CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
TELLS OF A WONDERFUL MEETING AND A FRUSTRATED FOE.
I must change the scene now, and advance the courteous readerconsiderably in regard to time as well as place on the journey which wehave pursued so long together.
It is one of those scenes of romantic beauty on the extreme frontiers ofcivilisation, where the rifle has not even yet given place to theplough; where the pioneer husbandman and the painted warrior oftenmeet--the one to look with patronising superiority on the savage, whomhe means to benefit; the other to gaze curiously at the pale-face, andto wonder, somewhat indignantly, when and where his encroachments are tocease.
Woodlands and prairies, breezy uplands and grassy bottoms, alternate insuch picturesque confusion, and such lovely colours co-mingle, that apainter--had one been there--must have deemed the place at all eventsthe vestibule of paradise.
There is a small hamlet on the slope of a hill, with a broad riverwinding in front, a few hundred yards from the hamlet, which opens outinto a lake. On the margin of this lake lie a few boats. On thesurface of it float a few more boats, with one or two birch-bark canoes.Some of these are moving to and fro; the occupants of others, whichappear to be stationary, are engaged in fishing. There is the sound ofan anvil somewhere, and the lowing of cattle, and the voices ofchildren, and the barking of dogs at play, and the occasional crack of agun. It is an eminently peaceful as well as beautiful backwood scene.
To a particular spot in this landscape we would direct attention. It isa frame-house, or cottage, which, if not built according to the mostapproved rules of architecture, is at least neat, clean,comfortable-looking, and what one might style pretty. It is a"clap-boarded" house, painted white, with an edging of brown whichharmonises well with the green shrubbery around. There is a verandah infront, a door in the middle, two windows on either side, and no upperstorey; but there are attics with dormer windows, which are suggestiveof snug sleeping-rooms of irregular shape, with low ceilings andhat-crushing doorways.
This cottage stands on the apex of a little hill which overlooks thehamlet, commands the river and the lake, as well as an extensive view ofa sparsely settled district beyond, where the frontier farmer and theprimeval forest are evidently having a lively time of it together. Inshort the cottage on the hill has a decidedly comfortablecome-up-quick-and-enjoy-yourself air which is quite charming.
On a certain fine afternoon in autumn Eve Liston, _alias_ Waboose, BigOtter and I, rode slowly up the winding path which led to this cottage.We had been directed to it by the postmaster of the hamlet,--a man who,if he had been condemned to subsist solely on the proceeds of thevillage post-office, would have been compelled to give up the ghost, orthe post, in a week.
"We must be careful, Eve, how we break it to her," said I, as we nearedthe top.
Arrived at the summit of the hill we found a rustic table, also a rusticseat on which was seated a comely matron engaged in the very commonplacework of darning socks. She cast on us a sharp and remarkablypenetrating glance as we approached. Doubtless our appearance waspeculiar, for a pretty maiden in savage costume, a somewhat ragged whiteman, and a gigantic savage, all mounted on magnificent steeds andlooking travel-stained and worn after a journey of many weeks, was notprobably an everyday sight, even in those regions.
Dismounting and advancing to act as spokesman, while my companions satmotionless and silent in their saddles, I pulled off my cap.
"I have been directed to this house as the abode of Mrs Liston," said Iwith a tremor of anxiety, for I knew that the comely matron before mecould not be she whom I sought, and feared there might be some mistake.
"You have been directed aright, sir. May I ask who it is that desiresto see her?"
"My name is Maxby," said I, quickly, for I was becoming nervouslyimpatient. "I am quite a stranger to Mrs Liston, but I would see her,because I bring her news--news of importance--in fact a message from herlong-lost son."
"From Willie Liston?" exclaimed the lady, starting up, and seizing myarm, while she gazed into my face with a look of wild surprise. "Ishe--but it cannot be--impossible--he must be--"
"He is dead," said I, in a low, sad voice, as she hesitated.
"Yes," she returned, clasping her hands but without any of the wild lookin her eyes now. "We have mourned him as dead for many, many years.Stay, I will call his--but--perhaps--sometimes it is kindness toconceal. If there is anything sad to tell, might it not be well toleave his poor mother in ignorance? She is old and--"
"No, madam," I interrupted, "that may not be. I have a message from himto his mother."
"A message! Then you knew him?"
"No; I never saw him."
"Strange! You have a message from him, yet never saw him. Can you notgive me the message, to convey it to her? She is getting frail and ashock might be serious. I am William Liston's cousin, and have come totake care of my aunt, and manage her farm."
"The message, by Mr Liston's wish," said I, "was to be delivered by meto his mother. I will be very careful to deliver it gently."
"Well, I will bring her to you. She usually comes out about this timeto enjoy the sunset. I will trust to your discretion; but bear inremembrance that she is not strong. Forgive me," she added, turning tomy companions, "this surprise has made me forget my duty. Will yourfriends dismount?"
Eve at once dismounted, and shook the hand which the lady extended; butBig Otter sat quite still, like a grand equestrian statue, while thelady entered the house.
I saw that the poor girl was much agitated, but, true to her Indiantraining, she laid powerful constraint on herself.
In a few minutes an old lady with the sweetest face and most benignantaspect I ever saw, came out of the cottage and advanced to the rusticseat. Before sitting down she looked at us with a pleasant smile, andsaid,--"You are heartily welcome. We are always glad to see strangersin these distant parts."
While speaking she tremblingly pulled out, and put on, a pair ofspectacles to enable her to have a clearer view of her visitors. Thescene that immediately followed took me very much by surprise, andcompletely frustrated all my wise plans of caution.
She looked at me first and nodded pleasantly. Then she looked at Eve,who was gazing at her with an intense and indescribable expression.Suddenly the old lady's eyes opened to their widest. A death-likepallor overspread her old face. She opened her arms wide, bent forwarda little towards Eve, and gasped,--"Come to me--Willie!"
Never was invitation more swiftly accepted. Eve bounded towards her andcaught her in her arms just in time to prevent her falling.
The poor old mother! For years she had prayed and longed for her lostWillie, though she never once regarded him as "lost." "Is not thepromise _sure_?" she was wont to say, "Ask and ye shall receive." Evenwhen she believed that the erring son was dead she did not cease to prayfor him--because he _might_ be alive. Latterly, however, her tone ofresignation proved that she had nearly, if not quite, given up all hopeof seeing him again in this life, yet she never ceased to think of himas "not lost, but gone before." And now, when at last his very imagecame back to her in the form of a woman, she had no more doubt as to whostood before her than she had of her own identity. She knew it wasWillie's child--one glance sufficed to convince her of that--but it wasonly Willie--the long-lost Willie--that she thought of, as she pressedthe weeping girl with feeble fervour to her old and loving heart.
During the time that this scene was enacting, Big Otter remained stillmotionless on his horse, without moving a muscle of his gravecountenance. Was he heartless, or was his heart a stone? An observermight readily have thought so, but his conduct when the old lady at lastrelaxed her hold of Eve, proved that, Indian like, he was only puttingstern restraint on himself.
Dismounting with something of the deliberate and stately air of one whois resolved not to commit himself, the Indian strode towards MrsListon, and, tenderly grasping one of her hands in both of his,said,--"Weeum!"
Truly there
is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and insome cases that step is an exceeding short one. It seemed so to me now,as I beheld the tall Indian stooping to gaze with intense earnestnessinto the tear-besprinkled face of the little old lady, who gazed withequally intense amazement into his huge, dark visage.
"What _does_ he mean by Weeum?" she asked, with an appealing look at me.
"Weeum," I replied, "is the Indian way of pronouncing William. Yourlate son, dear madam, was much beloved and respected by the tribe ofIndians, with whom he dwelt, and was known to them only by the name ofWilliam, or Weeum. This man was his most intimate and loving friend andbrother-in-law."
The poor old lady was deeply affected while I spoke, for of course mywords confirmed at last, her long resisted fear that Willie was indeedno longer of this world.
Big Otter waited a few seconds, still holding her hand, and then,turning to me, said in his native tongue,--"Tell the pale-face motherthat the sister of Big Otter was the wife of Weeum; that Big Otter lovedWeeum better than a brother, and that Weeum loved Big Otter more thanany man of his tribe. Every one loved Weeum the Good. He was so kind,and so brave! At first he was very fierce, but afterwards that passedaway, and when Waboose began to grow tall and wise, Weeum turned softlike a woman. He spoke often to the red-men about the Great Master ofLife, and he taught Big Otter to love the Great Master of Life and thename of Jesus. Often Weeum talked of going to the far south to see onewhom he called a _dear old one_. We did not understand him then. BigOtter understands him now. So shall it be in the great hereafter--things that are dark now shall be light then. But Weeum could not leavehis wife and child, and we would not let him take them away. SometimesWeeum spoke mysteries. One day he said to me, `Brother, I _must_ go tothe far south to see the dear old one. I will take my wife and child,and will return to you again--if the great Master of Life allows. If,however, I die or am killed, Waboose will reveal all that is in Weeum'sheart. She cannot reveal it now. She will not even understand until a_good_ pale-face visits your tribe.' Weeum said no more. He left themind of Big Otter dark. It is no longer dark. It is now clear as thesun at noon. The `good pale-face' is here (pointing to me as he spoke),and the `dear old one' is before me."
He paused a moment at this point, and then, with an evident effort tosuppress emotion, added,--"Weeum was drowned, soon after the day hespoke to me, while trying to save life. Since then there has been nosun in the sky for Big Otter."
The poor old mother listened to this speech with intense interest anddeepening emotion, but I could see that the tears which flowed over thewrinkled cheeks were tears of gladness rather than of sorrow. It couldscarcely at that time come as news to her that her son was dead, but itdid come as a gladsome surprise that her wilful Willie had not onlyfound the Saviour himself--or, rather, been found of Him--but that hehad spent his latter days in striving to bring others to that greatSource of blessedness.
Being too much overcome to speak, she submitted to be led away into thecottage by the comely matron, who had been a keen and sympatheticobserver of all that passed. Of course Eve accompanied them, forWeeum's mother refused to let go her hand, even for a moment, and BigOtter and I were left outside alone.
"Come," said I, vaulting into my saddle, "you and I will go and have agallop, my friend, and see the land, for I mean to dwell here and wouldstrongly advise you to do the same."
"Waugh!" exclaimed the Indian, as he leaped on the back of his steed,and followed me.
"You see," said I, as we rode along, followed by the admiring gaze ofthe village children--for, accustomed though they were to savages, theyhad never seen so grand an Indian as Big Otter on so magnificent ahorse--"you see, they will require some time to clear up matters in thecottage, for Eve's English, good though it be, is not perfect, and alltheir minds will naturally be a little confused at first. You did megood service to-day, my friend."
"How? The speech of Muxbee is mysterious."
"Don't you see," I replied, "that the speech you made to old MrsListon, broke the ice as it were, and told her nearly all that I had totell. And if you knew how many anxious hours I have spent in thinkinghow I should best break the sad news to the poor old mother, you wouldbetter understand how grateful I am to you."
"The speech of Muxbee is still full of mystery. What does he mean bybreaking news? When Big Otter has got news to tell, he tells it. Whenpeople have got something to hear, why should they not hear it at once?"
I felt that there are some things which some minds cannot understand;so, instead of answering, changed the subject.
"See," said I, pointing to a part of the uncleared bush into which wehad ridden, "there are two redskins. One is about to let fly an arrow.Hold on--we may disturb his aim!"
My companion looked, and with a start threw forward the muzzle of hisgun.
Little did I think, riding as we then were in a semi-civilised region--what the aim was that I was so anxious not to disturb.
I was suddenly and rudely enlightened when I heard the twang of the bow,and saw the arrow flying straight towards me. It was too late to leapaside, or dodge it. Full on the centre of my chest the shaft struck me.I experienced something of the shock that one feels when death issuddenly and very unexpectedly brought near. I have a distinctrecollection of the solemn impression made by the belief that my lasthour had come, yet I did not fall. I saw that the savage was hastilyfitting another arrow to the bow, but was so stunned by surprise that Imade no effort to save myself. Happily Big Otter had his wits abouthim. He fired before the arrow winged its flight, and shot the Indiandead.
The other savage at once turned and fled, but my companion gave chaseand overtook him in a few seconds. Seeing that he could not escape heturned round, flung down his weapons in token of submission, and stoodsullenly before his captor.
Big Otter at once leaped off his steed, seized the man, bound his armsbehind him with a thong, and led him to the spot where the dead man waslying on his face.
Meanwhile, I had discovered that the arrow which should have pierced myheart had been stopped by one of the gold pieces which formed mybreastplate! It had, indeed, pierced the coin, but had only entered myflesh about a quarter of an inch! Thanking God for the wonderfuldeliverance, I plucked it out, and, casting it away, rode up to theplace where the dead man lay. My companion had turned him over, and tomy great surprise, revealed the face of my old foe, Attick!
"Waugh!" exclaimed Big Otter, turning to the captured savage. "Arethere not deer enough in the woods, and buffalo enough on the plains,that the red-man should take to testing his arrows on pale-faces?"
"I did not shoot," was the stern reply.
"True, but you were the companion, perhaps the friend, of the dead man."
"I was _not_ his friend," replied the savage, more sullenly than ever.
"Then how came you to be with him when making this cowardly attack?" Iasked, in a tone which was meant to conciliate.
The tone had the desired effect. The savage explained that about threeweeks previously he had, while in danger of being killed by a grizzlybear which he had wounded, been rescued by Attick, who told him that hewas in pursuit of a foe who had injured him deeply, and whom he meant tohunt to death. Out of gratitude the Indian had consented to followhim--believing his story to be true. Attick explained that he hadfollowed his foe from the far north, day by day, week by week, month bymonth, seeking an opportunity to slay him; but so careful a watch hadbeen kept by his foe and the Indian and woman who travelled with himthat he had not up to that time found an opportunity. Attick and hisnew ally had then dogged us to Sunny Creek--the village at which we hadarrived--and, finding that we no longer feared danger from hostileIndians, and had relaxed our vigilance, they had made up their minds tostay there patiently till the deed could be accomplished. That day,while consulting about the matter in the woods, we had suddenly andunexpectedly appeared before them, and Attick had discharged his arrow.
"But" concluded the savage, wi
th a perplexed look, "the pale-face cannotbe killed. Arrows cannot pierce him."
"You are right," said I, suddenly coming to a decision in regard to theman. "Neither bullet nor arrow can kill me till my work is done, andthe Great Master of Life permits me to die. Go--and be more carefulwhom you follow in future."
I cut the thong that bound him, as I spoke, and set him free.
Without a word, though with an irresistible look of surprise, the savageturned, picked up his weapons and strode majestically into the bush.
"My brother is not wise," remarked Big Otter.
"That may be so," said I, "but it grieves me that the blood of oneIndian has been shed on my account, and I don't want to let theauthorities here have the chance of shedding that of another. Come, wemust let them know what has happened."
So saying I turned and rode off. We went direct to the authoritiesabove-mentioned, told who we were and what we had done, guided a partyof men to the scene of the intended murder; and then, while the starswere beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, returned to see what wasgoing on in the little cottage on the hill at Sunny Creek.