CHAPTER THREE.
WITH THE RED-SKINS.
UNCLE DONALD AND THE BLACKFEET--THE CHIEF'S SPEECH--A FORTUNATERECOGNITION--PONOKO GIVES UP A LITTLE GIRL TO UNCLE DONALD--IMPOSSIBLETO DO ANY MORE--PONOKO URGES DEPARTURE--ROSE IS ADOPTED BY UNCLEDONALD--HUGH MCLELLAN--MADGE--STORY OF A BRAVE INDIAN MOTHER--REDSQUIRREL--THE HOUSEHOLD AT CLEARWATER.
I waited with intense anxiety for Uncle Donald who appeared to have beena long time absent. I dared not disobey his orders by moving from thespot, yet I felt eager to creep up and try and ascertain what hadhappened. I thought that by seeming the horses to the trees, I mightmanage to get near the Indian camp without being perceived, but Iovercame the temptation. At length I heard footsteps approaching, when,greatly to my relief, I saw Uncle Donald coming towards me, carryingsome object wrapped up in a buffalo-robe in his arms.
I will now mention what occurred to him. He advanced, as he told meafterwards, without uttering a word, until he was close up to the fireround which the braves were collected, then seating himself opposite thechief, whom he recognised by his dress and ornaments, said, "I have comeas a friend to visit my red brothers; they must listen to what I have tosay." The chief nodded and passed the pipe he was smoking round to him,to show that he was welcome as a friend. Uncle Donald then told themthat he was aware of their attack upon the village, which was not onlyunjustifiable, but very unwise, as they would be certain to bring downon their heads the vengeance of the "Long-knives"--so the Indians callthe people of the United States. That wide as was the country, the armof the Long-knives could stretch over it; that they had fleet horses,and guns which could kill when their figures appeared no larger thanmusk rats; and he urged them, now that the harm was done, to avert thepunishment which would overtake them by restoring the white people theyhad captured.
When he had finished, the chief rose and made a long speech, excusinghimself and his tribe on the plea that the Long-knives had been theaggressors; that they had killed their people, driven them from theirhunting-grounds, and destroyed the buffalo on which they lived. Nosooner did the chief begin to speak than Uncle Donald recognised him asa Sioux whose life he had saved some years before. He thereforeaddressed him by his name of Ponoko, or the Red Deer, reminding him ofthe circumstance. On this the chief, advancing, embraced him; andthough unwilling to acknowledge that he had acted wrongly, he expressedhis readiness to follow the advice of his white friend. He confessed,however, that his hand had only one captive, a little girl, whom he wascarrying off as a present to his wife, to replace a child she had lost."She would be as a daughter to me; but if my white father desires it, Iwill forego the pleasure I expected, and give her up to him. As forwhat the rest of my people may determine I cannot be answerable; but Ifear that they will not give up their captives, should they have takenany alive," he added.
"It would have been a terrible thing to have left the little innocent tobe brought up among the savages and taught all their heathen ways,though they, no doubt, would have made much of her, and treated her likea little queen," said Uncle Donald to me; "so I at once closed with thechief's offer. Forthwith, a little girl, some five years of age, wasbrought out from a small hut built of boughs, close to where the partywas sitting. She appeared almost paralysed with terror; but when,looking up, she saw that Uncle Donald was a white man, and that he wasgazing compassionately at her, clinging to his hand, she entreated himby her looks to save her from the savages. She had been so overcome bythe terrible scenes she had witnessed that she was unable to speak."
Uncle Donald, lifting her up in his arms, endeavoured to calm her fears,promising that he would take care of her until he had restored her toher friends. He now expressed his intention of proceeding to the largercamp, but Ponoko urged him on no account to make the attempt, declaringthat his life would not be safe, as several of their fiercest warriorswere in command, who had vowed the destruction of all the Long-knives orothers they should encounter.
"But the prisoners! What will they do with them?" asked Uncle Donald."Am I to allow them to perish without attempting their rescue?"
"My white father must be satisfied with what I've done for him. I sawno other prisoners taken. All the pale-faces in the villages werekilled," answered Ponoko. "For his own sake I cannot allow him to goforward; let him return to his own country, and he will there be safe.I know his wishes, and will, when the sun rises, go to my brother chiefsand tell them what my white father desires."
Ponoko spoke so earnestly that Uncle Donald, seeing that it would beuseless to make the attempt, and fearing that even the little girl mightbe taken from him, judged that it would be wise to get out of the powerof the savages; and carrying the child, who clung round his neck, hebade the other braves farewell, and commenced his return to where he hadleft me. He had not got far when Ponoko overtook him, and again urgedhim to get to a distance as soon as possible.
"Even my own braves cannot be trusted," he said. "I much fear thatseveral who would not smoke the pipe may steal out from the camp, andtry to kill my white father if he remains longer in the neighbourhood."
Brave as Uncle Donald was, he had me to look after as well as the littlegirl. Parting with the chief, therefore, he hurried on, and told meinstantly to mount.
I was very much astonished to see the little girl, but there was no timeto ask questions; so putting spurs to our horses, we galloped back towhere we had left our men and the baggage.
As both we and our horses required rest, we camped on the spot, Pierreand Corney being directed to keep a vigilant watch.
The little girl lay in Uncle Donald's arms, but she had not yetrecovered sufficiently to tell us her name, and it was with difficultythat we could induce her to take any food.
Late in the day we met a party going out to attack the Indians; but, asUncle Donald observed, "they might just as well have tried to catch theeast wind. We waited to see the result of the expedition. They atlength returned, not having come near the enemy. The few men who hadescaped the massacre were unable to give any information about thelittle girl or her friends, nor could we learn to whom she belonged.All we could ascertain from her was that her name was Rose, for her mindhad sustained so fearful a shock that, even after several days hadpassed, she was unable to speak intelligibly.
"Her fate among the Indians would have been terrible, but it would bealmost as bad were we to leave her among the rough charactershereabouts," observed Uncle Donald. "As none of her friends can befound, I will be her guardian, and, if God spares my life, will bringher up as a Christian child."
It was many a long day, however, before Rose recovered her spirits. Hermind, indeed, seemed to be a blank as to the past, and Uncle Donald,afraid of reviving the recollection of the fearful scenes she must havewitnessed, forbore to say anything which might recall them. However, bythe time we reached Fort Edmonton, where Hugh McLellan had been left,she was able to prattle away right merrily. The officers at the fortoffered to take charge of her, but Uncle Donald would not consent topart with his little "Prairie Rose," as he called her; and after a shortstay we set out again, with Hugh added to our party, across the RockyMountains, and at length arrived safely at Clearwater.
Corney and Pierre remained with us, and took the places of two other menwho had left.
Hugh McLellan was a fine, bold little fellow, not quite two years myjunior; and he and I--as Uncle Donald had hoped we should--soon becamefast friends.
He had not much book learning, though he had been instructed in therudiments of reading and writing by one of the clerks in the fort, buthe rode fearlessly, and could manage many a horse which grown men wouldfear to mount.
"I want you, Archie, to help Hugh with his books," said Uncle Donald."I believe, if you set wisely about it, that he will be ready to learnfrom you. I would not like for him to grow up as ignorant as most ofthe people about us. It is the knowledge we of the old country possesswhich gives us the influence over these untutored savages; without it weshould be their inferiors."
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bsp; I promised to do my best in fulfilling his wishes, though I took goodcare not to assert any superiority over my companion, who, indeed,though I was better acquainted with literature than he was, knew farmore about the country than I did.
But there was another person in the household whose history is worthy ofnarration--the poor Indian woman--"Madge," as we called her forshortness, though her real name was Okenmadgelika. She also owed herlife to Uncle Donald.
Several years before this, she, with her two children, had accompaniedher husband and some other men on an expedition to trap beavers, at theend of autumn, towards the head waters of the Columbia. While she wasseated in her hut late in the evening, one of the men staggered indesperately wounded, and had just time to tell her that her husband andthe rest were murdered, when he fell dead at her feet. She, instantlytaking up her children--one a boy of six years of age, the other alittle girl, an infant in arms--fled from the spot, with a horse andsuch articles as she could throw on its back, narrowly escaping from thesavages searching for her.
She passed the winter with her two young ones, no human aid at hand. Onthe return of spring she set off, intending to rejoin her husband'speople far away to the westward. After enduring incredible hardships,she had been compelled to kill her horse for food. She had made goodsome days' journey, when, almost sinking from hunger, and fearing to seeher children perish, she caught sight of her relentless foes, theBlackfeet. In vain she endeavoured to conceal herself. They saw herand were approaching, when, close to the spot where she was standing, atall white man and several Indians suddenly emerged from behind somerocks. The Blackfeet came on, fancying that against so few they couldgain an easy victory; but the rifles of the white man and his partydrove them back, and Uncle Donald--for he was the white man--conveyedthe apparently dying woman and her little ones to his camp.
The house at Clearwater had not yet been built. By being well cared forthe Indian woman and her children recovered; but though the boyflourished, the little girl seemed like a withered flower, and neverregained her strength.
Grateful for her preservation, the poor woman, when she found that UncleDonald was about to settle at Clearwater, entreated that she mightremain with her children and labour for him, and a faithful servant shehad ever since proved.
Her little girl at length died. She was for a time inconsolable, untilthe arrival of Rose, to whom she transferred all her maternal feelings,and who warmly returned her affection.
But her son, whose Indian name translated was Red Squirrel, by whichappellation he was always known, had grown up into a fine lad, versed inall Indian ways, and possessing a considerable amount of knowledgegained from his white companions, without the vices of civilisation. Hewas a great favourite with Uncle Donald, who placed much confidence inhis intelligence, courage, and faithfulness.
Nearly two years had passed since Rose, Hugh, and I had been brought toClearwater, and by this time we were all much attached to each other.We had also learned to love the place which had become our home; but weloved Uncle Donald far more.