountain, you will find the blue stream which waters your own dear village of Benoni. Return to it, and remain in peace, for thy father even now is on his way thither in alarm and sorrow. Sandy, take thou the last embrace of him whom thou hast loved and trusted, and who for thy sake promises safety to thy people.”

  “Do not go — do not leave us,” cried the boy, “come to our cottage and eat bread, dear Nico-Mingo; my father will give you ale and beef, my mother will knit gloves and stockings for you, and I — Ah! I will love you and sing to you, and call you my Indian daddy.”

  At this moment, Janet, thankful for all she had been delivered from, not less than all she had received, warmly seconded her son, and with tears protested that neither he nor his tribe should ever visit Benoni without receiving a Christian welcome.

  Nico-Mingo answered, “I believe thee, because thy child did not mistrust us; therefore, when the leafs falls, and the cold winds blow, I will visit the door of thy husband’s wigwam.”

  The Indian departed, and the steps of the exiles were quickened, until they reached the clear stream, on the banks of which they joyfully pursued their way, and by the hour of noon were thankfully sheltered in Benoni, which but for Sandy’s courage and obedience, would now have been a heap of ashes. They found several fugitives returned, who were ready to expire with terror at the sound of a human voice, but had yet been driven by want to re-enter their dwellings. Others had pursued the path to Montreal, and were bringing thence succour which was no longer wanted. With the earliest of these Sandy Ferguson appeared, and with a joy the wretched can alone appreciate, found unharmed, and happy, the beloved wife and children whom he believed to have perished.

  When peace and plenty were restored, when the harvest had been gathered, the fuel stacked, and the leaves were falling, Sandy said, “My new daddy will come soon,” and his prophecy was fulfilled, for as Ferguson was returning late one night from his labour, he found a red man seated on the outside of his cottage door.

  “What do you want, friend?” said Sandy, thinking him one of the traders in skins whom he had formerly dealt with.

  “I come to smoke the calamut of peace with the pale man who is father to little Sandy.”

  “Then welcome, thrice welcome, brave Nico-Mingo,” said the farmer, as he led him into his house, where he was welcomed with ardour by little Sandy and his mother, the former exclaiming, “I knew he would come — you know I told you he would come — the red men always speak truth, and Nico-Mingo is the best of them all.”

  “Son,” said the Chief, “I come to thee, and to thy people, whom thou savedst by thy confidence once, and mayest again save, if they will, like thee and thy house, be simple and sincere.”

  “I will answer for all Benoni,” said Sandy.

  “And I will confirm his words,” said the father.

  The Indian ate his supper, smoked his reed, and lay down on the mat provided for him, in token of reliance on this promise, and the next morning opened a treaty of commerce which eventually benefited alike the settlement and the tribe, and which, at the instance of this powerful chieftain, was named, “The Treaty of the Confiding Boy.”

  THE BEAR OF ANDERNACH.

  BY W. H. HARRISON.

  On the banks of the majestic Rhine, between Bonn and Coblentz, stands the ancient town of Andernach, a place of some note in the times of the Romans, and celebrated, in modern days, for the grandeur and picturesque beauty of the surrounding scenery.

  At the period to which this narrative refers, the laws by which society professed to be governed were loosely framed and badly administered; and unless a man, who required justice of his neighbour, could demand it with some score or two of armed attendants at his back, his chances of obtaining it were but slender. Among other evils resulting from such a state of things, the aggressions of might against right were formidably frequent; and numerous bands of robbers were accustomed to establish themselves in the ruined castles on the heights, from which it was difficult to dislodge them, and whence they made descents upon the surrounding country, spreading dismay and desolation wherever they went.

  The most dreaded of these hordes was a band commanded by a man whose brutal manners and ferocious disposition had procured for him the sobriquet of “The Bear of Andernach;” a name which struck such terror into the inhabitants of the district, that it became a by-word with which silly nurses were wont to frighten refractory children into obedience. Indeed, the incursions of these banditti were so daring and desperate, that none but those powerful nobles who could shut themselves up in their strongly-fortified castles were secure from attack. The strong-hold of this
renowned but lawless chieftain was on the top of a high mountain, which, being very precipitous on one side, and artfully fortified on the other, was inaccessible, except by one path. This avenue, or pass, was never without a sentinel, who, from his commanding situation, was enabled to descry the approach of strangers at a great distance, and, consequently, to summon his comrades to the defence of their fortress before the arrival of an enemy.

  About a mile from the town of Andernach, and on a slight eminence commanding a view of the Rhine, stood the castle of Baron Stormenbach, a nobleman of considerable wealth, who had retired from a short but active and honourable career of military duty, to enjoy himself in the bosom of his family, which consisted of his accomplished and amiable wife, and the survivor of their three daughters. Agnes Stormenbach was, at that period, in her eighth year, — a pretty little fair-haired blue-eyed girl, as merry as a grasshopper, who returned the doting fondness of her parents with all the ardour of an affectionate and tender heart. She was clever, generous, and good-tempered, and kind and obliging to every one about her, down to the humblest domestic of the household; but, among her many virtues, she had one fault, and that was a grievous one. It arose out of the volatility of her character, and consisted in this; — that, although she listened to the injunctions of her parents with the sincerest intention of obeying them, her resolutions frequently yielded to the first temptation that crossed her path.

  The grounds within the walls of the baron’s castle were very spacious, and, among them, was a grass-plot or lawn, richly bordered by flowers and shrubs, in which Agnes was wont to play for hours together by herself, and which communicated with the high road by a sort of wicket-gate, or postern. Now, this gate, although it might be opened by a child from within, was perfectly secure from intruders without. Agnes had been repeatedly and earnestly cautioned by the baron and his lady from venturing beyond this barrier; and, never having been particularly tempted to transgress the injunction, she continued to observe it for some time. One fine summer morning, however, Agnes was amusing herself, as usual, in her favourite play-ground, when, chancing to look through the wicket, she perceived some children of the village gathering wild flowers on a bank on the opposite side of the road, which wound under the castle wall; and, although the flowers in her own garden were infinitely finer, and in much greater profusion and variety than those which the rustic girls were culling, she felt an irresistible desire to join their party.

 

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